The long hard road.... (with apologies to Ron Hill)

It’s a funny old game, this ‘training for an event’ malarkey. You put all your eggs in one basket, as opposed to adjusting your training to fit a particular race.

In a ‘regular’ running program, the mileage and variety would be akin to a sine wave: big mileage one week interspersed with a bit of variety and conditioning, lower mileage another but focused on quality and speed. But with my training for a specific race, May 1^st, with a background of ‘good, basic but nothing in particular’ fitness, that line is a steep incline!

Illness, injury, skipping sessions are simply not on. Tricky when the entire Kootenay population seems to be suffering coughs and colds and those who aren’t, go playing in the mountains on skis.

Let me give you some examples.

1. Injury

I was helping to set some cross country ski tracks over the weekend, and in my enthusiasm to do a ‘good job’ I managed to get the skidoo stuck. Well, jammed is a better description. Jammed in setting concrete and even though the machine was only 2m from the perfectly good trail, it was positioned at right angles to it, buried. What had I done? Tried to turn the darn thing around to give the trail another good beating. My perfectly innocent actions cost me nearly four hours of toil and a strained back.  Down but not out, fortunately.

2. Playtime

I was lucky enough to be called into Natasha’s school for some much needed work last week. Thoroughly enjoyed it, but in chatting to some colleagues one was spending the weekend in a hut some 20km off the highway with some buddies (why is this not me? I wondered to myself) and another was skiing up from his house, into the mountains for some play. Would I like to join him? Is the Pope Catholic? Does Natasha like plain, greasy crisps? What a stupid question. YES! But on reflection, I had to tamper my enthusiasm. ‘Bin the training or do it’ was the advice from my virtual training partner, Peter. ‘But don’t reschedule’. Made perfect sense. Could I afford to bin my 12 mile run on Sunday? The steep training mileage incline image burned in my mind, with the May 1 deadline getting perilously close. I declined. Damn.

3. Illness

Natasha has had a cold this last week. She is not alone. It was inevitable that I succumb at some point. On Thursday I was duly dropped off at New Denver golf course to run home. 9 miles. Fartlek. I was up for it. But within 30 seconds I knew in my heart of hearts that not only fartlek out of the question, it was going to be a case of ‘get home as best you can’. I felt lousy. After, my legs were a soreness I had not witnessed for a long time. Muscle soreness you get after a very long run or a race. Painful to walk downstairs. But only 9 miles? Odd. I could not put my finger on it. On Sunday I ran a blazing 12 miles. Back on track. My legs? Tired but not sore at all. But I had the makings of a rasping cough and got me banished to the couch for the night. Illness.  Affects us in so many different ways. Peter has had to stop his training for a few days – I feel spared. I hope, though, for sprightly legs until 10.29.59 on May 1^st. Only then can I be ill and legs stop working.

To quote Kevin:

Yeah, some days you go out with the best of intentions but you just

have a crap run. Other days you start off feeling like s**t but 

recover to have a good session. Running is a funny old game.

Sure is!

I’m trying a home made energy mix: 1/3 banana, 1 tsp honey (home produced of course). Yum. The challenge is the dispenser and how to carry it. Ideas welcome. My head is turning toward our UK visit, my runs, my training, how to fit it all in, but how to be flexible enough to incorporate running with mates. I’ve got to keep that inclined mileage line going….

Get up and go

Fartlek is a word which still, at the aging age of approaching 46, I find funny. Makes me smirk – it’s my boy humour. However, do it properly and all bets are off. Smirks are replaced by grimaces, car drivers thinking you are either sprinting for Olympic Gold or asking themselves as to why you are near walking and what are you doing in the middle of nowhere?

Sometimes I get confused in remembering the difference between ‘anaerobic’ and ‘aerobic’ – try out the former and you soon remember. The pain, the empty lungs, the sweat, the challenge, the tired legs and not forgetting the big question: ‘Is this all worth it?’

Fartlek = Speed play – work hard, recover quick. Repeat until…. I’m convinced someone keeps increasing the distance between those telegraph poles. Jog one. Fast one, faster one, sprint one. Jog one…. 6 miles of it.

My Canmore buddy Peter is also training for a pedal jaunt in the UK – well, hardly a jaunt: Lands End – John o’ Groats race.  We have become virtual training partners which is a great incentive, as if one slacks you know darn well that the other will make your guilty life even more miserable than it already is. Training is certainly ‘all pain, no gain’ mentality – if you don’t put the time in, then the body can’t perform on the day. But it’s also about being kicked up the backside by those you love and respect and an interest shown in what you are doing. All runners of all shapes and sizes spend hours pounding the road or trail, or running machine and someone egging you on is a necessary evil.

I’ve been following Bryan in South Shields in his attempt to break the four hour marathon. Stubborn bugger and all power to him on Barcelona marathon day. May your commitment and home made energy gels power you across that finish line! Then there is Kevin in Wells – a rower in his time, but loves running. Taken up ‘hashing’ in his local area and loves it. So does his dog. But he keeps adding miles to his shoe soles, determined to be better in the next race. Peter in Spain – a former runner and skier, now a committed hiker in his local hills. His blog brings his local stories and jaunts alive – it feeds my imagination.

You guys keep me training, and its amazing the strength it gives me when I lace up my shoes to step out into the frigid air. Thanks. When is Spring? -10C this morning and a fierce northerly.

I won’t unfortunately get a training session in with Peter before Natasha and I depart for the UK next month as winter still has its grips on the roads. Ice and skinny tyres don’t mix well… but hopefully we can hit the gym the morning of our flight, as we stay over with him the night before we fly. Kevin has promised me a pasting across the Dorset Downs, meeting at Hardy's Monument, 10am on the 16^th: 12 miles, Tim, he says. 6 miles down to the sea, and 6 miles back up. Bring it on! Bryan will have done his marathon so doubtless we will just sit, drink beer (migraine pills easy to hand, of course) and shoot the breeze. Natasha’s parents have just moved to Penrith, so the thought of running the mountain trails in the Lake District is akin to Bonny and Tasky waiting to be given their bone.

I love it. Power to you all. I hit my half way training point today – its been ‘easy’ up to now, but next week the serious work begins. Natasha continues to encourage - thanks love!

Tim

Working life

I have so many blog entries in my head its got to the point of ‘what is the point?’. Life has continued in its time honoured fashion of downhill skiing: ‘out of control and loving it!’ (but in a controlled sort of way, cos that’s the kind of guy I am).

Before I get too deep and philosophical, my marathon training is going well. May 1^st is still some time off, but not in training terms. My maximum road pace is still slower than my 18 yr old training pace, but that is to be expected; I have a head of grey hair to show for it. My tolerance for the indoor revolving rubber is 6miles, so anything beyond that is outdoors. The weather makes for a cold run, but wrap up well and you are soon warm. Two choices face me each time I venture out: 1. turn right (downhill and then uphill return) or 2. turn left (uphill and then downhill return). Two is my favoured option and I’m not complaining, yet. My mileage average is only about 20-25m per week, but I like to think that it is quality 20m. I’m focused, I’m committed. The marathon distance does not worry me, but my target time of sub 3.30 does.

My severe economic state required a drastic stimulus, so four weeks back I headed back over to Port Hardy. The town has been kind to me, for it housed and entertained me for a year in ’92, and for Natasha and I later in 2006 / 09. Worryingly, I reckoned on landing once again at their tiny airport that I have probably used this airport more times than any other in the world. Doors which I had not knocked on for a long while were opened to me, and I caught up with stories and events - some tragic, some challenging, some funny. Once again it served as a reminder that even though I feel that am continually working to keep friendship doors open, that is not to say that any are, in reality, closed. I worked and trained hard, leading a somewhat nomadic existence for two weeks but left with a warm glow in my heart knowing that I had helped a good buddy of mine out, got some money and reaffirmed old acquaintances. Thank you to all who took me in (and for the massage, Cindy!) But oh, the weather! I spent the entire time in four layers struggling to keep warm in the damp, cool winter climate whilst working with others wearing simply a T shirt. Natasha was very pleased to see me – she had become chief snow shoveler and dog walker on top of full time work.

So, back at Smiling Hills farm, Sanderman becomes Farmer Tim. We have somehow been granted farm status on the basis of my bees. I did tell them 2010 saw a 75% mortality rate and no income, but the powers that be obviously needed to keep their farm numbers up. I can now get an official ‘F’ number plate for the truck. F standing for, naturally, FARM. The B&B saw its first winter guests last weekend, three grown men heading up into the mountains for a weeks ski touring. Very jealous. I do hope for an increase in custom over this next year, and less bee kill.

The snow keeps on coming. The pile to the left of me right now is half way up our living room window. It’s fun, yet challenging. I need a machine to help clear it all and hopefully next year Farmer Tim will have his tractor. But for now, I need to sell my garden tractor snowblower, keep my brand new blower from breaking down, repair a faulty new generator, get the new fridge to work properly. To top it off, Tasky killed three chickens yesterday.  Natasha continues to find work challenging in so many ways and I need a job… need I go on? Get the drift?The grass is starting to look a little greener on the other side, but that may just be temporary. Time will tell.

So, cancel your gym memberships and use the money to get yourselves out here. There is plenty here to keep you in shape!

Natasha, the author blog - http://aliveinthekootenays.blogspot.com/

Paul, the cycling brother website - http://www.pedallingpsychology.com/

Peter, the sports photographer blog - http://www.cuetophoto.com/blog/

 Tim

Damn and Rabbits

 Reality is quite something, hitting you like a bolt of lightening, but usually without the same effect. Your heart misses a couple of beats and you pause for reflection.

Damn. Oh dear. Mmmm….. Ok!

Today I was once again pounding the rubber (the running machine). Running 6.30 – 7.00 min miles equates to the run being over and done with sooner. Negativity is a great way to train! I was mulling over a couple of things, staring at the World Map I have stuck on the wall. It’s too dark outside to see through the window, and in any case it steams up pretty soon. Good job we have not got neighbours as they may get funny ideas about what past-times we have.

I was staring at central northern Canada, laughing to my self remembering my comeuppance with a special needs student in Port Hardy. This lad was learning Canadian geography and he simply could not remember ‘Hudson Bay’. I told him to look closely and we laughed as he realised that it was shaped like an upside down rabbit. It became a joke between us that Hudson Bay was actually called ‘The Rabbit’. Sadly for him, though, in his final geography test, he named it ‘The Rabbit’ and got zero points for that question. Anyway, as I was recalling this funny but sad event, Feb 1^st has been in my mind lots as it signified the start date for my May 1^st Vancouver marathon. My head is ready and I’m happy with my winter fitness. But then the reality of my assumption struck home – ‘May 1’ and work back ‘16 weeks’ does not equate to a Feb 1^st start date. Rats. I’ve missed a chunk of training before I have actually started! My official marathon training start of Jan 10^th missed (but fortunately marked as a rest day, phew). I have to get up early tomorrow and pound rubber for 6 miles. Testing for sure, but no pain, no gain.

I’m not really that surprised I messed up, as clearly memory lapse runs in the family. My dear mother sent me us two Christmas cards. She also sent her sister two as well, one not stamped. My Auntie sent us two bars of Marmite Chocolate in separate envelopes – one addressed to our current house, the other to our old address. It’s great comfort knowing that I’m not alone.

Lack of work has forced me to return to Port Hardy, a mixed blessing. A good friend, Richard, needs help to catch up on renovation contracts and for him to catch up on needed sleep, for he has a new son to be responsible for. Pain for some, gain for others I guess. I shall be gone for two weeks and as has been pointed out to me by Canmore Peter, this means that no ‘funnies’ will be passed on, but you will get two weeks worth in one day upon my return. Enjoy the silence! Sadly, though, my time away means that my introduction to Canada’s ‘Silent Sport’ will be terminated early. Natasha signed us up for curling (note to all: watch ‘Men with Brooms’ DVD if at all possible). What a superb sport! Natasha enjoyed being the youngest there.

Our winter has come to a crashing, screeching stop. The sheer volume of snow has given way to a big melt, with consequences. Mush everywhere. We now go for a dogmush, as opposed to dogski, dogwalk, dogrun… The joy of weather.  I fully expect winter to return for February – I hope so as Natasha and I have some skiing left to do.

Till next time. Port Hardy beckons and yes, my running shoes are packed.

Tim

Just another everyday run.

Canmore is a small-ish town, nestled in the Canadian Albertan Rockies, about 1 hr from the metropolis of Calgary. A former mining town, it is now the centre for Nordic skiing with superb facilities, catering for all abilities. Peter took me out on a course last time I was here, the thin crisp snow cripping under your skis with the magnificent backdrop of towering rocky mountains. I fell over of course, he didn’t, but that’s another story. The weather does not do much here, except get very cold in the winter and nicely warm during the summer. Not much in the way of precipitation, or sunlight depending on which side of the valley you end up living. Welcome to the Rockies.

But what it does do well is sport. It has moved on from its mining heyday, remnants still dotting the surrounding area. Hosted the skinny skiing portion of the 1988 Calgary winter Olympics It’s only a short drive from historic Lake Louise and Banff, both big winter and summer resorts. The Bow Valley is as well known for its cross country ski and snow shoe trails. In other words, it’s a year round resort, for in the summer months the visitors flock to see the glaciers (admittedly getting smaller on an annual basis) and hike or bike in the mountains. I saw proof of this when I went out for a run this morning with our two eager hounds. And saw evidence of a mysterious emerging underground movement.

I left at 0730, dark. Dogs pulling at the leads. Cold? Yes, somewhat. I thought, but not too bad. As I ran along the railway path, the massive figures of buttresses loomed out of the moonlit sky. Unbelievable. Small snowflakes were coming down from somewhere unknown, and the town was just waking up. A few trucks, a lone cyclist who greeted the two dogs dragging a warming up runner clad in longs, gloves and hat. I met a runner, which surprised me, who was looking for a bridge. Not the bridge I was looking for, I hoped, as we were headed in opposite directions. I could not help this figure find his bridge and he thought the loop I was running on was ‘quite a way’. He looked cold, and I decided that I may well be underdressed for the occasion. His thin body was under numerous items of black clothing, including a balaclava, only his eyes and nostrils on view, with white frost decorating him. Darth Vadar with dandruff lives!  So we went on, me finishing the ‘long loop’ which was not that long, but pretty stunning. Ice flows flowing along the river, dogs intrigued by them but not allowed to venture near.

I returned to the warm flat where we are staying, some 90mins later. I realised I was cold, and had frost burn on my belly and legs. Ooops. The temperature? -23C. Thought it was cold! But the underground movement? Hopefully someone can help me. For freshly painted on a wall in town were the sinister words, ‘Find the Friut’. Who knows what will happen next in the town where sport never seems to stop.

Tim

Capital 'W'

Snow puts a capital W in Winter. Without snow, there is no winter. Hence the small w. Some people are crying ‘Global Warming? Global Cooling more like!’. Parts of the US, for example Carolina and even parts of Australia have seen snow for the first time in yonks. Vancouver Islands ski resort of Mt Washington has the worlds deepest ski base and 5.5m. wow! However, there is no denying that weather is distinct from climate, and the world’s climate is warming. Sorry.

Most dream of snow, being blocked in by snowdrifts metres deep. There is a magical notion to the purity of snow and what it brings. I remember only too well the magic of being snowed in whilst winter skiing in Norway: Arriving late at our longed-for cabin, howling gale, blowing snow, to a hut no warmer than the outside. Dig out the front door, light the fire, get some ice for water. Generally speaking it takes a full 24 hrs to make a cabin warm and if the snow does not let up, the heat in the cabin will be put to good use the following day. Alone, in the wilderness, not a soul around. The storm subsides and a magical playground is revealed at daybreak. It’s an image of dreams. Indeed, Christmas day back in 2004 was spent like this, with my buddy Clive, snowed in at a mountain hut just north of the Hardangervidda plateau. 

Yet the beauty hides its dangers, its power to destroy. Avalanches attempt to kill all within its path, with no exception. Some are lucky enough to be rescued but they are few are far between. It’s the lure of the mountain magic, the thrill of the white expanse and the joy of being which brings some humans out to play, despite the dangers.

Natasha, Bonny, Tasky and I have played lots in the snow this winter, on the disused rail trail below us and the surrounding area. Craig, an old time environmentalist in New Denver, keeps ringing to see if we can go into the mountains to play on our skis with him, but it never seems to work out quite right. I only managed it once last year, but am determined to make the venture work. As much as I detest skidoo’s, a motorised sledge crossed with a motorcycle, we are looking to buy one, for without a means to get into the mountains, the wondrous Alpine experience will continue to allude us. Meanwhile, my eyes stay trained to the weather forecast. I’m hooked by it, an hourly fix. The avalanche.ca site too, but I never seem to be able to put my assumed knowledge and amassed toys to the test. There is a hut near here, 17km up a former logging road, accessible by skidoo, or a very long ski in. I’m eager to get us up there, dogs n all. Someday soon.

The onset of snow does bring local challenges, such as snow clearing. Once embarked upon, one rapidly realises its qualities: damn heavy, cold and wet. I’m working out a routine for clearing the snow around the house and driveway, but alas always seem to forget the roofs! So, the roofs are duly cleared, and the ground cleared once again. I’ve always been a bit of slow learner. Our old snow blower mounted on the front of a small garden tractor broke down the other day, so a replacement had to be rapidly found. My back is simply not up to mass snow clearing. The annoying thing is that I have found a buyer for the tractor/snowblower, but the parts to fix it are not in yet. Indeed, has the mechanic even ordered them? Welcome to the Slocan Valley.

We had a quiet Christmas, with Natasha’s parents spoiling us rotten once again with wrapped gifts. Without them, the tree would have looked a bit lonely. My Auntie sent us some Marmite Chocolate, but I was left wondering why people are intent on ruining two perfectly good products. However, my nightmare of 2008 returned with Christmas and Boxing Day being wiped out with a migraine. Damn things. I stopped drinking tea once again, and this only brought on a caffeine withdrawal headache! Can’t win eh? Anyway, the snow is beckoning; we are off to Canmore (Rockies) tomorrow to see the New Year in. Gotta pack! Fun times….

Marmite Man

The meaning of life....

Just what is the meaning of life, the universe and everything? The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy (a trilogy in five parts) is, for me, an all time great. It gives me the strength to believe in the ‘cock-up’ theory and not let ‘conspiracy’ take over my mind.

My best mate in Canada is a Jehovah’s Witness. Early on we arrived at a mutual understanding and respect for each others belief and I learnt to respect that he listened to my non-believer, bunker like mentality on life. He believes in God’s creation, I believe in Darwin. But we also have a tremendous amount in common. I miss his company, for he lives in Port Hardy, some two days travel west. I came to realise what makes us humans different to all other life forms on this planet: that as a race we have the capacity to choose. We make decisions, rightly or wrongly, and have to cope with the consequences, be they local or global.

Since coming to West Kootenay, I have had to try and adjust to a slow pace of life, action and communication.  Lesson learned - don’t ever say to someone ‘It’s not important, no hurry’. I won’t bore you with our stories, but there are plenty. We both love living here, love our house, our surroundings – but the weak link? As ever, people. I remind myself of Douglas Adams – conspiracy lives, but cock-up fills our daily lives.  Looking back at our time in the UK, our lives were never filled with constant door knocking, parties and people orientated holidays, but good friends were always nearby. In past blogs I have made reference to missing my UK work buddies – in living here, I miss good friends. OK, I’m slightly down by not working at the moment, no income (not even via the Government), my truck is forever being repaired, all Natasha’s income goes on expenditure, no buddies to play with, but I think that it is fair for me to admit to having a hard time with my social surroundings.

I like people. I think I’m pretty good with people. I want a people orientated job. Here, people hide away, keep themselves to themselves. Very pleasant and always pleased to see you when bumped into on the local ski trail. But why is it that people find it so hard to communicate, to consider others, involve? What’s this got to do with Douglas Adams? I sincerely believe that the world is not out to get me. There is no local conspiracy (contrary to what some locals believe). I have to adapt to my new surroundings, fit in as best I can. But boy, it’s hard work. I won’t bore you with stories etc….  We all make choices – the beauty of living.

And running? Once again, a saviour. I’m running well at the moment, the hardest part putting running shoes on your feet. Natasha is running too. Outdoor training is not possible, so the dreaded running machine it is. But put the music on and get playing with speed and incline. I’ve started to consider a May marathon, as opposed to October. As Natasha says, at least I’ll have a summer that way! All dark times pass. Hugh once called me a mindless optimist. I draw on that strength. We all know the answer is ‘42’, but what was the question?

Till the next time and keep the communications up!

Tim