The 2024 Christmas Special

December 22, 2024 notbuilttorun2024, Christmas, Runner, Running, RunningBlog, Year in ReviewLeave a comment

”You sit on a throne of lies!”
Buddy Elf, Elf

Let’s start by getting straight in and addressing the Elephant in the room. A Christmas advert so bad, I want to rip out my eyes and shove them in my ears. No, not that one. Friggin Morrisons.

Morrisons, with their shite oven glove puppets that would have Jim Hensen weeping. Shite oven glove puppets murdering one of the greatest movie songs of all time. And when I say murder, I’m talking the kind of murders they’d do in medieval times. Like, proper brutal shit. Not only that, it’s also butchered part of my childhood. Scott Baio would be rolling in his grave. If he was dead.

Anyway, now we’ve got that out the way, it’s time for the Christmas Special. I’m here to spread festive cheer and review my running year. So pop another log on the fire, have yet another day drink that has you half pissed by mid afternoon, and let’s get stuck in.

I’d not be overstating things when I say 2024 has been my best running year ever. I’d be staggered if I ever have a better one. I would never have thought it back in January, when I was put kicking and screaming by the club coaches into the group above. So the faster, more intense one.

For 6 weeks I hung off the back of that group, cursing the coaches who put me here, and wondering where the enjoyment had gone. Then, it suddenly clicked. I was keeping up. I pushed through to survivor mode.

For a few months though, I was knackered. Despite the fact I was being coached in endurance, my long runs were going to shit. Slow and ploddy. Everything was an effort. Was the extra intensity improving my running, or had I taken on too much?

There were some signs of improvement early doors however. At the end of February the club organised a 5k Time Trial to see where we were all at. I went balls to the wall and ran the fastest 5k of my life – a 23:40. I then went on holiday to Greece in May, drank a shit load of Mythos, and ran a 10k PB in a race less than 3 hours after landing back in the country. Who said my days of fast times had gone? Well, I did.

Then, during the summer, I popped out one morning for my usual long weekend run. A 10 miler on a route I’ve been doing for years. No expectations, no real plan, just plod round it as normal. I set off and I felt good. I felt loose. I felt..fast. But the biggest change was how I felt as the run went on. Rather than get tired out, I felt stronger the longer it got.

When I was done I felt great, but only in a good run kind of way. When I uploaded it on Strava however, it announced a 10 miler PB. By a couple of minutes as well. Interesting.

Suddenly, I was very aware of my speed and times. Both in Club Sessions and when running on my own. I was definitely getting faster. I was comfortably staying in the pack at club, and felt really strong on my long runs.

I’ve never been one of those runners who really cares much about times. Certainly not improving times. I’ve always entered into races etc with goal times. As in, ‘it would be nice to come in under 2 hours’ and so on. Suddenly though, I’m very self aware that they are improving.

As part of that, I started taking a keen interest in my Half Marathon PB. Sitting at 1:53, I noted that my current 10 mile pace would easily knock a couple of minutes off that. I just need to hold that pace for another 5k. Easier said than done.

A month before the Great North Run, I head out to complete the Half Marathon distance as a training run. Usually this is a ‘let’s see where I’m at’ run, as well as an attempt to mentally reassure myself that I can complete the 13.1 miles comfortably.

It’s another comfortable long run, and I realise it’s going to be quick. I hit an 8:25 pace, with a 1:50:31 finish. Just 6 months earlier, I was parring around 1:54.

30 seconds plus change off dipping under 1:50 for the first time in my life. It’s far too tempting to not take a shot at. But not at the GNR. I already had a plan for that, and that was a no pressure run I wanted to enjoy. Which I did.

Fast forward to the middle of October, and I’m ready to make my move. I’ve already worked out that I just need an 8:23 pace to hit my goal. I’m going to be doing something I never do – keep an eye on my pace.

As there is no wind, the plan is to head 6.5 miles directly North on the coast, then turn. When I do turn, my pace is well on track and I feel great. Is this really on? Well, yes it is. I don’t fade at all second half of the run. In fact, I get quicker.

At 11 mile I know I’m going to do it. I’ve never had that confidence before with my running. It’s a great feeling on the last mile knowing this has gone to plan. I finish with an 8:19 pace and bag a 1:49:23 finish. I’ve broken the back off 1:50. After 15 years of trying, I’m in the 1:40 club. I’m absolutely delighted.

We’re not finished there though. In November and December the PBs keep tumbling. At the Club Grand Prix I run my fastest even 5k, first time under 23 mins, recording a 22:57. A month later in the next Grand Prix, I do it again. This time a 22:33.

And as I wrote about in my last blog, at the Brampton to Carlisle 10 mile Road Race I break my 10k and 10 mile PBs. Its official, 2024 has been undoubtedly my greatest running year ever.

It almost feels a bit different this year going through the goals I set in January. Usually, it’s self deprecating with tongue firmly in cheek. This year though. Anyway, let’s take a look at that list..

Run 1,000 miles – Another year, another 1,000 plus in the bank. It’s also another record year. As I write this with a week of the year left, I’m on 1,500.
Run a Half Marathon – I’ve waffled on about my Half Marathon journey already in this post. I did run two official races at the distance. The Great North Run, which I really enjoyed and reviewed, was the main one. I did also run the Newcastle Half in July. This was a new race to me, and I only signed up to pace someone else. I got them to a 2:10 PB, so a very satisfying run. I’d like a proper crack at it, so it’s on my radar for 2025.
Run the Brampton to Carlisle 10 miler – I certainly did, and it didn’t disappoint. Piss up and PBs. I’ll be on the bus in 2025.
Race in the Club Grand Prix – I missed the first one, the 10k race, as I was away on holiday. However, the other three Pre-Christmas races I’ve completed and am currently on a 5k PB run. 23:27, 22:57, and a 22:33. I expect this will level off for the remaining four Post-Christmas.
Run on Holiday – This year I’ve been lucky enough to run round Zante, Warsaw, Edinburgh, and Shropshire. I continue to make no apologies for this.
Yoga Everyday – Now this one has been an underrated gem. I’ve managed to do at least 15 mins a day, every day. I really think it’s made a huge difference. It’s helping with recovery, I feel more loose, less stiff, and I’ve had no noticeable niggles for the first year in donkeys. I can’t recommend this to fellow runners enough.

Phew. There we have it. What a year. Back in January when I set these original targets, I never would have envisioned achieving even half of what I have. 2025 is either going to be interesting, or a bit of a damp squib. To be honest, I’ll just be happy to keep enjoying it.

So, Merry Christmas, however you do or don’t celebrate it. I’m cracking open a cold one and eyeing up those Brooks in the sale..

See you in 2025.

Running in Warsaw

December 1, 2024December 1, 2024 notbuilttorun2024, Runner, Running, RunningBlog, WarsawLeave a comment

“My mother used to say: The older you get, the better you get. Unless you’re a banana.”
Rose, The Golden Girls

I’ve confessed in the past on here to being one of those sad sacks who takes his running gear with him when travelling. I’ve gone for multiple runs in Spain and Greece. I nearly even once entered the Zante Half Marathon whilst on a family holiday. I didn’t in the end, after my wife persuaded me not to. The kind of persuasion that involves violence and the loss of my bollocks.

In hindsight, I’m quite glad I was ‘talked’ out of that one. It seemed like a good idea on paper. But as I lay by the pool under clear blue skies, with the Temperature hitting the late 20s, I realised it was inactuality a proper shit idea. So, I ordered another cold Mythos and gave myself a cheers to celebrate my testicles still being attached to my body.

Since changing my job a couple of years back, I now from time to time get out and about on Office visits around the country. Or as my wife calls them, massive fucking jollies. As such, I’ve also added Edinburgh, Glasgow and London to my running locations. Hardly Kenya or Boston, but still not bad for a pleb who grew up in North Shields.

So as soon as I was told I’d be visiting my colleagues in the Warsaw Office in Poland, I had Google Maps open, the Measure Distance tool activated, and a pair of Brooks packed in a suitcase before you could say Dziękuję.

So, fast forward to a Sunday morning in September. I’m sitting in the Departure Lounge Bar of Newcastle Airport, supping a cold Guiness and listening to a Hen Do in the corner, all of whom are already half wankered by 8am and murdering ‘Toxic’ by Britney Spears. Makes you proud to be British.

As I live in the North East of England, a 3rd World country to those living in London, I can’t get a direct flight to Warsaw. I have to catch a connection. Thankfully, work have organised me to go via Amsterdam, rather than Heathrow. That place turns your snot black. Once in the Dam (well, Schiphol Airport) I meet up with two of my colleagues and we’re off to Poland.

First interesting cultural observation. The Poles like to clap when their plane lands. I’m not sure why. I ask my hosts later in the week, but whilst they admit it’s a thing, they don’t really know why either. One thing I’ve learnt from working with these guys over the years, they have a cracking sense of humour. My guess is the clapping is a rib. They don’t do it for any other reason than to confuse us all. Fair play to them.

I won’t lie, my hotel is cracking. Right in the centre of the Warsaw Corporate district, on al.Jana Pawla II. Which translates as John Paul II Avenue. His Popeness himself. As a product of a 90s Catholic school education system, JP was my Pope. We had a signed photo of him in our Assembly Hall, which I used to find equally amusing and disturbing. I’ve massively denounced my Catholicism as an adult, but he was a cracking keeper, so fair play to him

The plan is to get up early pre-breakfast and run whilst it’s quiet. I’m bang in the middle of a capital city, so I want to try and avoid heavy traffic and those pesky pedestrians. I find out from this first run that only one of these things will be true. Sunday evening is spent on a short stroll with Colleagues and a quick bite to eat, before an early night.

Monday morning I’m up, out, and ready to run for 5:45am. I used to be cool. One bonus for this week is the weather. We’re in the last week of September, but the forecast is for it to be around 23-25°C every day for the duration. Which means at this time in the morning it’s already a balmy 13°C, dry and calm. It’s a perfect morning for running.

Thanks to Google Maps (this is twice I’ve praised them in this post, if they want to sponsor me) I note that there is a park about 200 metres from my hotel. Then another 200 metres from that is an even bigger park and what looks like a Public Square. These seem like a good starting point to explore. Safe, close, and I can’t get lost.

I start my run in the Park and already something that will become a theme of my trip here is obvious. It’s really clean. No rubbish. It’s spotless. This Park turns out to be called the Mier Park (or Mirowski in Polish). I run straight up the middle of it from one end to the other and there’s no one about apart from a few hardy dog walkers. It isn’t quiet though. The row of trees above me are full of crows and they are going ape shit. Like, Hitchcock film crackers.

I notice on the ground in various places there are Metal markings with writing on. It’s too dark to read exactly what they say, but when I return to have a walk around here later in the daylight, I’m shocked to discover these are boundary markers for the Jewish Ghetto.

Another recurring theme of the week, this is a beautiful city with a brutal past. Here I am running round a charming park that just over 80 years ago was hell on earth. It makes you think, it makes you humble.

The Park isn’t big, so I’m out of it quite quickly. There is a main road between this and the next park. And I mean a main road. Four lanes of traffic and two lanes of Tram. My Polish colleagues warned me on their visit to the UK that crossing the road on a red is death by Firing Squad over here. Or something. So I don’t fuck about and stop and wait.

This next Park is even more spectacular. This is the Saxon Gardens, the oldest park in Warsaw. Again it’s clean and it’s lined with magnificent Horse Chestnut Trees. There are Conkers everywhere, so many that I can’t avoid them and I end up crunching them underfoot. It breaks my heart.

I pass a substantial fountain and then, something very random appears. It’s the tomb of the unknown solider. It’s just gone 6am, yet there are two guards standing over it. Turns out, it’s guarded 24 hours, with a change of shift on the hour. Bet everyone loves getting the 4am shift in the middle of pissing rain in January. It is a magnificent sight though.

I pass it, very respectfully, as I’m aware there are two tooled up Poles just a few feet from me. Once I am past it, I’m onto a big square. This, it turns out, is the sight of the Saxon Palace. Another theme here, a once fantastic Warsaw landmark flattened by those bastard Nazis and Russians.

I do a couple of laps or so of this, then head back the same way I came to the Hotel. 3.5 miles without wandering too far, perfect conditions, and already some great sightseeing.

After a great day at work (no, really) and a nice wander about the modern part of the city after, I plot the next day’s run back at the hotel. Now I feel like I have my bearings, I’m more confident about going out further without getting lost.

I discover that I can go the same way I did on the first day, continue on a little bit further when I get to the Square, and I’ll be on to the Vistula River. There and back, 4 mile. Very doable.

Next morning, I’m again up and out for 5:40am. Seriously man. It’s the same as yesterday, the two lovely parks and onto the Square/site of the Palace. This time though, I continue straight over, and suddenly it’s a sharp down hill (uh-oh) as we head to the River.

The Warsaw University campus is down here, but it’s dead. It is 6am though. Only complete idiots are down here at this time. I’m on to the Riverside, run along it a short while till I hit 2 miles, then turn for home. I stop to take a photo before heading back. The sun is starting to rise and it’s a lovely sight looking East. I spot what looks like a Stadium over the other side of the River. More on that when we get to Thursday.

Unfortunately, what goes down, must come up, and the climb back from the River to the town is steeper than I thought. It’s tough going. On the plus side, another 4 mile , and I’ve earned my Hotel breakfast.

That evening we venture into the Old Town. Basically, the tiny part of Warsaw those bastard Nazis again didn’t destroy during the Uprising. It’s a beautiful part of the City, but again, tinged with a horrible past. It seems like every building I look at has a plaque on it, marking the spot the bastard Nazis rounded up Poles to shoot them.

The Old Town itself is also quite near the Square/Palace, reachable on a run from my Hotel, so I decide this will be where I head on Wednesday morning.

It’s 5:40am again, it’s another lovely morning, and I’m through the two Parks and over the Square. I’m practically a local now. A left at the Square and I’m into the Old Town. I just do a loop of it, but make sure I run along the old defensive wall. To think, again, that the Poles were defending this for their lives 80 years ago, is difficult to comprehend or even do justice.

Another nice run, another 4 miles. Another well earned Breakfast. Although they don’t seem to do Bananas in Poland.

That night, my hosts take me to a traditional Communist Cuisine restaurant. I have the Cabbage and Mushroom Dumplings, and immediately get the urge to overthrow the Government. Once that settles, it’s back to my Capitalist Hotel and plotting the next mornings run.

I mentioned that on my run down to the river, I spotted what looked like a Stadium on the other side. It’s the Stadion Narodowy, Polands national stadium. Home of the National football team and apparently, among other things, Taylor Swift concerts.

It’s also not as far away as I think. Same route down to the river as Tuesday, then over the river on a Pedestrian Bridge, before a straight road to the Stadium. 3 mile, a 6 mile round trip.

As luck would have it, on my final day there is no rush to get out and back. I’m not going into the office, as I’m leaving late morning for the airport. So loads of time to fit a 10k in.

Having said that, I’m up and out again for the usual 5:45am. The struggle is real though, as I may have sampled a few of the local beers the night before. I’ll sleep on the plane(s).

So, same drill as Tuesday, Parks, Square, drop down, past the Uni and onto the River. This time however, once on the River I take a left towards the Bridge. This is quite a new bridge (opened March 2024, only 6 months prior). It doesn’t even appear on Google Maps as it wasn’t built yet. My Strava afterwards will also ignore it, looking to all like I just catapulted myself across. Just to prove it exists, I took a photo whilst on it, looking back towards the City. Lovely.

Once over, I take a right and follow quite a busy dual carriageway. The morning commute is already in full swing and the roads are as busy as you’d expect for a Capital city. It’s pretty unremarkable however, until I suddenly hit the Stadium.

It is quite a spectacular site. I stop to take a picture, but I can’t really get that close to it. It’s fenced off with a gate open, so I’m not sure if I’m allowed to go in. I have a rule when it comes to these things – if I’m in a country where the police are armed, don’t fuck about and find out. With that, I turn and head back, following the exact route out. 6 mile.

And there we have it. 17.5 miles over 4 days. I was here for work, not as a tourist, yet thanks to running I’ve been able to explore a good chunk of it I otherwise wouldn’t have been able to. It’s been a productive trip work wise, but packing my running shoes has added another dimension. Thanks Warsaw, I will be back.

Just as a finishing footnote, I am back on Social Media. No, not that one, but Bluesky. It might be great, it might be shite, but at least it isn’t the cesspool that is the other place. You can now follow me here, if it’s your thang.

Brampton to Carlisle 10 Mile Road Race

November 19, 2024November 21, 2024 notbuilttorunBrampton, Carlisle, Race Review, Runner, Running, RunningBlogLeave a comment

”Be Excellent to Each Other”
Bill S. Preston, Esq, Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure

Right, it’s Race Review time. No messing with this one, no delay of many months. I’m going to be spewing this one out like a student on Freshers week. I’ve vomit blogged before with great success, let’s do it again. People of all genders and races, I give you the Brampton to Carlisle 10 Mile Road Race review..

Now this is a race I’ve been looking forward to popping my cherry to for quite a while. I love a 10 mile run. Who doesn’t? It’s got all the double number achievement of running a Half but without that pesky last 5k bit. We’re in danger of stumbling into humble brag wanker territory here, but I do a 10 mile run ever weekend and it’s my favourite one of the week. I can pat myself on the back for a job well done, before eating a breakfast the size of my cat.

I was also looking forward to this race as it involved a Club day out. Brampton, where you start, is about 60 mile west. I’m all for a warm up run, but not a 60 mile one. Therefore, the Club have put on a bus to take us to the start and bring us back from the finish. And what do British people do when they go on a coach trip? That’s right, they get pissed.

So the plan is thus. Coach to the start, run the 10 mile race to Carlisle, go to the pub for a couple of hours, get back on the bus, drink more, go home. I mean, this didn’t take much selling to me I’ll be honest.

So, here we are, at 7:30am on a cold Sunday November ready for the off. It’ll take us about an hour to get there. There’s lots of good-natured chatter and pre-race prep. Bananas, Gels, people pinning their Numbers on, very civilised. We’ll compare and contrast to the return journey later..

We arrive at the Race HQ, a local school, in plenty of time. We’ve got a good hour before the race starts at 10am, so just enough time to get into one of the massive toilet queues, hoping and praying you don’t get performance anxiety once you get to the front. Baggage popped on bus, warm up completed, time for a team photo before we begin. I’m what we call round these parts a ‘short arse’, meaning I am lacking in the height variety. For some reason, I stand at the back for the photo, head stretching out like a turtle. What a bell end.

On the Start line and it’s decision time. This is a race. Judging by a lot of the runners I’ve seen milling about, it looks like the vast majority are going to treat it as such. There are tonnes of club runners here, from places I’ve never even heard of. I’m sure some of them are just made up. Arsecrack Strollers, you aint fooling no-one.

My 10 mile PB is about 1:23 ish. I honestly didn’t give any thought or have a plan for a target time today. I’ve just come for the day out, the beer, and the craic. As I stand here surrounded by some absolute beasts in club vests, I realise now might be the time to decide. Ok, let’s go with running in the low 8s shall we? If I can dip in under 8:10s, that would give me a nice sub 1:22 PB. That would be a nice achievement, without leaving me hanging out of my arse at the end. Right, we’re all agreed, let’s go with that for a plan.

This is very much a rural run. Brampton, the start, is quite a small village. So once we’re off, it’s only about 800m before we’re out into the Countryside. We’ve got the usual congestion that you always have at the start when you’re a mid packer like myself, but this isn’t too bad. Over 800 eventually complete the race, so there’s plenty of room. I mentioned earlier that it’s cold, around 5 or 6 degrees, but there’s no wind and it isn’t raining. Perfect running conditions really.

I’ve gone with my club vest without a base layer, but it’s not all hardcore. I’m wearing race tights under my shorts as a comfort blanket. Here I am about 400 metres in. What. A. Specimen.

Another great thing I’ve been told about this run is that it’s pretty flat. I mean, a couple of small climbs here and there, but nothing horrendous. This knowledge has also helped talk me in to trying a PB. The first 5k down, I’ve activated the sub 8:10 mile plan. I hit an 8:04, an 8:08, and an 8:01. I feel fairly comfortable at this pace. I’ve latched on to one of my club colleagues who I know is a cracking runner, and for the next 2 miles running alongside her we hit 7:58 then a 7:54. Wowsa.

5 miles down in 40 mins 5 seconds. Repeat that for the second half and never mind ducking under 1:22, I’d be sitting at a comfortable 1:20. It’s therefore time to ponder that golden question a lot of us runners ask ourselves during these moments – How do I feel? Well, you know, pretty good as it happens. Fuck it. Let’s go for it.

The field has opened up quite a bit now, there’s loads of space, so there really is no excuse for slowing down, unless it’s under my own wind. It’s live by the sword, die by the sword time people. I’ve also noticed over the last couple of miles that there is another runner who’s been stride by stride with me. We now seem to have accidently broken away into a team of two.

We’ve become very much aware of each other, and I hate an awkward silence, so we start some small talk. As you do during a 10 mile road race. He’s Greg, he runs for Low Fell (big up da Gateshead massive) and is looking for a 1:20 finish. He’s planning on running the last 5 miles at 8 min pace, if I want to tag along? Thus, a bromance is formed.

Greg is as good as his word. He’s a veteran of the course as well, so he knows where the climbs and downhills are, where we should and shouldn’t push. He’s talking me through the course and what’s coming up. He’s like a running version of The Chase. We do a 7:57 and a 7:54 mile 6 and 7. I think I’m actually spurring him on as well, as he’s committed himself now, so the pressures on.

Greg warns me that there will be two slightly testing climbs before we finish, but that once we get over the last one at 9.5 miles, the half a mile remaining will be a glorious downhill. I could roll myself to the finish if need be.

We’re starting to hit a bit of civilisation now, leaving the Cumbrian countryside behind. I’ve probably been too pre-occupied with getting a time, so haven’t taken in the surroundings as much as I should have. When I did though, the scenery is stunning, even on this cold November morning. I imagine this would be a cracking spring or summer long slow run.

Mile 8 involves one of those aforementioned hills. You can see it coming well in advance, but I’m ready for it. I even attack it. My Coaches will be proud. The hill brings our pace down, but even then, only slightly, coming in at 8:02. I don’t feel like I’m slowing down or tiring. I’m now massively confident that I’m getting that 1:20 and that gives me even more of a second wind.

We go over the M6 Motorway, a sure sign that we’re almost there. Greg is great. He’s also looking strong, and I think he knows he’s going to hit his target time. We’ve just done a 7:49 Mile 9. Just one last mile to go, past the University, up one hill, then over the Bridge into Carlilse and the finish line.

We hit that last hill. It’s hard work this one, bur Greg and I spur each other on to get up it. Teamwork makes the dreamwork. At the top, it’s half a mile left and as promised it’s a drop. We both turn on the burners and Greg is off. One thing I have never and will never be blessed with is a ‘kick.’ I couldn’t care less though, I’m flying down the hill on Mile 10 and feel great.

Over the line, it’s a 1:19:34 finish. For once, my eventual official Chip Time will match that. That last mile was a 7:38. I was looking for 8 minute pace, I ended up with 7:57. Winning. Greg is at the finish, and we do the runners fist bump. I thank him for helping me knock off a good 3 minutes from my PB. Thank you Greg, I will never forget you.

Even better, and surprising but not really surprising when you think of my pace, my watch also buzzes to tell me I’ve PBd my 10k. 48:58 to be precise. Honestly, you wait all day for a bus and two come along at once. I know that runners sometimes talk about a ‘perfect race.’ This might have been mine. I was in control the whole time and pushed myself harder than ever before over this distance, rewarded with some quite substantial PBs (my 15k PB also went, but who counts that?)

Into the Sports Centre to pick up my finishers top and my bag. It’s a well-oiled machine in here. Someone goes off and runs to get my bag and runs back again. Impressive. What’s also impressive as I catch up with my fellow club runners is that everyone has had a good day. It’s PB tastic. From first timers to veterans of this, everyone has enjoyed it and posted great times. The mood is good and we’re off for Phase 2. The Pub.

12pm and I’m sitting in the William Rufus public house in the centre of Carlisle supping a well deserved Guiness and awaiting my All Day Brunch. The bus isn’t picking us up till 3pm, so for the next couple of hours 30 of us take over the corner and celebrate a great morning’s work. Boy do we celebrate. At one point the Sambucas do the rounds. By the time we head for the bus, we’re all several sheets to the wind.

But it doesn’t stop there. Once on the bus, it’s party time! There’s a huge cooler of drink, more Sambuca being poured, and at one point we all get Vodka Jelly shots. The journey back takes twice as long, as we have to have three piss stops to empty our bladders by the side of the road. A line of us, in club clobber, peeing in full view on the A69. Honestly, the club are going to get emails.

By the time we get back to the drop off I’m stotting as we say up here. Some of the group are heading to the local pub, but aware I’ve spent the whole Sunday away from my family and am now half pissed and two hours late, I take the safe option and go home.

What a day though. A well organised trip by the club, a great course and event, PBs galore, Vodka Jelly. It’s like a cheese dream I once had. Let’s do it all again in 2025.

The Great North Run 2024

October 13, 2024November 20, 2024 notbuilttorunfitness, greatnorthrun, Runner, Running, RunningBlog, training1 Comment

“I’m fine, okay? I mean, as fine as someone who’s hurtling toward a gruesome death can be”

Max Mayfield, Stranger Things

That’s right, I’m playing catch up. Again. Its been MANIC. It’s fair to say I’ve probably never been busier. Personally, professionally, and runningally. Yes, I’m aware I posted the Kielder review in July, even though it took place last October. Only God can judge me you bunch of bastards. The plan is that the 2024 Christmas Special will cover most of this year’s running journey. In the true spirit of the season, this update will be ‘bumper’ and include some special guest stars. Only one part of that statement is true.

In the meantime, whilst you’re licking your lips at that prospect, let’s have a good old fashioned Race Review. It’s Great North Run 2024 time. Cue Local Hero.

I have reviewed the GNR quite a few times now and run it even more than that. 13 times now to be precise. The only one I’ve missed since 2011 is the one everyone missed, the Plague hit 2020 one. I ran that one Virtually on the day though, so let’s claim 14 if I really want to be one of those wankers.

I didn’t review it last year. The reason for that was that I paced someone who was running it for the first time. It was their story to tell, I was just their wing man, so I decided to take a fallow year. However, the one thing I will say about the 2023 GNR is this; for the first time in ages, I actually really enjoyed it.

Yes, I know, I was pacing someone who was running a 2:20 half. That’s 25 minutes slower than my usual target. However, I genuinely wasn’t arsed about my time. The goal was to help them hit 2:20 and finish not only their first GNR, but also their first Half. In the end, we got over in 2:21. Considering the heat, that was a cracking effort.

The big take away though was the aforementioned enjoyment. I’d started to lose a bit of my love for it in past years. It was also starting to become a bit of an effort. I would train for it but then struggle on the day, get a bit bored of it as an event and a course. Last year though, I think I got the whole essence of it again. It’s a Fun Run. Have fun. And I did.

Now that’s all well and good when you’re running with someone. I had taken all the pressure off myself to hit my Par time or better, so of course I was having fun. Going back to running it on my own was going to be different gravy. Therefore, my plan for the GNR 2024 was simple. Run it comfortably and enjoy it. Easy right? Let’s find out.

Training for this years GNR has gone well. Very well. As you’ll find out in the Christmas Special, 2024 so far has been a Lazarus running year. I’ve PBd the shit out of everything. My fitness has increased, I’m carrying less timber, I’m running quicker. So, the signs are good. A month before the GNR I do my last ‘big’ training run and decide to do the full 13.1. I feel great and smash out a 1:50:24 PB. For context, that’s 5 or 6 minutes faster than my Half times the year before. I wasn’t lying when I said this had been a good year.

In the interests of the ‘fun’ and ‘enjoy’ bit I was going on about, I decide that I won’t be trying to hit that 1:50 pace again. Instead, my plan is to go out and run at a nice comfortable 1:55 pace. Nowt daft. Train hard, run easy.

So, to the day. You may remember my rant about the 2022 start, which they colossally fucked up. That year, they decided it was a really good idea to put everyone on the Town Moor, then get them to squeeze through tiny gates onto the Start. It was a complete shit show, caused bottle necks galore, lots of runners couldn’t get into their allotted pens.

They put the adults back in charge last year and it returned to its usual issue free start. But not content with that, they decided to let the kid who eats crayons and start fires to have another go at organising this years.

‘Hey, Charlie, remember that thing that didn’t work in 2022? Let’s do it again. It’ll work this time. Honest. Pass me another crayon. And a lighter.’

Luckily, I did bother reading this year’s Guide and pre-empted this clusterfuck. So, I decided to go early. Already there were queues to get onto the Town Moor. This happens when you’re trying to squeeze several thousand people through one tiny kicking gate, just like you did in 2022 you clowns. Now, because I got there early, I was able to easily go to the toilet and get stuff on the Baggage buses, granted. However, reading and hearing stories from those that got there just a bit later, both things got far too busy and very painful.

I’m early, I’ve peeded about 17 times, and my stuff is on the bus. So I think, sod it, let’s just get into my Pen. Again, as I’m early, I walk straight through the Orange Wave gate they have set up. In the days after the event, I see some pictures taken of how crowded and dangerous this gate got, with runners trying to squeeze through it.

It didn’t work in 2022, it hasn’t worked in 2024, don’t do it in 2025. Stay away from Crayons.

Now we’re past the bad bits, let’s get to the good stuff! I’m in Orange Wave D. Quite near the front. I’m almost Elite. Not quite. My mate Phil is in Wave B and I spot him through the fencing, so we have a good catch up which kills a bit of time. I then get into my Pen and I’m feeling pretty good. It’s misty. Rain is forecast. You fucking beauty!

Alright, hang on, I know I said that was the end of the bad stuff, but there is one more thing at the start I wasn’t a fan of. I found the atmosphere as flat as a fart. Over the past couple of years they’ve brought onboard Heart FM to do the pre-run entertainment. I’ve nothing against Heart FM, it’s not my bag, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t stick on Heart 90s every so often and sing along to some SVW. But by Christ they are crap at this.

It used to be that once the Starter Gun went, they would blast up-tempo music to keep everyone motivated, while we wait the 30 minutes (or much longer) before getting to the start line. This year, silence. Total silence, other than some tedious Heart FM DJ air filling chats. I counted one of them say ‘look out there at all those smiling faces’ about 30 times. God help those at the back in the Pink Wave.

Anyway, I only have to endure 29 minutes of Smashy and Nicey talking shite and I’m over the line and off. Special mention to my long term Nemesis and local DJ Alan Robson at this point. His shouting of random diseases was missing this year in the Pen. I’ve slagged him off no end for this in the past, but I kind of missed him. I realise just past the line though that he is still doing it, just we now can’t hear him till we get past the Heart FM shit patter lads. He’s a welcome sight for once, apart from the Man Bun. You’re 70 Alan. It’s not a good look mate.

Ah yes, running. Already I feel like this is going to be a good run. I feel loose, have energy, and I’ve already settled into my target pace (8:40ish). That rain that was forecast has started. It’s good rain as well. Not torrential, not cold, no wind. The running Gods are finally looking down favourably on me.

As always, I stay right, so I go over the Central Motorway rather than under it. I’ve written about this in the past, but it’s the best starting side. Not just because it’s the one the Elite prefer either. I’m not trying to be a fat Kipchoge cosplay, there is a sensible reason for it. If you choose left and go under, the GPS on your device goes completely doolaly tap. You have no idea what your pace is. You don’t know whether you’re pushing yourself or walking. This goes on for nearly 2 miles. Up and down like the Mackems. The danger of going out too fast is very real. Stay right, go over kids, ok?

I’m on the Tyne Bridge now and it feels far less congested than usual. I think this is down to having a good starting Pen and getting in fairly near the front of it. It does make all the difference at the GNR. The further back you are, the more crowded the field is. I mean, it’s already crowded at this point, but nowhere near as bad as it will get further back.

So we’re past the fun bit and onto the beige bit. From here to the Coast, it’s dual carriagewaytasticwith lots of small climbs. Flat course my arse. However, it feels different this year. Easier? That’s a bit of a wanky word. More comfortable I would say. It doesn’t seem as hard work as usual. It’s mile 5 and…well…I think I might be enjoying the GNR again.

Despite the rain, the crowds as always are fantastic. They cheer you on, they spur you on, rain or shine, they’re out and they support everyone. I am biased, I was born and raised round here, but we’re great at this. Criticise the GNR all you want. It’s too expensive, yep. Too many people run it, yep. It’s too corporate, yep. They are always trying to find ways to fleece more money out of you by selling tat, yep, yep, yep.

But I will die on a hill defending it as the People’s race. Not just for the crowds, but also for those who take part. It’s the start of so many running journeys (mine included) and its importance to the North East can’t be underestimated. Is it a huge money-making machine? Absofuckinglutely. But I couldn’t give a shite.

Now I’ve got that off my chest, back to the run. My least favourite part of the course is coming up. Mile 9. Anyone who has ever run the GNR before will know this part of the course. It’s the start of the John Reid road. I’ve never really found out who John Reid is. Possibly a masochist if his road is anything to go by.

This is the part of the course where usually I tend to die a little. Physically and mentally. It will be the tester to see if I really am running as well as I think I am. It will be the part of the course that will let me know if I’m going to continue enjoying this till the end.

You take a right turn at the roundabout and suddenly you’re hitting the climb of John Reid road. It’s not a steep climb. It’s just long and constant. It’s a busy part of the course as well. Littered with water stations and toilets, you have to be careful dodging discarded bottles, as well as runners cutting across the course to grab a drink/take a shit. Basically, the Bigg Market on a Saturday night.

I decide to attack it. I know, what an idiot. However, that’s a good sign. I’m not as knackered as I usually am at this point. I start at the bottom. Feel good. Halfway up. I’m still feeling good. Get to the top. By cracky, I’m alive. Not just alive, like not really that tired. I’m going to enjoy the last 4 miles. I’m going to enjoy the GNR.

Even the climb up Prince Edward road before we drop onto the Coast, usually a real slog after the John Reid road has half killed me, is far more bearable than any previous year. I am feeling it a bit, I’m not going to lie. But it’s a good tired, not a fucked tired.

I drop on to the Sea front for the last mile and again, this is the best I’ve ever felt on this last stretch. I even up the pace a bit as I feel like I’ve got it in me. I get over the line in 1:53:47. The quickest I’ve ever run the GNR. I hit the real Half Marathon time in 1:52 ish. So all in all, a good day. I went out with a target pace of 8:40, I managed to keep it comfortable at 8:36.

Now to the most important bit. Eating my weight in shite at the Charity Tent. As always, they put on a cracking spread, and I don’t need a second invite to eat it. Race run. Money raised. Face filled. Job done.

I’m on the Ferry back before you know it and in the house before tea. It really couldn’t have worked out better or gone more to plan. Even my race pictures are pretty good this year. I especially like this one of me BEASTING it over the line at the end.

The only negative? It’s bound to be shitter next year.

The Kielder Half Marathon 2023

July 19, 2024July 22, 2024 notbuilttorunRunning, RunningBlogLeave a comment

‘If it bleeds, we can kill it.’
Dutch, Predator

Let’s start this review off by saying that if you’ve never been to Kielder, you should go. Sadly, I’m not being paid by either the Forestry Commission or Visit Northumberland to say that. However, if they want to send some reward my way for promoting the place, I’m happy to accept Sterling or Euro. I’m not fussy.

For those who don’t know, Kielder is a man/woman made Reservoir and Forest just south of the Scottish Border. Created to provide an increase in demand for water by the Chemical Industry, it’s become much more than that. It’s as scenic as you can imagine a 27 mile circumference lake and 250 square miles of woodland would look. It therefore attracts a lot of visitors and provides loads of activities. Boating, Windsurfing, off-road cycling – it’s even got its own Camp Site and Bird of Prey Centre.

I’ve been coming here for years to do one of the other main activities here – Fish. If my piss taking of the Vegan Runners in past posts hasn’t chased them off, they’ve definitely flounced now. Kielder is full of Rainbow Trout (and some Brown) and I’ve spent many a sunny/windy/rainy weekend sitting by the banks enjoying the peace and scenery. Not for a while though. Tissue grabbing moment, but it was something I used to do with my late Father in Law. After he died I went once, but it wasn’t the same and my heart just wasn’t in it. One day I’ll go back I’m sure.

It just so happens that on a misty October Sunday morning I am back. Not to fish the place, but to run round it for 13 miles. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It’s the Kielder Marathon Weekend. 5k and 10k on the Saturday, Marathon and Half on the Sunday. I’m doing the Half obviously. I’m not nuts.

This is another Allison Curbishley/Steve Cram brainchild, so you know that a running event organised by a company managed by two ex-Olympians should be a well-oiled machine. We’ll find out later that it sort of was. They market the run as ‘Britain’s Most Beautiful.’ I’m sure the Loch Ness organisers are making wanker signs in their direction, but it’s a better tag line that ‘Britain’s Most Muddy’ or ‘Britain’s Most Brutal.’ I don’t think it’s a bad shout anyway.

I live about an hour and half’s drive from Kielder. Feeling that I may not be in the best shape to drive back (a spidy sense that proved correct) I somehow manage to sweet talk my Mother-in-law to give me a lift, with the pretence her and my daughter could hang out. Being a Sunday morning, my wife ‘declined’ the invite. She may be the only sane one in the family.

The other reason I wanted a lift is proved correct as we approach Kielder. There are a lot of cars, and not a lot of places to put them. The Car Park near the start is, as I predicted as I’m a clever shite who’s glass is always half empty, full. So I decide to selfishly jump out and leave the Mother-in-Law to battle for a Parking Space somewhere else. What a guy.

The start itself is by the Dam and it’s about a 10 minute walk on a trail path that we’ll be running on as part of the course. Two things I notice here. I’m walking in the opposite direction and I’m going downhill all the way. The laws of Science therefore dictate it will be uphill on the run. I don’t like that. Secondly, it’s muddy. That I don’t mind too much. Like the running club wanker I have become, I bought myself a pair of trail shoes in preparation for this. Today is the day they pop their cherry. Mud, I am in you.

I reach the Start by the Dam and as expected, there are a fair few hanging about. When I check the results later, there are 754 finishers. That doesn’t sound a lot, but it’s enough to make the queue for the Porta-pissers quite long. The Half starts from here, whilst those nutters who are doing the Marathon are starting further along where we finish.

I’m wearing my club vest and soon spot more of my fellow Poly tribe. We indulge in the usual Running Club patter – the weather and running. Talking of the weather, it’s just right. Cold without being bitter, no wind (a minor miracle for this place I can tell you) and a thick mist. The thick mist makes me chuckle. ‘Britain’s Most Beautiful Marathon’ is taking place on a morning where you can’t see more than 30 yards. Still, I prefer it to that ball of fire in the sky blasting down on me.

I said this would be well organised and, well, we don’t get off to the best of starts. Literally. It’s due to go off at 10:15am, but we get a message over the Tannoy that we’re looking at a slight delay. No reason is given for this, but I’m guessing it’s because lots of people are still trying to get parked. Like my poor Mother in Law.

As it turns out, the delay isn’t too bad. We get started at 10:25am. We’re straight onto the Dam and heading north. It’s that usual congestion you get at a mass participation event, so I’m weaving in and out and my pace is up and down like Katie Price’s knickers.

Once over the Dam, we’re into the first bits of Forest Trails. This is why I wanted to run this Half. It really can make a claim on its ‘Beautiful’ tag line. When you have those romanticised images in your head of running, it’s places like this that you’re dreaming of. Forest, trail and lakeside running in the middle of nowhere. Zen like, if it wasn’t for the other 753 runners around me.

One thing I am noticing, which I expected, is we’re doing a lot of ups and downs. Other club members who’d completed this before told me to expect a ‘slow’ time. Both the ups and downs are quite steep and therefore will naturally reduce your speed and knacker you out. When I check Strava later, my elevation gain is 819 ft. I asked the Google Nest in the kitchen how many Story’s of a building that would be. After she misunderstood me for the fourth time and started playing Madonna’s Immaculate Collection Album, I googled it on my phone instead. It’s 60, if you’re interested.

My pace is certainly slower than usual, but not by too much. Maybe 20 seconds a mile down. To be honest though, I’m really not arsed. I was warned by fellow runners it would be. I also knew coming in this was a ‘tough’ Half, much tougher than a normal Road Half. My goal was simple. Run the whole thing, survive, enjoy. Two of those things definitely happened.

We’ve turned back towards the Dam and I start to come back over it at the 5km mark. So far, so good. The field is very much opening up now and there’s loads of room. Once over the Dam and past where we started, we’re now just following the Trail path on the South side all the way to the Finish, which is still about 9 miles away at this point.

This is where the elevation, ups and downs, and just having to work harder than a road Half start coming into play. I am beginning to feel it. However, it’s also where I’m seeing the benefits of the club sessions. Before joining the club, I didn’t do hills. I would avoid them whenever possible, and any climbs were gradual and over quickly. Then I joined the club, and they made me sprint up them. Multiple times. I can quite confidently say that I only got round this run because of those sessions.

At 7 miles we hit a part of the course I was given the heads up on by several people who had run this before. We’ve just had a mile of some stunning scenery, clear of the trees and overlooking an inlet of water, before dropping down to a small wooden bridge. Once we cross that, I see exactly what everyone was on about.

It’s another climb. But this one is the mother. It’s steep and it’s windy, the warnings and ‘oooo..wait till you see that hill at mile 7’ are not exaggerated. I decide the best form of defence is attack, so just do that. Lord have mercy on my soul. I’m doing ok until it bends harshly to the left, whereby I’m just running through treacle and blowing out of arse.

I’m through it, but I’ve exerted a lot of energy, and the last 6 miles are tough. Every slight up, the kind I was comfortably conquering in the first half of the course, now feel like Tour De France mountains stages. I’m jiggered, as my Nana used to say.

The field has really opened up now and my pace has dropped a bit. Again though, I’m really past giving a shit. It’s all about survival now. We’re continuing to run through some pretty trails, but I’m far too tired to care. I’ve now tagged onto a couple of guys from the Blyth Running Club who’ve done this before and we’re helping motivate each other to the finish. Another runner asks one of them if there are any more climbs left, to which he replies ‘Yeah, a couple more.’ He gets a good natured/passive aggressive ‘FUCK OFF MAN’ in return. It’s how I’m feeling inside at this point to be fair.

I’m almost at 13 miles, but still seem to be in the middle of nowhere. Then suddenly, the end is in sight. I pop out at Leaplish and there are hundreds of people kicking about. This is the first time I’ve seen or heard any crowd support since the Dam, way back at mile 4. We funnel in and I see the Finish Line. Or think I do. Turns out, this is the Start Line for the Marathon.

There must have been quite a few before me just as confused by this, as they have a Marshal who shouts at me ‘Keep going, the finish is round the corner!’ Thankfully, she wasn’t lying.

As I hit the finish I notice the clock is on 1:59:40. I’d completely forgotten or had cared about my time or pace by this point, but dipping under 2 hours seems like a good result for this course. So I put my foot down and turn on the Turbos. I get across in a Chip Time of 1:59:02. That’s a result.

The local Army Cadets are handing out the Goody Bags and Medals and the kid who hands me mine gives me the most unconvincing ‘well done’ I’ve ever had in my life. Cheers fella.

The good news is that Mother In Law did eventually get parked, and they saw me running into the finish so are waiting for me. I am knackered. She asks me if I’ve enjoyed it and I basterdize a quote from Steve Redgrave at her.

‘If you ever see me near this race again, shoot me.’

Hopes and Expectations

January 4, 2024January 4, 2024 notbuilttorun2024, Running, RunningBlog, trainingLeave a comment

‘Are you crying? Are you crying? ARE YOU CRYING? There’s no crying! THERE’S NO CRYING IN BASEBALL!’
Jimmy Dugan, A League of Their Own

Last year’s post where I set my goals for 2023 got pretty deep and philosophical. You’ll be thankful to know there’ll be no such soppy nonsense this year. No, there’s no pissing about this year. After last years queuing up of Draft Posts I never published, this is New Year, New Me hun.

This year I’ve got a real dilemma. 2023 was an excellent year for my running, debatably my best. There is a danger I’ll fill 2024 with the kind of unrealistic bollocks that will take out the enjoyment, whilst setting me up to fail. I mean, where is the motivation in that?

No, this year we’re not going to be setting any high bars. We’re going to limbo into 2024, oiled up, bar on fire, with Cascada’s ‘Evacuate the Dancefloor’ blasting out. Or was that a dream I once had. It doesn’t really matter, the point is – Hopes and Expectations. Things I know are achievable, things I can look forward to doing with no pressure. No running up Mountains, across Deserts, and most importantly of all – no fucking Cross Country.

I give you then, drum roll please, the goals of 2024..

Run 1,000 miles – Having hit just shy of 1,400 in 2023, it would be tempting to have a go at 1,500 in 2024. I tried to work out how much more I would need to do per month to hit that. I think I worked out I would need to add on 12 miles a month. It doesn’t sound too much – break it down some more and it’s 3 more miles a week. But you know the problem? I can’t be arsed.
Run a Half Marathon – As I write, I’m yet to sign up for a Half Marathon. Shocking. I’m not sure why to be honest. I’ve usually got my Charity GNR place by now, but for some reason I’ve just not got round to it. I’m sure I will, let’s just wait for payday (£65 for place in the GNR, scandalous). I’m also flirting with Kielder again, but it went so well last year I worried that it will be shit and I’ll hate it if I do it again.
Run the Brampton to Carlisle 10 miler – The alternative to running a second Half Marathon, is to run this 10 mile race held in November. This one is very tempting, and I nearly did it last year, but was still half dead from Kielder. There are loads of pluses to this race. It’s a new run for me, it’s 10 miles rather than 13, my running club organise a bus there and back, my running club usually go to the pub straight after. I think I’ve probably already talked myself into this one if I’m honest.
Race in the Club Grand Prix – When I first found out my Running Club organised a Grand Prix every year, I was well up for it. Racing round the track at 200mph in a top of the range F1 car, what isn’t to like? Apparently, it’s not that kind of Grand Prix. 8 races run monthly from August to March, this is a well oiled machine of a competition where you compete in Teams of 8 and are handicapped based on your last result. The idea is that everyone finishes at about the same time, with the ‘slower’ runners released first, then the ‘faster’ ones let out to hunt everyone down last. I’m halfway through this years and I’ve enjoyed it far more than I thought. For those wanting to know, my Handicap is that I’m short and fat.
Run on Holiday – In May, I’m off to Zante. No, not Laganas for those of you who know it. I’m far too old for that nonsense. I’ve been to this resort a few times before, but not for a few years. Having successfully ran in Menorca twice, I’ve decided to do the same again in Greece. Well, that’s the plan. Mythos and Moussaka might kill the shit out of it. Just to add to this, I now travel with work (get me) and have been ramming my running gear into my overnight bag. Last year I got out for morning runs in London and Glasgow. I’m possibly, fingers crossed, off to Warsaw with work this year. If I do, you’ve guessed it, Google Maps and finding room for my Trainers…
Yoga Everyday – I’m not getting any younger. I creek. I make noises when I have to bend over to pick something up. Not just bone or joint noises, but noises with my mouth, like the noises my daughter used to make when she was a toddler and trying to concentrate on something. During the Pandemic I did what a lot of people did because they were bored and had too much time on their hands, I tried something new. My something new was Yoga. At first I was like Bambi on Ice, or Shola Ameobi if you ever saw him play (love you Shola). Once I got the hang of it though, I really saw the benefits. One of which was that I was far less sore, creeky, and injured. Now I’m not saying I don’t click like a snapped twig every time I reach for something in the cupboard, but it has definitely helped. Since then, I’ve tried to do Yoga as much as possible. So I’ve decided 2024 is the year of doing a bit every day. I’ll be like Stretch Armstrong by June. Ask your Dad.

Aaaaaaand we’re done. All very positive, all very achievable. Maybe not the Yoga, but God loves a trier.

2024, I am in you.

The 2023 Christmas Special

December 24, 2023January 2, 2024 notbuilttorunChristmas, half-marathon, marathon, Runner, Running, RunningBlog, trainingLeave a comment

‘Oh, oh look, Frank! It’s a toaster!’
The Ghost of Christmas Present, Scrooged

As I write, the weather outside is frightful all right. And not in a roasting chestnuts round an open fire way either. It’s windy and it’s pissing down. Runners Kryptonite. I also think I have COVID, which is so 2020. Well, this is a depressing start to the Christmas special. Ho Ho Fucking Ho.

I’m a glass half full kind of guy though, so I’m not letting the last week of the year put a dampener on what has been a cracking 12 months of running for me. There have been a tonne of positives in 2023, most of which are sitting unfinished in Drafts because I’m too busy/useless to finish them. They’ll be great when they’re finished though, I promise.

Without further or do then, how did those goals I set at the start of the year go? Well..

Update the notbuilttorun website – As predicted, this has gone tits up. Ironically, I’ve had one of my busiest running years ever so lots to write about. But I’ve also had one of my busiest working years ever as well. If this was a school report, it would state ‘must do better.’ In fact, I think most of mine did say that. I was once told in a Work Appraisal that ‘he consistently fails to fulfill his potential.’ I could never tell whether that was a compliment or not.
Run 1,000 miles – Since 2018, I’ve hit the 1,000 miles mark every year. It’s always a nice target that I like to aim for. This year, I finished on 1,365 miles. When I checked back, this is my highest running total of any year ever. No wonder my hip hurts.
Get a PB – Now, I popped this in more out of hope than anything else, but it somehow delivered. Although, this one is more of a ‘sort of’ PB. I ran my fastest ever NT10k back in Easter, in a pretty nifty 51:51 (that’s nifty for me). It also my second fastest 10k ever. So bollocks, I’m claiming it.
Run a Half Marathon – Achieved not once, but twice. I completed the usual GNR in Sept (I’ve decided to take a fallow year of reviewing it) and then also, for the first time, the Kielder Half (review sitting in drafts, gathering dust, to be birthed sometime in 2024). The Kielder Half was both the hardest and most rewarding course I’ve ever run and up there with my greatest running achievements, but more of that in the review to follow.
Run longer than 13.1 miles – Yeah. No. Next year, honest.
Run a Race in a Club Vest – I churned out two runs in a club vest and, say it quietly, it may contain some sort of magical powers. I PBd the NT10k in its first outing (more on that here) and then put in a belter of a run in it at the Kielder Half. I might need to crack it out more often in 2024, although this does increase my club wanker status.
Run on Holiday – As mentioned in my mid year review, I was that sad bastard who took his running gear on a family holiday to Menorca and went for early morning runs. I’m not sure whether to brag or blush about that.

In the main then, pretty positive. Lots of miles, good races, some excellent club sessions, and all done injury free (jinx). I’ve also managed to go for runs in Glasgow and on the London Embankment whilst traveling with work. Again, the club wanker in me is starting to go next level.

With that, it’s time to bask in the glory of 2023 and look forward to 2024. I’ll once again set some goals, but I’ll wait until I’m not off my tits on a combination of COVID, Lemsip and Black Sheep. Just in case I decide in a drugged up haze to set a target of 2,000 miles and sign up for an Ultrarun.

Enjoy your Christmas, however you celebrate or spend it. I’m sure I will, once my sense of taste returns..

The Mid Year Vomit Blog

June 21, 2023June 21, 2023 notbuilttorunReview, Running, RunningBlogLeave a comment

“Look, lady, I only speak two languages. English and bad English!”
Korben Dallas, The Fifth Element

On his excellent Podcast, Richard Herring used the term ‘Vomit Blogging’ to describe his approach to the art. It’s the idea that you just quickly spew out whatever shit is in your head, say ‘bollocks’ to the worry about grammar etc, and just post the fucker. It’s a great analogy. Personally, I would call it ‘Danger Blogging.’ You may be quickly smashing down on paper the unfiltered subconscious genius of an untapped mind, but you also leave yourself open to posting stuff that will get you a label that contains ‘ism’ or ‘phobe’ at the end of it.

Thankfully, being a lefty socialist sandalista, the only thing I ever get hurled at me online is ‘Commie Bastard’, which is just one of the many reasons why I left Twitter (yes, before you say it, I am very much aware this Blog auto posts to my still existing Twitter account). Not because I took offence at the name calling, more that it seems large sections of the population don’t even know what Communism is anymore. If you’re reading and don’t know the difference, here’s a simple explanation I give, usually in a pub, after shit loads of pints: In both Communism and Socialism the Trains would be publicly owned and run on time. But in one of those regimes, many people would have to die for that to happen. That one is the ism I don’t like or endorse. I’ll let you work that out yourself.

Get to the running you Commie Bastard! Bollocks to you, I’m on a Vomit roll.

Since about April I’ve been learning Polish, which is a big challenge for me seeing as historically I’ve always been proper shit at learning any language. I scraped a French GCSE and did Spanish for two years. The only knowledge I retained was how to order drinks from the Bar and ask if there is a Beach near here. Neither of which I use, in case the locals think I’m fluent and chat back to me.

Why Polish? I’ve been in my new role about a year now and, being a Global company, the vast amount of my colleagues who I work closely with happen to be Polish. And their English is embarrassingly good. In fact, they’re probably more fluent in it than me. So, in a clever shite fog, I decided to learn Polish. Many of them warned me in advance about the difficulties of their mother tongue. I thought they were just being nice, trying to make me feel better about how inevitably shit I would be at it. But they were right. It’s solid. I’m trying a bit everyday and getting there slowly. I’m not sure how often the phrase ‘the woman likes bread’ will come up in a meeting. If it does though – boom! – Teams will be full of dropped jaws.

Get to the running you Commie Bastard! Alright, alright.

We’re halfway through the year and where are we with that running thing? Well, pretty good. I’m nicely settled into the running club now. As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, it’s having the impact I thought it would. I’m seeing improvement all round. My tan is cracking for example. I’m currently sitting on 630 miles, well on target to hit the usual 1,000 for the year.

I went on holiday to Menorca in May with the goal of trying to get out for a run every morning. The other goal was to do it without chucking up the previous evenings paella. I was sweating Estrella by day 4, but I felt pretty good. One of the reasons for that is my new found ability to run slow. Before I joined the club, every short run I went out on was an arse breaking quickest possible time one. The result of that would be tiredness, injury, and frankly just not enjoying it anymore. Now that I do quite intense club sessions twice a week, I just can’t physically or mentally push myself hard on the solo runs. It’s a blessing in disguise to be honest.

I now do two ‘recovery’ runs every week where I just go out and run slow. I run at a comfortable pace, I look around, I take in the views and surroundings. Squirrels, trees, discarded shopping trolleys. This is what I wanted when I started attending the club. It wasn’t necessarily about getting fitter or faster, although this has been a bonus, it was about enjoying it again. Deep.

Race wise we’ve got the usual GNR in September. I’m also currently hovering over the Enter button on the Kielder Half Marathon in October. I’m 90% certain I’ll be signing up for it, I’m just working up the bottle. It’s got like hills in it and stuff, which sounds scary and exciting in equal measures.

For those not in the know, Kielder is a huge man made reservoir surrounded by vast forest, just south of the Scottish border. It’s canny scenic. I once cycled around the whole thing – which weirdly is 26 mile – but halfway round we popped into Kielder Castle, where we had a rather nice lunch downed with a pint. I’ve checked the route and race regs, and apparently this isn’t on the itinerary. Bastard.

So, there you go, my first Vomit Blog. Written in one evening and ready to post on the longest day of the year.

Dziękuje za przeczytanie, I would sign this off with, if I ever reach a level where I’m not just putting it in to Google Translate and hoping for the best…

North Tyneside 10k: The Competitive Edition

April 28, 2023 notbuilttorunNorthTyneside10k, Running, RunningBlog1 Comment

“You know what *else* could draw a crowd? A golfer with an arm growing out of his ass.”
Shooter McGavin – Happy Gilmore

North Tyneside 10k anyone? I’ve reviewed this race a couple of times before. It’s my favourite child and I do it every year. Well, except it didn’t happen in 2020 as we were in the middle of a Plague. And I didn’t do it in 2022. I completely forgot to enter it until it was full. I know, what a tit.

It’s a great run. It always takes place on an Easter Sunday, which means it’s part of a long weekend off work. Afterwards, I usually reward myself with a big Lunch and shit loads of Chocolate. It’s what Jesus would have wanted.

This year though is going to be slightly different. I’m running, for the very first time, in the Club Vest. Fully fledged Club Wanker. I’m not actually sure how I feel about this. I’ve always seen Club Vests as a target on someone’s back. I’ll hold my hands up here, if I pass someone in a Club Vest, I absolutely love it. The pointless satisfaction I get from it is like no drug you’ll ever take. I am very much aware that this year non-club runners will be eyeing me up with the same blood lust and sense of smarm.

Of course, I need a Club Vest first. Getting my hands on one was very much an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm. It involves a Club Shop that is open for approximately 3 and half minutes two days a week, staffed by a lady who appears to have sniper rifles pointed at either herself or close family members.

The Vest saga sorted, it’s race day. The first bit of good news is that the weather is going to be perfect. Cloudy, dry, and with a decent coldish tail wind. Beautiful.

The run always starts at the Parks Leisure Centre in North Shields. This is technically an area called the Meadowell, a rather ropey council estate famous for rioting in the 90s. I like to think they start it there as motivation to run as fast as you possibly can away from it. As a Shields boy, I’m allowed to say that.

Usually, pre Club Wanker days, I would mull around the start pretending to stretch, stink eyeing the Vegan Runners, and basically try to remain as inconspicuous as possible. This year though, like flies to shit, we’re all drawn together by our vests. I’ve been a member for 7 months now, so I do know the odd body to talk to. Whilst not fully in the inner circle of the greater good, I am welcomed slightly into the fold to join in the usual pre-race shit run craic. What time you aiming for, the weather, any niggles, the weather again, etc.

This year they’ve changed where the start line is, as well as the route itself for around the first half mile. I knew about this in advance and approve of both. Rather than start right outside the Parks then head towards the town centre, dodging traffic islands and zombie locals off their tits on Spice, we’re going to start on a side road that takes us straight down to the Fish Quay.

It’s a bit tight as the road isn’t as wide, so I kind of get squashed in with the crowd and realise I’m in a crap position. It reminds me of the time I got right in the middle of the mosh to see Ocean Colour Scene and really needed a piss. I won’t tell you how that story ends. Anyway it’s 10am, and we’re off.

This new start also means we avoid Borough Bank, an extremely steep hell of a hill that usually drops us down on the Quay. I climb this bank following every Great North Run after getting off the Ferry and usually want to die around a quarter of the way up it, looking and sounding like Arnie in that scene from Total Recall when he’s on Mars with no oxygen.

I know what you’re thinking, this prize prick is complaining about running downhill. Is he nuts? Not when the gradient is so steep that one wrong foot will have you cartwheeling into the Tyne minus your ankle ligaments. I’m not a masochist. Or a member of Diversity.

Instead, we’re going to drop down a much calmer and wider road. Lovely. We hit mile 1 and I clock that my pace is pretty good – 8:21. I like that. I nod to myself in approval and seemingly outwardly to the guy next to me. He looks at me a bit scared and sprints off.

I also pass one of my neighbours at this point, and in one of the most Accidental Partridge things I’ve ever done, fist bump him. Jesus wept. A week later, this still wakes me up screaming at 3am and I can now never interact with him again.

It’s time for my first decision. Stay at that pace or slow it down? We hit the Prom to head towards Tynemouth and this option is cruelly snatched from me. There are a lot of bodies about and I’m boxed in. I think about windmilling people, channelling myself as a little tank whilst I smash people out the way like a fat Richard Ashcroft. Maybe not. My pace drops to 8:41.

Later, when I check the results, there are just over 1,800 finishers. That’s about 400 or so more than usual years and it feels like it. Still, can’t be helped. This is the NT10K, not Olympic Qualifiers. Whilst it’s a little frustrating, it’s not the end of the world.

The 2 mile mark also coincides with the worst/challenging/shittest part of the course, the climb from the River to the Sea Front. I always compare this bit to a battlefield. Screams of pain, bodies everywhere, runners telling their buddies dramatically to ‘leave me, you go on and finish’. This year is no different. It’s a swine, but I always seem to get up it without stopping. Selfishly, I also like this part as it opens up the course and I’m no longer boxed in. I like to think of it as one of the rounds in Squid Games.

4 mile left, I’ve done the hill, I’m at the Coast at Tynemouth, the wind is on my tail. Previously I’ve mentioned that I have a setting in a race called ‘Fuck It Mode’. I like to think this is self-explanatory. In my head I say ‘Fuck It’ and then up the pace. The CBeebies version is ‘Beast Mode.’ I shout this out loud several times to other runners around me whilst beating my chest. Not really.

Rather than having more regrets than the morning after a night spent posting on social media drunk, the ‘Fuck It’ strategy is going well. This seems quite fast for me. I run the last 5k in 24:34. I don’t run a normal 5k as quick as that, never mind the second half of a 10k. I’m going fast and comfortable.

Passing the Spanish City is usually the stage at which I start to tire. Not this year. In fact, a picture taken by someone from the club at exactly this point appears below as Exhibit A that I ran it and didn’t get a backer off a mate.

The finish is always on the road that leads to the Lighthouse. I take the right turn and notice they’ve moved it back about 100 yards, the absolute swines. This is probably due to the start changing and the organisers realising it had knocked some of the distance off. That’s fair enough. There is no angrier beast than the runner robbed off a PB because someone measured the distance short. People lose their shit.

I cross the line and another first happens. The bloke doing the shit craic on the mic mentions me by name. Wha? Apparently this is another ‘perk’ of being a Club Wanker. They spot a vest, check your number from their huge list, read your name out. I kind of miss being anonyous. Disco Stu does not advertise.

I stop my watch and this feels like a good time. It is. 51:51. That’s a 10k PB. Even better news, my Chip Time comes in at 51:47 to give me 4 more seconds. Personally I think that latter time is lies. I started and stopped my watch bang on the timing mats. Still, 51 seconds off my previous PB. Have it. Even better, the distance was slightly further than 10k. A further dip into the stats shows that I hit the EXACT 10k mark in 51:16.

I’ll be honest, I’m surprised but not surprised. 7 months turning up twice a week for sessions at the running club I hoped, but never assumed, would push me my running up a notch. And well, it has. I’ve run a race faster than I ever have before. This is no coincidence or fluke.

Something else to mention here as well. I notice that I feel surprisingly great. I didn’t feel uncomfortable or struggled coming in, even with the push of the extra pace. I recover pretty quicky, I’m not really out of breath and I’m certainly not knackered. In fact, I’m kind of annoyed with myself that I didn’t push myself harder to try and duck under 50 mins. Who would have thunk it.

All that is left to do is pick up this year’s horrendous bright yellow race top. In the Winter, it will be great as a hi-viz. In the Summer, every Insect in the area will be landing on me. To book end this nicely, I spot some of my fellow club runners and join in the post race shit craic. How did you do, happy with it, the weather again.

Then it’s time to walk back home. I have an epiphany during this. You could break 50 minutes you know, if you worked a bit harder. So, it’s on. The 49:59 challenge is on. Straight after my Easter Egg demolition. Obviously.

Favourite Runs: 4 Villages and the Sea

February 14, 2023January 2, 2024 notbuilttorunNorth Tyneside, Northumberland, Running, RunningBlog, St. Mary’s Lighthouse, Whitley BayLeave a comment

‘Fortune and glory, kid. Fortune and glory.’
Indiana Jones, Temple of Doom

According to Strava, as of February 2023, I’ve completed 1,977 individual runs. Jesus. Pre-2014 I was on Runkeeper (remember that? It’s now the MySpace of running apps) so the total figure since I started recording mileage is probably nearer 23 hundred million or something. Point is, that’s a lot.

I’ve met a few people over the years who’ve told me they tried running but gave up as they found it boring. Unlike team sports, or even going to the Gym, running can be a pretty lonely place. Basically, I buy the ‘boring’ argument. In the same conversation I’ll also get asked how do I counter the tediousness of running anywhere between 25 minutes and a few hours. ‘Variety is the Spice of Life’ I’ll say, while my colleague looks at me like I’ve got a turd on my head.

Lots of different routes is what I’m trying to say. Hardly brain surgery or trying to work out today’s Wordle is it? Although personally I’m a daily player of Lewdle instead. I once got ’Minge’ in one. Anyway, if I just ran the same route every day I’d be bored shitless. More bored than watching all of the Fast and the Furious franchise back to back. Actually, even one of the fuckers.

Over the years I’ve planned and tried routes that were great, some that were blatantly a bad idea half way round, and others that were put together months in advance with military precision using Google Maps and no social life.

Some have become real regulars, like old friends, ‘Go To’ routes when I need to get out of a running rut or I can’t be arsed to plan ahead that far. I’ve therefore decided to do a series on the best (lucky fucking you) starting with my absolute favourite child. This one I’ve called ‘Four Villages and the Sea’, because basically I couldn’t think of anything cleverer to call it. And when you upload the GPS, it sadly doesn’t look like anything rude or funny.

The great thing about this route is that I can do 3 slightly different versions of it dependent on how arsed I can be. It’s either 10 mile (can’t be arsed) 11.5 mile (slightly more arsed) 13.1 mile (beast mode). Seeing as the Half Marathon Beast Mode covers all three, we’ll concentrate on that.

The first part of the run is pretty urban, and I don’t mean the Stormzy grime version of it. This is middle class suburbia at its dullest. I think the most exciting thing that ever happens on this part is during May-July, when the Seagulls nest and completely lose their shit when you run into their ‘area.’ I’ve never taken a direct hit from one of these flying rats, but only because I have the reflexes of a Puma.

Next we’re into Earsdon. Briefly. A once small farming community, now just a collection of nice old stone houses. When we were house hunting, my wife and I went to look at a ‘Cottage’ here. That sounds romantic, but you literally couldn’t swing a cat in it. I know because I took ours with me to test it.

Now we’re heading into some countryside. Well, we’re surrounded by fields for about a mile. It’s a long straight road into our next stop which is Holywell. Holywell is famous for its Dene, called Holywell Dene you sarcy bastards. The Dene is lovely but not somewhere I run a lot. As it’s a Dene it has steep sides to get in and out of it. I’m classing those as Hills. It’s also a quagmire of mud 8 months of the year and you don’t want to see my wife angry when I pop back with half a field attached to my soles.

Holywell is then absorbed by the larger Seaton Deleval, home of the infamous Deleval family. More on them in a bit. It’s all gone a bit ‘Urban’ again and Deleval is a bit rougher, but it’s hardly the home of the Mexican Cartel.

We’re now heading into Village No 3 and probably the most interesting of all – New Hartley. Historically a Mining community, in 1862 the biggest Pit Disaster in the World occurred here, when 204 men and children perished after becoming trapped underground. I grew up in a neighbouring Pit Village with all the men two generations above me old pitmen, so knew the details of this story before I could even count to 10.

You would never know as I run through this quiet village now. All signs of the Pit are long gone, other than a small memorial garden at the site of the Shaft. There was a bit of a local stink a few years ago, when the council sold off the land above the exact spot where the Miners were trapped to a Housing Developer. Common sense prevailed. Did it shite. Money talked, and now that field is another identikit New Build Estate. I’d make old pits National Monuments, but I would say that.

The Hester Pit Memorial Garden. Sadly, the view facing it is now a shite New Build Estate.

We leave New Hartley but we’re still on the History trail. Next stop – Seaton Deleval Hall – once home of the Deleval family. Hedonistic party animals of the 17th and 18th Century, if the stories are to be believed. The National Trust own the Hall now, where I’m sure they tell visiting children the more vanilla stories, and not the ones that involve hookers, donkeys, and coke.

This is also my favourite part of the run and the bit I try to savour. We’re still surrounded by fields, but as we’re going downhill (woo-hoo!) towards the coast so for the first time the sea is also now in view. On a clear day, I can also glance to the left and see the Cheviots. Honestly, play me some Elgar and I’ll be balling my eyes out.

We hit the coast and sadly Ladies and Gents what comes down must go up. I’m into Village 4 – Seaton Sluice – and now it’s a straight run South hogging the shoreline to get back to Whitley Bay, concrete jungle where dreams are made from. And. unfortunately, the first mile of it is all uphill.

I’ve mentioned my ‘love’ of hills in past posts. However, I don’t mind this climb too much. One reason, I’ve done it a lot, so I’m convinced good old muscle memory – if you believe in such mumbo-jumbo – means this hill in particular is less of a ball ache. The other is the view. This climb runs right alongside the coastline, Collywell Bay to be exact, so take a look to the left and you’ve got nothing but the sight and sound of the North Sea. In the Summer, on a hot day, the breeze that comes off the sea here can be a refreshing and natural cool down as you slog your way up. In the Winter, it can be an absolute howling bastard.

At the very top of the hill you reach The Deleval Arms, a tempting place to pop in to at this point after the hill has you wankered. Two random facts about this pub. The first is, I used to be able to see it from my living room window even though I lived about 3 and half miles away as the crow flies, such is the height of the hill it’s on plus the fact I backed on to green belt. The 2nd is that there is a big fuck off boulder right in front of it. The Blue Stone of Old Hartley to give it it’s proper name.

The reckon this stone used to the boundary stone for the original Saxon Village that sat here. The villages at the time thought touching it kept you clear of the Plague. Rumors that during the Pandemic people were out giving it a daily stroke are unconfirmed. The other legend around the stone is that renowned local 17th Century ‘Strongman’ William Carr is the only man who has been able to lift it. Think of a Vitamin C deprived Geoff Capes. Random fact – my wife met Geoff Capes as a kid in the 80s. She has no amusing anecdote to go with it sadly, other than a picture I’m not allowed to publish.

One last fact about the stone in the picture above – it isn’t actually the real Blue Stone. It’s a replica. Too many pissed up wannabe Brock Lesnars keep trying to lift it in the Dutch courage/sense lost haze of 12 pints. The original, and keep this to yourself, is in the pub car park hidden amongst other stones. Shhh.

After that climb the good news is we’re into our last couple of miles and the rest of the way is flat as a fart. We’ve dropped off road onto the coastal path and we’re about to pass the Jam in Whitley Bay’s Doughtnut – St. Mary’s Lighthouse. It’s iconic, and everyone in the town is obsessed with it. You’ll see Lighhouses everywhere. In Gardens, on Mantlepieces, Stain Glass Windows. When I did a bit of self employed work, I even added it to my Invoice Header. You’ll also see lots of messages on social media from some of the more mature residents of the Bay wringing every week that it needs a wash/lick of paint. IT’S IN THE NORTH FUCKING SEA. It gets lashed by dirty waves and shit on by those aforementioned flying rats every day man. You’d need to clean it every morning. Jesus wept.

People mostly view the Lighthouse from the town to the South, but I always think the view coming in over the cliffs from the North is better. It’s where it looks like it’s in the middle of nowhere, as a Lighthouse should be, plus if you time it right in the morning the Sun rises just behind it.

Play some atmospheric music whilst looking at this and thank me later.

As soon as the coastal path ends, the town of Whitely Bay starts. From here, it’s a simple run along the path by the main coastal road until I drop onto the start of the Lower Prom. I’m now literally at Sea Level and follow the Prom all the way to it’s end at Watt’s Slope, around 3/4 of a Mile. Although, depending on the weather and how fit I am, this can feel like a horrible 5k where I just want to die. For any Parkrunners amongst you, this is also a section of the Whitely Bay Parkrun. Again, if the weather is great then this is a beautiful stretch to run. If it’s shit, then this will be a world of cold, wet pain. I finish at the end of the Prom and we’re done. Half Marathon. Piece of piss.

And there you go. You’ve learnt shit loads there. Win a Pub Quiz with some of that. One thing you will notice from the map above – there is a gap between where I start and where I finish. Why? Because I really can’t be arsed to run uphill back to home. I’ve just run a Half Marathon man, what else do you want?

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