Closer than you think

It is tempting to blame house hunting as the key to less running this month - but that would be lying.

The prospect of a move out to Clevedon can but increase the number of miles passing under the feet. Not only is there the coastline to explore, there's the tricky aspect of still managing to get to work without the car...

Still, inspired by On Thin Ice on the telly, recent interviews with people who are going places such as Chris Wood and Jack Butland and simple winners like Norman Hunter, the prospect of running 13 miles to work, then home becomes ever more doable.

And it's a hop, skip and a jump to next Easter and a BG attempt. Isn't that right Ian? Nick?

Ultramarathon man

Dean Karnazes is unique. I've just finished his book, "Ultramarathon man: Confessions of an all-night runner", which charts his running career from the day he had a breakdown in a bar after work to the moment he broke through the 200-mile barrier.

The inspirational aspect is his enthusiasm and the fact he didn't properly take up the sport until he was 30.

Ignore if you can the fact he was a champion athlete at school, graced the cover of various windsurfing magazines in the meantime, and can get by on four hours sleep a night.

It's an easy read filled with plenty of useful tips, gung-ho quotes and up-lifting moments. But it is a book that shouldn't be handed to the likes of impressionable people such as myself who really need to learn to walk before they can run, let alone hear tales of the Western States Endurance Run which makes the BG sound like a warm-up.

A logical next step from Monday's four-mile 'Blaise Blazer' hill race. (26 mins and 13th in case you are reading Ian!)

Now where are my running shoes...

That sinking feeling...

Gasping for air as we descended the final steps into Oxwich Bay after a sickening detour all the way up to the castle and back down to sea level, the screaming in our legs was wiped away by the view in front of us.

The beach was teeming with holiday makers revelling in the sunshine but for one poor soul who had just dropped his speed boat off into the water the day had just turned dark.

The tide comes in quickly there and his red van was swallowed by the sea within minutes of getting stuck.

My run from Llangennith along the coastal path had been tiring and completed only with the addition of Orpen from Port Eynon as company, but this man's fight to save his vehicle was relentless.

First he tried pulling it by hand with helpers; then using a jet ski as the water levels rose. A tractor was next to come to his aid but as the water crept forward up the beach, so the tractor had to retreat as well, always just too soon for the rope to be connected, leaving more rope to be found.

When it did reach, the driver accelerated too hard and snapped the lifeline on three occasions before admitting defeat.

The owner though, a local from the sounds of his accent, had no such luxury and resorted to using his own speedboat.

By now the van was floating but again the rope simply wasn't strong enough to hold the forces put upon it.

As we left half an hour later, in need of food and water, an anchor was produced and the painful decision made to secure the van and wait for the tide.

Lesson learned: patience and care required when playing with the sea or running along its edge, unless you like detours, rocks and dicing with oncoming waves... it's all about the timing.

As Nick pointed out during one of our over nighters in the Lakes. "Andy, you did check it was going to be a full moon didn't you? It's looking pretty dark."

Apricots and bacon butties in Bristol

Lunchtime offered a fine chance for a 7 km loop around the Bristol harbourside with Mike. The downside being the pain of having to run past the Brunel Buttery and the lingering smell of bacon sandwiches in your clothing.

Next time we could just take the boat. And eat.

The upside was discovering on my return I had my better half's lunch, as well as my own.

Sorry gorgeous. Dried apricots are the best snack food besides chocolate, and bacon butties.

Not quite missing in action

I may not have been writing but I have been running. And the following is a fair checklist to some of the best places to run in the UK and further afield.

April - Norfolk coastline. A gorgeous jaunt from Gresham through Sheringham Park to the coast and along the beach to Overstrand. Ice cream never tasted so good.




Easter - Putting Mike Atter through his paces running the Gower coastal path from Llanmadoc round to Oxwich Bay.




May - In the Lake District introducing another Aussie, Gerard, to the delights of Leg 1: the long slog up Skiddaw, the hidden trenches in the heather on Great Calva and the majestic views from the top of Blencathra looking down Leg 2 to Helvellyn before the sharp descent to Threlkeld (first pic below).




On the second day he flew round most of Leg 3 from Dunmail raise to Bowfell and down to the pint of Old Speckled Hen at Old Dungeon Ghyll.

July - Some proper mountain running with Nick Williams in the form of the Parque Nacional de Ordesa y Monte Perdido (nearest town Bielsa).

And December - A half marathon round the end of the Gower with (from left to right: Ian, me, Kev, Sarah, Nathan) on a crystal clear day which began with ice on the ground and ended with flames in the sky.

The lack of shorts was a regrettable, if liberating, experience. The red socks were a moment of genius. Ideal for staying warm, lowered to cool off, provided a red rag target for Ian and gave me my first real understanding of how compression can help squeeze a few more miles out of tired muscles to place a credible 17th.

And they had Match of the Day on in the bar.

Back in the game... again

As is probably evident from the lack of posts, a 2008 attempt didn't materialise either.

But inspired by this man, this man and this lady, I have resolved to update the blog, get back on the trail and quicken the pace attempting to build the mileage to put in an attempt next year.

Today's resting heart rate is 48, so that's a marker for starters.

Back on the trail - Leg Two

BG Recce No. 7 - 16/17 February

Clough Head, Great Dodd, Watson Dodd, Stybarrow Dodd, Raise, Whiteside, Lower Man, Helvellyn, Nethermost Pike, Dollywagon Pike and down to the tent - it was a successful first foray back to the Lake District.

We camped up at Dunmail Raise in plummeting temperatures on Friday night and woke to a crisp, icy but crystal clear dawn.


Three lads swung down off Seat Sandle on an official BG attempt and looked in good shape. Their remarkable luck with the weather was evident in their timings - ten minutes ahead of schedule.

After watching them off we hitched up to Threlkeld, hauled ourselves up Clough Head and ran along the tops admiring the view. The hordes were out on the snow capped summit of Helvellyn on what was a picture perfect day.


Sense has crept into our training after last year and so we dropped off Dollywagon Pike to the car, leaving Fairfield and Seat Sandle for Sunday.

It was a wise move. Sunday came and after a renewed acquaintance with the summit of Dollywagon Pike we found the quick way down to Grisedale Tarn and the gravelly long path up Fairfield.

Psychologically this is one of the hardest peaks as you retrace you steps down it after reaching the summit, ensuring you lose every inch of height gained. For a short Sunday outing though the view takes some beating.

Pen y Fan in the snow

Fired up from my first foray of the year last week I returned to the Brecons to stretch the legs for a second time and work out quite where I went wrong the time before.

Mother Nature was on hand however to remind me of our fateful recce's of the Lake District this time last year and the full force at her disposal when she so chooses.


The upper reaches of the track to Corn Du were edged in snow and at the saddle a fearsome northerly wind was howling.

The rest of the way to the top of Pen y Fan was a battle of attrition. The path was completley covered in snow, visibility was down to a few metres and you could feel the hail through your waterproofs.


Training on days like these has it's benefits. You have the hill to yourself, test your gear and strength of mind and feel like you've been up in the mountains for far longer than you actually have. It also augments the appreciation levels come the long summer days as you bask in the beauty of a view and hark back to when the weather wasn't quite so clement.

Getting back on it in the Brecon Beacons

As is probably apparent from the gap in dates, the 2007 attempt never happened.

My knee fell apart on the Fellsman, Kev was distracted by a fair maiden and Nick hobbled off a 5-a-side pitch down-playing the effects of a nasty tackle. A few days later it was confirmed he had completely severed his cruciate ligament.

But the round is still there and Caspar made a valid point as we pulled out of the Fellsman. He said: "If we just knocked it off first time I wouldn't enjoy it as much.

"It's about spending lots and lots of time in the mountains. Getting to know them. Hurting on numerous occasions, getting lost, but ultimately becoming intimately acquainted with them and the route to the point where on a cloudless day some summer in the future you skip around with a demented smile on your face revelling in the beauty of it all and then sleeping like a king for the next 50 years."

In the summer of 2007 I moved to Cardiff and have been distracted from fell running by the surf, the football and the rugby.

Seized by happy memories trotting round the peaks though I donned my runners this christmas to meet a mate in the Brecons. He gave me a grid ref but I didn't have a map. To hell with it, I thought. If I get lost I've got my kit and it'll be better training than a simple blast up and down Pen-y-fan on my first outing in the Brecons.

Two and a half hours later I was back at the car having failed to meet up with my friends but having covered a sizeable chunk of the Brecon Beacons and with a demented grin on my face.

Game on.

The Fellsman

12 May 2007 - The Fellsman is a well-known 61-mile jaunt across the Yorkshire Dales organised by the Scouts and was meant to be a timely next step in our training. Due to our various set backs and my knee problems carrying on from last weekend's exploits in the Lakes, it proved to be anything but.

Starting in Ingleton, the route meanders its way around a significant number of hills to Grassington. The record is a remarkable 11 hours. The majority of contenders, however, take significantly longer and 24 hours is the goal, not least because of the notorious Fleet Moss bog which the organisers carefully route you through after dark (although also after insisting on grouping runners into fours for their own safety). In the word sof one contender from this years race, "never underestimate the bog. It can take you an hour, it can take seven."

We took advantage of the organisers' planning and drove to Grassington on Friday night, kipped on a classroom floor, were fed and watered at 6am and bussed to the start at 6.30am. What we weren't prepared for was the subsequent lengthy kit check before everyone started simultaneously at 9am. The possibility of significantly more than four hours sleep will undoubtedly lead to different plans of preparation next year.

And there will be a next year because we put in a poor show this time round. My knee was niggling me still from last weekend's exploits but my aim was to nurse it round at a fast walk and retire if injury was looking inevitable, leaving Caspar and Kev to stride out the remainder of the course.

At the checkpoint on 20.3 mile though, Kev beat me to it. Sitting outside the excellently staffed and supplied tent in the sunshine with a fresh sausage roll in one hand and a chocolate swiss roll in the other, Kev declared he was withdrawing, his mind wasn't in it. I had resolved, mid baked-beans and cup of tea that my knee wasn't in it for the duration either, having given me gip from the off, and so our attempt came to a suprisingly swift end.

The upside was that we got another 20 miles under our feet and witnessed the superb organisation of the Fellsman event which will certainly tempt us back next year. Some careful work over the next fortnight should see my knee return to form, Kev to restock on Swiss rolls and Caspar to concentrate on his hills in time for a make or break recce of the BG route over the second May Bank Holiday.

If not then the quest will just have to go on longer than planned, for we've had a taste and it tastes doable.