A neon stream of happy, painted carnival clowns.

  • Saturday, May 28, 2016
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So as we walked through fields of green
Was the fairest sun I'd never seen
And I was broke I was on my knees
But you said yes as I said please
(Marcus Mumford)

You put on a good race Richard my old son, yes Sir, a good race indeed with organization as slick and professional as a travelling rock n roll cowboy's light show. The good race was the inaugural Chislehurst Half Marathon, a long overdue event run in aid of a local charity called the Maypole Project. This charity supports children who have complex medical needs and their families, I have more than a passing interest as some of my colleagues and parents have benefited from their work.
I walked up to the start in the local Football ground with my second son, an 11 year old with a wise head and a thirst for experience and knowledge. He talks a lot too. Together we grabbed race number 49 and pinned it to my drab olive shirt. Together we sipped water and watched the crowd build. We watched the frolic of the official warm up but took no part. Together we jogged up and down the field, me to shake off my pre race nerves and he because he is my loyal friend. When Richard squawked and croaked through the PA system I went alone to my starting pen to find a GPS signal and have the inevitable discussion about my Five Fingers before we all shuffled across the timing strip and started the race, a neon stream of happy painted carnival clowns.
If this run was a Mumford and Sons song it would be Not Without Haste, a song of freedom and hope and lessons learnt. A song about making the most of our lives and our opportunities, filled with the usual riotous banjo and yearning vocals;
"So we will run and scream,
You will dance with me
Fulfill our dreams, and we'll be free.

We will be who we are,
And they'll heal our scars.
Sadness will be far away."

That was my race strategy, to run at peace with myself, be myself and enjoy every moment especially the trail sections along paths that I have run and loved through the years. I was noticeably stronger off road, more assured, intuitive and light. God and the day were kind to us, it was warm, sunny and the trails were dry. I felt no pressure especially in the first two miles when it is easy to go out faster than is wise. I can confirm the race being tough, the course design both Machiavellian and ingenious with plenty of hills. I was never bored. I think my strategy mostly worked too, I took time to drink at the water stations and walked the last hill. I smiled at people and thanked them for their support. I took jelly babies from kids even if I didn't want them and yet...and yet the last two miles hurt and I missed out on a sub 2 hour finish by two minutes, I just didn't pay enough attention to my watch. It's not a big deal because I enjoyed the race so much. Next time.
Thanks to My family, the organisers and the fantastic marshals especially James and Sarah D. Also those runners who endured my conversation and the bearded man sitting as grave as a garden gnome in the middle of his front lawn, great support makes a huge difference.

A great and worthwhile medal, #49 and tatty Vibrams

I'm not picking my nose, I'm drinking.

Eventual winner Lee Rogers (um, above)

The race photo's are not mine, I don't know who the photographer was but whoever you are, thanks.

Shoe Goo, rubber patches, strips of plastic cut from a Milk carton and Stormsure adhesive

  • Sunday, May 08, 2016
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I'm writing this in my modest garden. I'm dressed as I would be in Africa, barefoot and in shorts. I should probably have a cold Chibuli next to me but I don't. There is a Cherry Blossom tree in the next garden and in it is an invisible bird. This is Summers first kiss, hot and hazy and full of promise, the breeze filled with erupting seed and clumsy butterflies. The last few weeks have been marked by chilly early morning runs, scampering through the woods with the Woodpeckers silent but the birdsong continuous and pure.
The Bluebells are out and riotous which is an obligatory mention for any self respecting trailrunner as well as Wild Garlic, wood anemones, ninja brambles and bastard Stinging Nettles. There must be a high pollen count too because I run with the sniffles, snorting like a cocaine addict desperate for their next fix.
My routine is continous and established apart from the occasional foray into other Woodland areas during holiday periods, workclothes folded into my bag, an early breakfast and a mug of Rooibos tea, grab a satellite signal and off I go in my extremly tatty Five Fingers.
The latter are becoming a cause for concern, I have to patch them with strips of Duct Tape before every run as they are literally falling apart. I've tried so many solutions to keep them going including Shoe Goo, rubber patches, strips of plastic cut from a Milk carton and Stormsure adhesive. I have a new pair on order but Vibram keep pushing the release date back frustrating me greatly. Which brings me to this:
What the hell is going on here? Looking for socks to run in this afternoon brought me to my knees. Five socks, all right foot and not a single complete pair. It must be the left foot sock thief. I have no rational explanation for this, the lefties have vanished into thin air. Gone.