Back to life, back to reality

This week saw something of a return to a more usual pattern.  A lack of races, and a focus on distance ahead of the Fling, has seen my normal 5 or 6 runs per week drop to more like 3 - club nights, a long one at the weekend, and plenty of rest and eating to fill in the gaps.  If anything, the aggregate distance has actually been a little down.

The novelty of light evenings hasn't worn off yet, and we excitedly reviewed our Tuesday club night options.  The decision was made to do the Doon Hill 10 miler route, but to do it in reverse to shake things up.  Karrrazzzzy!

The pace was moderate as we set off from Hallhill, with Stuart, David and I drifting very slightly off the front of the group.  David is a recent joiner of the club, on a second claim basis.  Still only 21, he is very much on an upwards trajectory, while I am already feeling like I am fighting against an age-related decline.  It was therefore a little surprising to hear that he was in a bit of a funk about his performance at the Dunbar 10K - not least because he took 45 seconds off of his PB, and registered a low 37, on a by-no-means flat course.  Apparently his coach at his first claim club reckoned this was a disappointing performance, which strikes me as unhelpful, overly negative feedback.  My own approach would have been to "bank" a nice progression, early in the season, and use it as a platform to build on for other races on more PB-friendly courses such as Musselburgh.  But, hey, maybe that's why I am not and never will be an elite athlete or coach.  (As an aside I can tell you that I once had a dream that I was a Manchester United player.  Despite having the fantasy world as my oyster, my own sub-conscious couldn't allow for anything greater than being an unused substitute in a European away fixture at Juventus - "let's not get carried away now".  Ho hum - I bagged some great imaginary kit, and spent most of the match chatting to John O'Shea, who was pretty good craic and seemed as grateful as me just to make it onto the plane.)

Anyway.  Back on the Doon Hill run, Ian R caught up with the gabby Abbies at around 3 miles and barely broke stride before stretching away.  It appeared that the railwaymen in the engine car were furiously shovelling coal into the "Rowland Express" as he only continued to build more and more steam.  He really is the master at pacing into a run.

Coming back down the otherside of the hill, I saw a 5:50 flash up on the Garmin, but was still being gapped by Ian and Stuart (who was following Ian at a respectful but not huge distance - think well-mannered Geisha).  When I eventually made it back to Hallhill, my average pace overall was 6:38 per mile, and I then spent the best part of 10 minutes trying to cough/puke up a lung.

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Thursday night's interval session wasn't particularly noteworthy - a series of 800s and 400s.  But instead of starting easy and leaving plenty for the end (as I've done for much of the winter), I elected to work hard from the start, and try to hang on beyond jelly legs.  Which felt satisfying.

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Friday was another regulation sort of run.  I'd gone into work for 7:30am to justify a longer lunch, and did a 10 miler on the canal and Water of Leith up towards Juniper Green, which allowed me to properly trial a(nother) new purchase.  Recent concerns about battery life on my Forerunner 10, and a cracking deal on Amazon, saw me pick up a (new but discontinued stock) 310XT for £125.  Including a heart rate monitor.  And most importantly a battery with a promised 20 hour life, as opposed to the circa 3 I've been getting out of the 10.  Stuart recently offered me the use of his 10 as well as my own for the Fling - as kind an offer as that was, I'd have needed at least 3, and probably 4 of them to capture the full distance.

I set out at a steady-ish pace up stream, and my heart rate was in the 155-165 range.  I then decided to push it on the way back to see what harder work might look like.  Towards the end of the run I was doing a shade over 6 minute miles, and saw it peak at 190.  Which sounded a bit high.  I've never used a HRM before, so did a bit of Googling to see what normal might look like.  Google suggested that a maximum heart rate for someone of my age would be around 180, which freaked me out a bit.  Is it safe to be doing more than that?  What would full-on race pace look like?

A bit of e-mailing in the evening with Stuart reassured me that "trained athletes" (I like that Stuart, you can call me that again whenever you like) would expect to have a greater range than Joe Publics, and I can see the logic there.  A bit of further playing on Saturday morning revealed that my resting heart rate is around 45, and even I know that that is pretty good.  But oh dear, I can see that HRM data is a just another door of geekdom and obsession that has been opened to me.

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I knew that I didn't fancy anything too long or strenuous on Saturday, so was pleased when Ian R posted a link on facebook which promised orienteering at Yellowcraigs (or "Yellowcraig" as the sign below would have it.)

A quick canvass of the offspring revealed Jamie (our youngest) as a willing co-participant, so I was pleased to have some company.  I thought that company was in doubt however when, approximately 20 minutes before we were due to leave, a tempest of wind, sleet, hail and darkness swept over the house.  Judging by Jamie's concerned expression, it looked like she was hoping we were going to cancel.

But admirably she didn't say as much, so we carried on regardless.  And were rewarded with perfectly acceptable weather by the time we reached the car park adjacent to the start.  After a quick blether with Ian, who had already been round the green course, we went ahead and registered.  Jamie elected for the white course, while I too did green.  Jamie usually goes round with Jack or Jo, but was happy enough to go on her own provided she was allowed to take her time and walk.

My run went pretty well, with no mispunching, no missed controls, and not too much in the way of blindly casting around hoping I would stumble on an elusive control.  Jamie also had a clean run, which we were both pleased about.  She was amused by a boy of roughly her age who was a little disparaging to her about her walking, before having to admit later that he'd gone wrong himself and could she point him to number XYZ? 

A sociable wee trip was completed by seeing Mary and Tom Mallows afterwards, as well my pal Walter's mum Janet.  Janet is incredibly game, still competing, and remains a driving force in Edinburgh Southern Orienteering Club, despite being quite well into her 70s.

I asked Jamie if she'd enjoyed it, and she enthusiastically agreed that she had.  Which is all you can ask for really.

Enjoying a well-earned ice cream (not pictured) afterwards 

My trace bears a passing relation to the course map (bar the f@nny-ing around between 8 and 9) :)

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We were up reasonably early on Sunday morning to drop Jamie at her friend's in Whitekirk, before I drove straight back to Stuart and Anne's so that Stuart and I could go for a planned 20+ miler at 9:30am.  Jamie was off into town to have a spot of lunch and go to the cinema, and rubbed in how much more appealling an option that appeared as the wipers were working furiously to keep the windscreen clear of rain.

Stuart and I had somewhat perversely agreed to head out in the morning, despite the forecast being pretty grim, with the prospects improving for the afternoon.  I elected to head back to the house and collect my waterproof jacket and gloves.  So much for spring!

Naw, it's a Mitsubishi

More like Opaque Rig

But, as the saying goes, you need to train in poor conditions once in a while, because you never know what the weather will be like on race day.

We headed up into the wind farms, where there was a bit of a headwind to begin with (but nothing like as bad as the day in February when we were up there with Peter and Roly), before going round the back of Spartleton.

Anne and Stuart's summer residence

We joined up with the Herring Road and then descended down to Whiteadder Reservoir.  My phone gave up due to water ingress not long after the picture below.  In its befuddled state, it claimed that it was linking to a PC, which seemed unlikely.

Whiteadder, seen from the Herring Road

A few miles along the Gifford to Duns road was broken up by only one car which barreled past us a little too quickly and a little too closely for my liking, but I restrained myself to an equivocal hand gesture.  As Anne pointed out later, that was probably just as well, as it would have been embarrassing to flick the Vs at someone you knew who was simply tooting hello.

We turned off the road towards Bothwell, then up the hill past Crichness, over and down into Monynutt forest, before a loop back up into the windfarms and then back down to chez Hay. By the end the rain had largely abated, and the sun was making a first tentative effort at poking through the marbled sky, but I was still glad of the protection afforded by my jacket and gloves.  A little over 21 miles was a good return, and it felt like good Fling prep on undulating traily terrain.  My first run in the Hokas since swapping out the laces was good - secure, but without the pinching and pain around top of my foot.  And the 310XT managed the best part of 3 hours (with HRM) at the cost of only 16% of its charge.  Happy days.

Penguin Classics Mug of the Week: My Man Jeeves (unrated - haven't read it)

Mrs H's Cake of the Week: Lemon with limoncello ganache and mango flakes (*****)

Hip hip hip hooray!

In a rare display of common sense, I elected not to run on Friday or Saturday for fear of exacerbating my cold. However a perfect storm of new kit arriving from Sportsshoes.com on Saturday afternoon, Stuart and Brian inviting me to join their planned 22-miler, and the forecast promising that the sun would have his hat on, meant that there was no way that I wasn't coming out to play.

And perhaps some fresh air would help to dry out my lungs.  

I wasn't sure how warm it would be at 9:30am (our chosen start time), and very nearly wore a long sleeve top.  Although not remotely necessary for a run that was going to involve 90% tarmac, I wanted to try out the new gaiters I'd ordered, and also elected to brim the new hydration bladder with 2 litres of water to simulate Fling carrying weight.

Which was all very fortunate as it quickly became apparent that this was indeed going to be a warm one.  While the air temperature probably didn't get much above 13 or 14 degrees while we were out, the fact that the sky was completely clear meant that we were getting the full effect of the radiated heat from the unforgiving Scottish sun.

 

I don't often get the chance to do a long run with Brian, so it made a very pleasant change.  And it was nice to have the option to just roll along and listen to Stuart and Brian when I was feeling wheezy.

Three bridges

We made our way along the cycle paths and inland roads parallel to the A1 towards Cockburnspath, and then turned inland towards Ecklaw and Oldhamstocks.  The chat continued, and we were admonished by a couple of guys out doing a bit of gardening who reckoned that we couldn't be going fast enough given the amount of talking we were doing.

 

Fact No.1: Oldhamstocks parish church was consecrated in 1292

 

I particularly enjoyed the section after Oldhamstocks, through the valley that the Flower Show Hill Race follows, and then taking in the views towards the Berwickshire coast from near the top of the hill on the other side.  While still in the valley we came across various families rolling Easter eggs, and further along a chap who was practising his golf swing.  Given that there were a few stray balls near the footbridge over the burn, we were a little concerned about our safety.  But we needn't have worried, and he was very friendly as we approached - happy to shoot the breeze and quick to agree that it was a lovely day.

 

 

Fact No.2: The Borders has the second highest cliffs on the east coast of Britain

Spring is undoubtedly my favourite season of the year, and today felt like it had arrived in style.  Appreciable warmth, a resurgence in greenery, the vivid yellow of new flowers on the gorse, and fields full of lambs.

There were a variety of numbers painted on the lambs, even in the same field - wonder if that signifies the ram that sired them?

Innerwick Castle with Torness behind

 

Unfortunately I am a little unconditioned to that warmth, so started to toil a little towards the end.  And my joints were "singing" rather more than I would have liked.  So when Stuart pointed out that the natural route back to his and Anne's would bring us to about 20 miles, but that he could offer us a loop up the back to Weatherly that would add on 2, I had to agree with Brian that 20 would do me fine.  Sorry to disappoint Stuart!

 

There was no disappointment at the Woodhall Cafe though.  Despite leading the organisation of a very well received Dunbar 10K yesterday (including baking and icing 50 biscuit medals on Friday night for the Family 3K race), Anne still found time to bake last night for our visit.

Penguin Classics Mug of the Week: Brave New World (****)

Mrs H's Cake of the Week: Gin and Lime (*****)

 

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A quick product review to round things off.  As mentioned above, I was testing some new gear on this run.  Top of the pile came the new hydration bladder - a really well-designed bit of kit, which surpassed my expectations of something that you'd think you'd struggle to do badly (although see the one I have just replaced, which suffers greatly from the comparison).  The full-length opening at the top makes filling very quick, and you can get a full hand or scrubbing brush in should you wish to clean it. The quick release tube attachment self-seals to avoid fluid going everywhere, and the valve/mouthpiece doesn't leak. Hooray - no more suspicious wet patch down my leg!

 

 

I'll spare you a photo of the borderline indecent compression shorts, but they came in in second place today, and I am hopeful that they'll help with the fatigue I've been feeling in my thighs of late.

An unexpected and disappointing third went to the gaiters.  The blurb said that they'd been designed for a particular model of Inov-8 shoe, but that an adaptor was provided to make them universal.  The adaptor turned out to be two pieces of (different length!) inelastic cord, which came with no instructions explaining their intended use.  I couldn't see how you could use them to thread through the laces, and they are too short to reach down and under the sole.  Suggestions on a postcard please! I may have to try a bodge-up involving cable ties (the thinking man's duct tape).

 

 

Paranoia; or You're only as good as your last run

I had a bit of a crisis of confidence, as is my wont, after the Fling recce.  Too many miles at double digit per mile pace had me convinced I'd never run another mile at sub-8 minute pace. 

I have a bit of negative personality you see.  Often not so much Mr Glass-is-half-empty, but rather Mr Glass-has-been-knocked-off-the-table-and-is-smashed-on-the-floor.  Which is an unlikely Roger Hargreaves character, I'll admit.

I've been worrying that I've been putting on weight, and might be losing speed/sharpness as I try to build my endurance for longer runs.

So this week's club nights have been a tremendous reassurance.  I was tickled to hear that Mr and Mrs Hay had had a chat about whether I would be down on Tuesday after a pretty full weekend (Mrs Hay won apparently - "of course Nick'll be down").  The truth (obvious to others as well it seems) is that I get so much out of the club nights.

I joined Dunbar Running Club in the summer of 2013, having dabbled in 10Ks for a couple of years.  I'd do a couple in the spring and then return to fat again by winter.  So much so that my uncle/godfather patted me on the stomach on Boxing Day 2012 and said, "I'm glad to see that you're getting like the rest of us". That was a bit of a wake up call.  And to be fair, he was right. I was at least 2 stone overweight.  But with a bit of effort I got the weight down enough, with the help of the great guys at East Lothian A.B.C., so that I could feel better about running.

I did the Dunbar 10K in April 2013 and got a PB of 42:27, and was really chuffed.  And was over the moon when I got under 40 for the first time at Haddington in June. Which gave me the confidence to join a club. Because I've never been much of a club person.  I have too many memories of going along to things as the kid that no-one knew (running, football, hockey, golf, etc) and not feeling particularly welcomed. I remember vividly being asked at a football club what position I played.  Centre half. "But Andrew's our centre half, and he's REALLY good." Ok, message received.

But Dunbar has converted me to clubs.  It's not elitist, but there are some cracking runners. And they are very generous with their time and advice to newbies like me.  At the start I watched in awe and with no little jealousy how Stuart, Grant and "the Ians" could do a 10 mile run at sub-7 pace while holding a conversation, and I'd be floundering off the back, trying to keep them in sight, and using every bit of breath for breathing.  And each week I'd try to stay with them a little longer so that eventually I got round the whole thing with them, and could (once in a while) chip in to the conversation.

That, and the Thursday night track interval sessions, have combined to send my times tumbling.  At Musselburgh last July I managed a 36:44, which I'd never have believed possible before Dunbar RC.  But more than that I enjoy the friendship, the laughs, the interesting routes, and the genuine pleasure taken in each other's successes.

So yes, I get a lot out of club nights.

Tuesday's run was a case in point.  The changing rooms at Hallhill saw a discussion on the route for the night - our first of the year after the clocks had gone forward, so a welcome opportunity to branch out from the "Town Run" (our regular winter 10k route around Dunbar under streetlights) and go further afield.  The only problem being the fierce westerly wind.  Stuart presented 3 options: Doon Hill (no, too exposed); everyone chipping in £3 for a taxi to Haddington so that the wind would be at our back the whole way (very tempting); or the Chicken Run.

We elected for the Chicken Run, which sets out from Hallhill, goes through Belhaven Bay, out along John Muir Way towards Tyninghame, cuts up at Tynefield, over the A1 towards Biel estate, but bears left past the chicken farm (hence the name), before heading back to Hallhill via Thistlycross and the top end of West Barns. A decent 9 miles, with the first 4 or so likely to be tough as they'd be into the wind. Indeed, Stuart and I employed a bit of slipstreaming to give each other a little respite.  We saw Rhona, Mary et al near our furthest out point, but doing their slightly different run, and Rhona admitted later that she was frozen.

We were very surprised then to see that, in spite of the wind, we were managing (just) sub-7 pace.  Which made the return with the wind behind all the sweeter, having already taken our medicine.  I was trying to deliberately bounce higher into the air so that I got maximum value out of the push in the back.  That made me think of when my kids were little and we'd do "super-running" which involved me holding their hands and running so fast (relatively) that they were on the point of falling over, or would have been had I not been holding them up.  And with sun still out, it was great to roll back into Hallhill, having averaged 6:52 for the lot.

Tonight's 5K handicap saw us set off amongst a huge crowd of vocal supporters. That was there to see the rugby match between Dunbar and Haddington. Personally my run was a little below par, but I was happy enough to just get under 18 minutes (sub-6 minute miles! :)), and that with a bit of a wheezy chest.  Jamie had a great result - winning for the first time, in a PB time. He is in great shape ahead of London, and I really hope that he converts.

Which, after a fashion, brings me back to the start of my train of thought.  A lot of runners know the truisms of running, but find it much easier to apply them to others than to themselves. I had fallen into the trap of thinking that every run had to be a fast one, whereas  in reality that mindset just leads to fatigue, injury and general running misery.  Slow runs are *good* for you.  As Stuart says, if you run both club nights hard, and do something decent at the weekend, then you'll be fine.

Now I just need to start listening to the "above/below the neck" rule about colds...

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In Fling prep news, I was on Sportsshoes.com last night and have ordered my final bits of kit for the race - a pair of gaiters and a new hydration bladder.  Last weekend I found that even microscopic pebbles can really start to worry away at your feet after enough miles, and I'm fed up with a perished mouthpiece that constantly drips down my leg!

Way out West

Martin and I agreed, back in January, that as we were both doing the Fling this year it would make sense to do a recce at some point. Because of other races and Martin's achilles issues, the 28th and 29th of March looked like our best option. So we went ahead and made arrangements, bookings, etc.

And then watched as the weather forecast turned more and more gloomy. As Martin put it, you don't like to see that warning triangle on the BBC when you've got a big weekend planned.

But we decided to crack on anyway.

 

Just after parking up in Milngavie. So fresh, so green, so full of hope...

War memorial in Milngavie

Ready for the off!

And to be fair, much of Saturday was fine. We started just before 1pm and enjoyed some periods of sunshine, with the odd light shower, but the wind was sending most things over pretty quickly. As the saying about Scotland goes, if you don't like the weather, just wait 15 minutes. The running was pretty uneventful for the first 18 miles or so - not *that* scenic given this is supposed to be Scotland's premier walking route, but flat and on decent tracks for the most part.

First sight of Loch Lomond

Conic Hill looms

Much of the forest before Conic has been decimated, leaving a scarred mess of stumps

Conic Hill came and going up was a march but ok until it suddenly turned very cold and very windy at the top. So cold and windy that we probably tried to get off the top and into the shelter of the forest a little too quickly given that the descent is more technical than the ascent. So Martin had a pretty nasty fall that left his calf spasming for the rest of the day. But at least the wind was strong enough that his shouty swearing was carried away from young ears.

Not long after Martin's fall coming off of Conic Hill, which left his calf spasming for the rest of the day

The route became much more picturesque after Balmaha, as we joined the lochside. My only bugbear being the number of times we seemed to be sent up a steep incline, only to descend just as steeply on the other side, when you felt there *must* be a route that contoured around the hill.

But we got to Rowardennan eventually, and our bunkhouse accommodation was surprisingly nice given how little we had paid. And they had hot showers, decent food with huge portions, and a bar that didn't mind us sitting around in what little dry gear we had in our small backpacks. Day one total: 27 miles.

In danger of paraphrasing Sven Goran Eriksson, first half good, second half not so good. We awoke early at 6am, but really 5am in old money, because we knew the section along the North East shore of the loch was going to be tough, and we'd ambitiously booked ourselves on the bus from Tyndrum to Glasgow that left at 12:15pm.

We left Rowardennan before full light, with no breakfast (despite having paid £8.50 each for it), and accompanied by a pretty persistent drizzle that we hoped would ease before too long.

It didn't.

A section that I've been told is slow and tricky at the best of times, was not much fun while waterlogged. We experienced slippery rocks and even slippery-er tree roots, shale paths that ought to have made for nice running but instead took on the characteristics of stream beds, and horrible claggy, muddy, boggy sections that left your feet wringing wet and blisters just a matter of time. We stopped at Inversnaid so that Martin could apply a compede, but we were so wet by then that it wouldn't stick, so he resorted to wrapping yards of micropore around his feet.

Inversnaid, not long after the start of day 2

A drowned rat contemplates jumping onto a ship (ferry) to escape a sinking run

Not long after that we came across some mountain goats. And then a dead one by the side of the path. I stopped to take a photo as it wasn't too gruesome - it almost looked like it might have been sleeping, albeit it might have woken up with a bit of a crick in its neck.

A very bad omen - if they are losing their feet, what chance do I have?!

Somehow I managed to miss another dead goat a few hundred yards further on. Because the paths were so difficult and required so much attention, Martin and I separated slightly so that each had good visibility of what was coming. But we'd then regroup periodically to make sure each was ok and to console ourselves on how little we were enjoying things (sorry if this sounds like a long whine - I know that no-one was making me do it, and Jo very graciously looked after the kids all weekend so that I could go). Only after I was well past it did Martin bring up the second goat. He said that it was utterly destroyed - like it had had a Wile E. Coyote moment and had sprinted off of a cliff. I imagine it treading air, then a crater, and then a puff of dust rising.

The loch eventually came to an end, but not remotely soon enough, and not before I'd overtaken Martin on the falls count. The first was completely benign because I was taking the worst terrain very Paul Scholes (i.e. gingerly - sorry Sally). I fell backwards at low speed and managed to catch myself without my back or anything else important making contact with the ground. The second, typically, was when we'd waved goodbye to the loch, the terrain had opened up, my concentration had slipped, the speed had increased, and I was starting to look around at the scenery again. I hit some muddy ground and wiped out spectacularly. It was one of those where you wallop off of the ground without realising it is happening, so make no effort to protect yourself, and spend a few moments wondering what the f*#k, why can I taste dirt?!

Good riddance to that feckin' awful (beautiful) loch...

A quick wash off in a cross- stream revealed a pretty nasty gash to my hand, a so-so gash to my right knee, and worst of all a hole in the sleeve of my favourite merino wool running top.

A stop at the shop at Beinglas perked my flagging spirits up though - a banana and can of Red Bull really hit the spot. But the drizzle meant that any pause at all caused you to rapidly lose warmth. Handy then that the caffeine started to kick in, the paths improved for a while and I became keener to run up some slopes to get the heart pumping.

Hello lightness my old friend - a welcome appearance after 18 miles of day 2.

At mile 18 (agg. 45) the sun started to suggest that it might be trying to poke through the clouds (think "The Eclipse" last week), and the drizzle finally went off. Things were looking up slightly, although it had started to become a race against the clock - the pace was looking perilously close to us missing our bus from Tyndrum. I started praying (notwithstanding the fact that I am an atheist) that the paths would remain smooth and well-defined, and that the height would stay more or less constant.

A troll in search of billy goats gruff

But the paths turned back to crap. There was a plaque that celebrated the efforts of the Caledonian Challenge to raise funds for the maintenance work on the section that followed. And then, like a terribly predictable punchline, the next mile was almost exclusively deep mud, and there was no verge to avoid it. Well done guys, give yourselves a pat on the back, and I'll buy you all a pint the next time I see you.

After a while, the path forked and there was a signpost pointing left to Tyndrum and right to Crianlarich. The time was 11am, and because my Garmin's battery had packed in (at least enough that I'd been forced to switch off the GPS and leave what little remained for simple time-keeping) that I wasn't sure how far there was to go. Martin and I had by this time agreed to separate a little more definitively - he wanted to save himself on some of the uphills given the effect his achilles issues have had on his CV fitness. So I couldn't fall back on his experience - remember that this is a man who is just doing the Fling to gain points for his third assault on the UTMB this August. Discretion being the better part of valour, I elected to bail out and go to Crianlarich, texting Martin to tell him then plan.  Day two total: 21 miles.

Which turned out to be the best decision I could have made. After much fumbling in the disabled bog at Crianlarich "bus station" (get your mind out of the gutter - I was suffering from cramps and struggled to get my Ron Hills on!) I followed my nose and found that the Crianlarich Hotel did *awesome* take out pizzas. Before noon would ordinarily have been too early for me, but it was the undoubted highlight of the day.

Toasting the Fallen with a pizza - the highlight of the day

The bus journey back to Glasgow was fine, the train from Central Station to Milngavie was timely, I held it together to drive us back to Edinburgh, and my Mum had a bath ready for my arrival.

Despite the gripes, it was great to spend some proper time with Martin. And I do at least now have a better idea of what I have let myself in for. I had naively been thinking that it would be like doing a couple of marathons back to back. That was pretty daunting on its own. But now I've seen how difficult the terrain and conditions are/can be. I've had a look at some of the results from previous years as well, and am seriously impressed by some of the times posted. Finishing was always the goal anyway, but this has really reinforced that there is no point even having a time in mind. You could be having a nice day out and then take a tumble in a split second of inattention and end your race.

Anyway, huge thanks to Martin, and a special mention to Niall, whose 40th ought to have been on Saturday (RIP).