This should be a much more structured and typical week of training. No ‘extra’ work or life stuff to get in the way. More importantly though, I’ll get proper rest in between sessions, something I didn’t have the luxury of during week 1.
On Monday my legs are a little stiff and tired, but nothing to write home about. I’m glad of the rest, and in the evening get in my Yoga and Weights sessions. I feel that Weights session on the legs a bit, but again, nowt major. Although my evening is somewhat spoilt by the news that we have a potential weather warning for the coming weekend. Oh fucking goody.
Tuesday is Speed session at the club. My 4 mile warm up is proper ploddy. Leggy and lethargic. We’re doing Up and Downs for the club tonight – fast with recovery jogs. I’m not feeling it when I arrive, but as soon as I start, I feel good. All the tiredness disappears, and I complete the reps with no problem at all. I do over 10 miles in all and mentally, it’s been a good night.
When I get up Wednesday morning, I’m feeling a little stiff, especially in my right Achilles. For a few years, I had lots of problems with it. I used to call it my ‘grumbling Achilles’. Early last year though, it suddenly cleared up. This is the first time I’ve ‘felt’ it in quite a while.
By the time I pop out for my easy 5 miler in the evening, it’s settled down. Something to certainly keep an eye on. The weather warning has been upgraded to Amber, all day Friday, gale force winds. Thoughts and prayers for my roof.
It’s Intervals time again on Thursday. For this, I’m heading to an estate quite near me, one of those nice middle class estates where cars and people only go if they actually live there. Quiet and safe, it’s a perfect spot.
Looking back at week 1, I realised that I ballsed up my first go at Intervals in Glasgow. I went far too fast, and epically failed to stay in threshold pace for most of it. Which kind of defeated the point of them.
My threshold should be between 142-159bpm. Last week I went over that for the majority of the intervals. Tonight, I’m keeping an eye on it. Look at the below. Magnificent, isn’t it. Starting to get the hang of this slowing down malarkey.
Did someone say Threshold?
With warm up, intervals, and cools down, it’s another 9.5 miles. I don’t feel tired at all though. It’s another morale boosting training session in the locker. I’m sure in 3 or 4 weeks time, I’ll be saying the complete opposite.
Friday is clusterfuck weather day. The wind is going to be nuts all day, but at 7am is less nuts. So the plan on Thursday night when I go to bed is to get up, assess it, then decide whether I can get out for my 4 mile easy run.
The wind gives me proper PTSD. In 2021, a storm took part of my roof off. Since then, every weather warning involving wind gives me a twitch.
When I get up it doesn’t seem that bad, so I risk it, heading south into it. There’s a hill halfway through, so I get my 10×10 second reps in, then hit 2 miles and turn. The wind suddenly starts to pick up, but I’m heading North now with it on my tail. Clever shite me. The storm eventually pisses off later that day, but leaving me 2 tiles short on my roof. Bastard.
Saturday’s choice, I can rest or run a short threshold paced run. It’s my mother’s birthday, she lives 2 miles away, so I decide to have a gentle plod up there and back to see her.
Whilst Storm Whatdoyoucallit has buggered off, it’s still a bit windy, and the head wind heading to her house is constant and awful. However, I again feel like I’m starting to teach myself to stay in Threshold instead of pushing too hard.
‘It’s just another Threshold Saturday‘
I also feel really good when I get back. I thought there might be more tiredness setting in by this stage, but I’m feeling in a good place to attack a slow 12 miler tomorrow. However, that’s not for another 24 hours, so means diddly shit at this point.
Sunday morning comes around and, whilst it’s only 2c outside, at least it’s not really, cold, icy, or windy out there. I need a break from the shit weather on my long runs, I’m bored of it.
There is a bit of a frost, granted, but not the black ice arm breaker we’ve had the last two weekends. Again, the first 6 miles are a bit of a slog. I’m running slow, but I just can’t stay in aerobic, instead drifting into very low threshold. I feel good though.
I take a gel at 6 mile as planned, and suddenly the run changes. I speed up a tiny bit, but my heart rate stays low. Miles 6 to 12 are quite enjoyable. I’m in a rhythm, keeping it high aerobic/low threshold, and my pace of 9:30 is where I want to be.
I complete the last two miles on the sea front, and remember one of the reasons that in usual times I don’t run on a Sunday. It’s full of fucking runners. They’re everywhere. Solos. Doubles. Trios. Big groups of the fuckers. EVERYWHERE. It’s like runners rush hour.
I finish my run down there, 12.2 miles, in a nice time of 1:55. It’s about 50/50 between aerobic and low threshold, so I’ll take it. My Garmin likes it a lot, knocking another 5 mins off my Marathon race predictor.
Week 2 down, another 45 miles in the locker. I feel pretty good, not just physically, but also mentally. It’s hard work, but I’m following the plan and ‘coping’.
Next week will be more of a test. My long run is a 16 miler, but I feel confident approaching it. The next few weeks will be the start of the body creaking and the mind doubting. Strap in.
“It’s 106 miles to Chicago. We’ve got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark, and we’re wearing sunglasses.”
Elwood Blues, The Blues Brothers
So, it begins. I know. Another wanker chronicling his Marathon training. Big wow. Bore off. I get it, I don’t blame you. This one, the first one, will also be the longest. I’m really not selling this.
However, for my own sanity I’ve decided to record how training is going. When it’s good, when it’s shit, when I feel like I’ve made a huge mistake.
Getting it down on ‘paper’ I’m hoping will help the process. It’s a chance for me to take a breath and reflect, maybe give myself a potentially much needed ra-ra speech.
Most importantly of all, I’m hoping I’ll be able to look back at these when it’s all over and laugh. Even at the parts where I’m blatantly crying for help.
My coach at the club is sending across my plan in 4 week blocks. The idea being, I don’t look ahead to week 9 now and shit myself. It’s a good strategy. I like it. My original plan with the blogs was to make them 4 weekly, but halfway through week 2 I noticed I was writing a novel. So, weekly it will be.
There’s your foreword, now let’s get cracking.
WEEK 1: JAN 13TH – 19TH
If ever there was a reminder that this is going to be far simpler on paper than reality, then welcome to Week 1. I have picked one of the shittest weeks to start training.
Usually, my life is pretty boring and routine focused, which is absolutely fine by me. I’ve massively cut down my alcohol consumption over the past few years, so other than a match day I’m not one for popping to the pub with my cat and a copy of the Racing Post.
This week though.
The lead up to the week is also not as I planned. I pop out for my usual long run on Saturday morning, my last before I switch to a Sunday. I decide to go out on a bang and try a Half. We’re in a cold snap, and there’s a ground frost, but all very runnable.
I get on the Wagonway and I feel great. My pace is pretty good, and mentally this is going to set me up nicely for the weeks ahead. I leave the Wagonway at Percy Main and, suddenly, everything changes. It’s a little bit slippier. It appears to have turned from frost into ice.
I head into Shields and this is getting worse, to the point where I’ve moved onto the roads. Although, they aren’t much better.
Then it happens.
I feel my feet go and I slide majestically on my arse along the path. I’m not hurt at all. I actually did this gracefully and quite magnificently if I don’t say so myself. The biggest plus though, is that there is no one around to see it.
I decide to continue running but to slow down. Round the corner, a car has skidded into the side of a truck. Everyone is ok, but it’s now obvious that there is black ice everywhere. I run on a little bit further, but after another close arse falling call at just shy of 9 miles, I call the whole thing off. I’m only three stops from home on the Metro so, safety first, I tip toe to the Station.
Disappointing, but these things happen. Hilariously, on my way to the Metro, a lady walking her dog slips. I go to check she’s ok, and she is, but then her dog bites me. Right on the fucking thigh. She’s very apologetic, but it absolutely knacks. Whilst it doesn’t draw blood, and I am wearing shorts and tights which probably help cushion it, it does leave quite a mark and a bruise.
It’s just not my morning.
Monday though starts well enough. Mondays are going to be ‘rest days.’ When I say rest, I mean no running. Instead, I have to work on my core strength. I already do a 30 minute online Yoga session every Monday evening. For the next 16 weeks, I’ll be adding on a 30 min weights session straight after.
I found a great ‘Runners Core Strength’ workout on the Nike App which I tried during the Christmas break. It was hard work but good work. Seeing as my upper body strength is as weak as a kitten, anything that involves weights is hard to me. I plan to also do this set on a Friday evening. I’ll be jacked like the Ultimate Warrior by May man.
Tuesday’s are going to be my only Club session of the week. I’ll be missing Thursdays and off doing Thresholds somewhere else. Tuesday is also my only speed session where I’m allowed to run fast. The biggest difference is going to be that I have to do a 3-4 mile warm up beforehand.
Surprisingly though, I really enjoy this first higher mileage Tuesday. I do a nice 3 mile plod and finish at the club, do another mile with everyone else, then a 400m rep session on the track. This is actually the best Track session I’ve had in months. I feel really strong. If every Tuesday is like this I’ll be delighted.
Wednesday is the start of where it gets a bit ‘complicated.’ I’m off to the match in the evening, so I get up to do my session pre work in the morning. It’s a 5 mile easy run. I’m not very good at ‘easy’ runs. I find it a bit of a slog, probably caused by not having the recovery time. But needs must.
Early Thursday I’m on a train to Scotland for work. It’s a team catch up and meal, but I’ve already decided that I’m not going to drink. What a boring bastard.
Thursdays are possibly going to be the most painful run of the week – Intervals. For this first session, I have to hit 10 x 4 min threshold intervals, with 2 min recoveries between. That can be a static rest, walk, or jog.
I know Glasgow fairly well now, so I’ve already planned where to complete this. Down by the Clyde, there is a perfect rectangular route that I can do, crossing two bridges. Clear, not many pedestrians, no roads to cross. Perfect.
Intervals are probably my least favourite training sessions. They feel like they go on forever. This one is no different. The route does turn out to be as perfect as I thought it would be, but it’s a slog on my own. I jog the recoveries, I find static recoveries don’t help me.
Intervals by the Clyde.
Friday morning I’m up early and outside the hotel by 6am. I need to complete 4 easy miles, with 10 x 10 second hills somewhere during it. The hotel is right next to a hill, so I decide to get those hills out the way early. They actually feel ok. The 4 easy miles though really are easy. I’m knackered. I head out to Celtic Park and back, then have the good old Premier Inn buffet breakfast. Burp.
Paradise
Saturday I’m back home and it’s a change of routine I’ll need to get used to. No long runs on a Saturday. Instead, it’s a 5k threshold. I then go to the match, where Newcastle are utter shite, and like a good lad curtail my drinking as I know it’s long run time tomorrow.
Sunday morning is cold and icy. Bollocks. The cold I’ll deal with, the ice though can fuck right off. It’s a baptism of fire, as I have to do 14 miles at aerobic pace. At this juncture, I’m still not 100% sure what I’m aiming for Marathon time wise. I mean, my plan is set around a time, but I think I’ve been overly cautious.
Nevertheless, I go out for my slow 14 and the first 6 miles are a struggle mentally. I feel like I’m going at a glacial pace and that this is going to take forever. Those 6 miles seem to tick over slowly, even though my pace is actually slightly faster than it probably should be. Learning to slow down will come I’m sure, but early doors it’s hard getting my head around it.
The last 7 miles or so are ok though. I’ve settled into it, avoided most of the awful ice, and I finish up in 2:15. Not too shabby. I feel great as well, like I didn’t push myself hard, and when I finished I more than felt like I could have gone on.
Happy 2025. Proper sounds like we’re in the future now. Which isn’t great, as most of the futures I imagine are from watching far too many dystopian sci-if films. We’ll soon either be wiped out by a Virus, something from Space, or by machines and AI of our own making. 5 years ago we would have scoffed at those predictions.
In the Christmas Special, the overriding theme was that 2024 was an exceptionally good running year for me. PBs galore, I felt like I had really levelled up.
Halfway through the year, when I was starting to run well and see improvements, I made a rather impulsive decision. One that I said I would never do.
I signed up for a Marathon.
I started running ‘properly’ back in the late 2000s for reasons I’ve already written about. Since then I’ve ran a lot, and all sorts of distances. 5ks, 10ks, 10 milers. I think I’ve worked out that I’ve completed the Half Marathon distance nearly 40 times.
But never a Marathon. There is a good reason for that. I’ve never wanted to. Let’s face it, Marathons are different gravy. The jump from 5k to 10k isn’t that massive when you think about it, same with 10k to Half.
Half to Full Marathon though, that’s huge. Physically and psychologically. It’s another double figures of miles you have to find. You have to think about a training plan and fuelling. There are no shortcuts and no hiding. You can’t just rock up having put in half arsed preparation.
With all that in mind, I’ve always talked myself out of doing one. I don’t have time, I don’t have the fitness, it’s not fair on the family, and most importantly of all, I don’t want to make myself look like a tit by failing.
Now the next thing I’m going to say might upset some people. It’s not the Vegans this time either. Are we ready?
Marathons are Running events. Not participation events.
Call me a traditionalist, but they were designed to be RUN. They have cut off times for a reason. Before anyone starts shouting at me, people turning up for Parkrun and walking is absolutely fine. That’s kind of what Parkrun is about. Marathons though, no.
The point is, I didn’t want to attempt one until I thought I could run the whole distance. Which is why it’s now or never, do or die, shit or bust.
I won’t have a better opportunity than now. I’m running so well, with a great base to start from, and part of a club where I can get good, solid support, advice and coaching, I’d be nuts not to give it a crack. No pun intended.
I’m not getting any younger either. I will hit my mid 40s in 2025. I’m under no illusions that very soon things are going to get harder, things are going to start niggling. Things might even start to fall off.
So, May the 4th 2025, I’m off to run 26.2 miles around Belfast. 16 weeks of training begins January 13th. All my eggs are in one basket. Nowt else matters this year, there are no other goals. Get the training done, get to the starting line, hit my target time.
Hopefully in June I’ll be looking back and laughing at what all the fuss was about. Or something might have fallen off after all.
So Happy New Year, attack 2025, and do whatever makes you tick.
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..
“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.
Ghetto Wall Boundary Markers
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.
Tomb of the Unknown Soldier
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.
Vistula River sunrise.
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.
The Old Town Walls
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.
Bridge looking back South to the City
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.
The Stadion Narodowy
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.
”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.
“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.
Free photo tastic
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.
Beast
The only negative? It’s bound to be shitter next year.
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.
Dam!
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.’
‘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.
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..
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