Club midweek run

The Midweek Club Run May, England

May 13 2014

I checked out the meeting venue, the Kings Arms in Portesham, beforehand, just so I knew exactly where to go. I did not want to be late, or make an embarrassing entry. I arrived early, the sun still very much in the sky but starting to sink and turn a vivid orange. Struth. Was this a race? Had I missed something? I ran past the madding runner crowd, and headed straight for the toilet. Nerves. Not had this for ages. Whats going on? I sat, pondering. There must be in excess of 30 runners out on the Kings Head pub lawn, all limbering up. This was supposed to be a midweek training run. Soft, downplayed, fun, social even.

I trotted outside, trying to look relaxed. Breathe. The scratching on my bottom was really irritating me, but the organizer was giving instructions to eager ears, and twitchy feet. Where to put my keys? Pocket. Where is it? Uh oh. (read second sentence please). A nervous smile crossed my face, as I realized the folly of my situation. I was doomed to failure. My low key entrance was about to come to a crashing stop. My shorts were back to front! I ran back into the pub, searching eyes following me wondering if I had a medical problem. I dashed out to join the group to be asked “Long course? Extra long?” Without hesitation, deviation or repetition I calmly said ‘Extra long’. We were off.

Now, it’s been a fair number of years, decades maybe, that I have run with a running club of any description, let alone an English one. Time may heal, but time also forgets. I was told to stick with ‘the bright orange shirt’. Up a narrow lane, I was in a full out sprint. Not last, but certainly at the back of the pack. Orange shirt, orange shirt. There he is.

Competitive spirit kicked in, and I stayed with Orange Shirt Man. I also noted that there were two Map Men. I was sweating, out of breath, mouth dry, running solo. Welcome to the midweek running club training run.

Remember, time forgets. We ran along a ridiculously narrow path, with fresh stinging nettles taking the opportunity for maximum spring strikes. Crikey they hurt. My legs are still stinging four hours later. We reached a gate. We stop. Stop? STOP! Of course, the running club midweek run. We wait. Regroup. I jokingly asked where the aid station was. Not so much as a snigger. I decided to change tactic. Upon starting (who actually gave what signals to start I never did discover) I started to chat. Chat? Well, between breaths I muttered a few words, inaudible to everyone but me. Race pace, or pretty close to it. And a steep long hill. My chat stopped. Back to heavy breathing and laboured running. My legs hurt! A stupidly long grassy hill. Of course, running club midweek run. We followed the pattern of seemingly random stops, and equally random starts right through the entire training run. At the top of the grassy hill, I looked down. Carnage. Bright shirts scattered in amongst the cows. Social? Easy? Low key? Each man and woman for themselves, a ‘take no prisoners’ approach. Very funny and I was loving it.

Anyway, I struck up a conversation with Map Man #2. I lost sight of Map Man #1 – I have no idea where he went to. Following a very bizarre visit to an ancient stone circle, with the obligatory run round (which entailed a diversion of course), it rapidly transpired that Andy knew Canada. He like myself, had done a teacher exchange in ‘89, only three years prior to me. He had loved it. As we continued to chat amongst sweat and deep breathing I suddenly noticed that some runners were coming back against us. Some were sprinting past us as if the ‘Grizzly run’ on someone’s T shirt was indeed a race living up to its name. Pandemonium, just as I was getting settled into my running club midweek run. We duly stopped, regrouped and the pattern evolved over the duration of the run. People would use the hills for their efforts, or the long straights, or the masses of ancient earth work lumps. Very funny. But we always regrouped, to a fashion.

The route was simply fabulous. Ancient forts, earth works, stunning seascapes, full moon rising, orange sun setting. Abbotsbury was quintessential England, with its abbey, ruins, old cottages, thatched roofs. My mind flashed back to that superb Far Side cartoon, the one where the cows are in a field, standing on two legs, being normal. A cow on watch suddenly announces ‘car’ and the rest of the cows duly drop to four legs. For when we hit Abbotsbury, someone shouted ‘car’. Well, the car turned out to be three, but none of the runners gave way. With about 20 or so sweaty heady runners launching from a muddy path onto the road, the cars drove seemingly skillfully through the unrelenting crowd. Very funny, and welcome to the running club midweek run.

It turned out that Andy was attempting his first ultra, only weeks before mine, in June. The Lakeland 10 (Peaks). Sounded hard work to me and brought back memories of my Lakeland 3000’s peaks run when I was 18 yrs old. To complete the coincidences with Andy, he lives only doors down from my mothers flat. Hopefully we will run Friday.

The last mile was a full out jostling sprint. I had clearly cast away any thoughts of a laid back run, and was determined to put in a good showing. I finished tired, sweaty, muddy, incredibly thirsty but immensely satisfied. No one really knew how far we had run, no one seemed to care. An excellent route, and a good old English running club midweek run under my belt. I hope I passed the test.

Check them out

http://www.egdonheathharriers.com

Pride and Predujice....

How time flies when you are having fun. Its been over a year since my last 'blog'. Im not sure I really enjoy the act of 'blogging' but I do enjoy writing. Having said that, we now live in a day and age of people wanting to be listened to, as opposed to listening...

Mind you, who said that anyone has to read my words?

As I type, winter is claiming its grip on the soggy landscape, trying to make headway in to covering over the scars of yesteryear, and looking forward to the next. Its been yo-yoing this year, and we have had an extended autumn. I don’t do the +3C and rain very well. I feel the cold more than I do at -10C. I just want the snow to dump and stay. Then we can play!

This last year has been excellent, marred by an ailing mother in England. She is in a bad place right now - there is simply no dignity in getting old. So sad, I feel helpless. My sister, Claire is being a rock, but even she is helpless to stop the rot. Dementia is setting in, and mum knows it. Her dignity is still there, and I only hope that she is taken away from this changing world quickly, to free her of the pain and the vision of herself she has. Claire has been a prominent part of my life during 2013 - she came over to visit in the summer and for the first time I really spent quality time with her - and loved every minute of it. Sadly I think we will meet next in slightly less joyous times....

Natasha, Claire and I on Idaho Peak

Today I have been listening to the radio, something I do not do enough of. Kennedy was shot 50 years back, in 1963. My mother would have been 38 at the time, in her prime, but pre Tim! Back then, England had winters, now we have more extremes to deal with and winters come and go within days. Funnily enough, Claire had more winter days off school last  year than we did here in Canada, known for its cold, harsh white winters. Who knows what will happen this year, as climate change takes an ever deepening grip on us all.

As I grow older,  I learn the importance of history, its message, its story, its account and the fresh light we can now throw on it. I find the Kennedy story intriguing. But what of politics now? We seem to be immersed in the mire of people being very bad at being politicians. These rogues are dragging politics down further into the dirt, and with it the public's perception and opinions of not just politicians but politics. Here in Canada the latest scandal concerning the Mayor of Toronto and also the mess in the Senate is simply appalling. So much time, tax payers money and energy spent on trying to battle a way through the mess they have all wrecked upon themselves, all because of power, opportunity and greed. There should be a body overseeing all politicians from the local council to the highest quarter - a Watchdog of sorts, who have powers of dismissal... and no dismissal with benefits still intact. If Natasha was dismissed as a Principal, that would be it. Closed book. What makes a politician so special? It’s a privileged position and needs to be treated with respect, which Mayor Ford certainly has not.

It’s been a great year for my / our running. I have become immersed, willingly sucked in, to the World of Sufferfest (www.kaslosufferfest.com). I love what it is and stands for, and it has helped my joy of running. However, looks like I will hang my shoes up for a couple of months now, just like the bees have. My next race? Kamloops Hypothermic half marathon in late Feb. I’m up for it!

Till thoughts hit me later, Tim

O Canada!

On the 23 July 2006, Natasha and I stepped on to Canadian soils as immigrants. This word conjures up many passions amongst people these days, unfortunately, but we have white skin, English names and a UK passport. So I guess in the eyes of those who question the being attached to this label, that made us ok.

My connection with Canada is not particularly long, but I first decided to travel to Canada in the year 1991 where  I applied for a teaching exchange. The following year I departed the shores of England, with my sister Claire, husband Richard and nephew Matthew waving me off from Gatwick airport. During that memorable and action packed year I decided then that one day I would like to live and work in this wonderful open country.

Irony abounds from then on, as in 2006 – as landed immigrants - Natasha and I unintentionally stayed for a wonderful three years in the same town as I lived in as an exchange teacher, then single, with few boundaries to keep me in tow. Port Hardy and its people will forever be a part of me. So on this day of 8^th May 2012, with my nephew Matthew coming to stay next weekend, Natasha and I completed our journey and became Canadian citizens. We jumped through the required political hoops, paid hard earned money and eventually passed the written test, with Natasha scoring her only acceptable score of 100%, me 96%. Quite a day, for sitting here typing reflecting on the 20 years worth of journey surrounding Canada, I am staring at the piece of paper given to us as we first pushed our baggage past the immigration officials back in the summer of 2006. The paper is worth writing about, because without it we would have got nowhere at all. No replacements given, no copies, a complete one off. Yet we needed it at every part of our citizenship journey, and presenting it today to the immigration official was quite a moment. For the paper is old fashioned, carbon copy, largely illegible and cradled like a newborn baby. In today's world of ‘paperless desks’ this was a stark reminder of the importance of the printed form. But I digress.

So, now Natasha and I are fully fledged Canadian citizens. Still fiercely proud English people, but on June 26^th we will, amusingly, have to swear allegiance to the Queen, something that not many of us have ever had to do, despite our nationality. I’m not anti monarch, but pretty non-plussed by the whole favoured few malarkey, but it will indeed be a proud moment for both of us.

It’s been a funny week too, as a buddy of mine, Kevin back in the UK, was part of a world record ultra running event, successfully completed by his mate John who ran a staggering 425 miles in under 7 days (www.championrun.org.uk/). I thought of his plight as I raced locally on Sunday, coming in a quite unplanned second in a 10km trail run. It was a real Kootenay experience, as just prior to the start we were told that the 10km distance was probably nearer 12km, the ‘nice climb’ was actually a pretty brutal 300m+ crawl, and so on. It was, in all reality, an excellent route.

On top of resigning from the vet work, I have been pounding away at the bathroom, ready for our guests this weekend. I finished the tiling today, grouting tomorrow, work Thursday, toilet fitting Friday, hopefully sink Saturday. The bed and breakfast is slow this year, but people are coming which is handy for a meager income. The bees are ok, put back by a cold spring. Will see what golden nectar they produce later in the summer.  My health is under question, following a minor blackout some weeks back. Apparently I have an abnormally low heart beat, but according to Peter nothing to worry about: It's because I’m fit. I'll let the medics be the judge of that one, but reassuring nonetheless.

So on that positive note, I will stop. Life is good, I will now sing ‘O Canada’ with feeling, if not gusto. I will treasure my carbon copy confirmation of permanent residence as a memento of what was. But I do eagerly await our dreadful Prime Minister call an election – for now we can vote. Not as hard earned at the womens suffrage movement, but a journey nonetheless.

Tim

Frogs dawn a new Season

Been on this beautiful, but slowly decaying, planet for 47 years. Not exactly I know, but my last birthday was that number. Let’s forget the first ten, leaving 37 or so years I am able to dip into my memory bank and recall. That’s 36 springs. So how come, when I was running the other lunchtime I was – yet again – surprised and delighted to hear the sounds of frogs, croaking their happy voice in some sort of unison, singing to the tune of spring? Spring is an amazing time of year, with Mother Earth bursting to life. But the frogs bowled me over – I stopped running, when I first heard the cacophony, wondering what it was I was hearing. Locked inside my truck, I would have missed natures call – everyone would have. Running, once again, opens your ears and eyes to your local surrounding. Love it.

I’m running well at the moment, for no apparent reason. I’m not training particularly hard, but each time I go out, I seem to be able to push myself a bit harder. A bit further. Life yet in the old body eh? Natasha and I ran our first running race of 2012 a few weeks back. Granted the field was not a particularly high standard, but it was an open race, sponsored by North Face outdoor gear, and part of a 6 race Grand Prix. I crossed the line in 7^th overall, and Natasha 9^th in the woman’s class. Chuffed to bits we both were. We are wanting to run the whole series, which will be tough, but it’s something to aim for and we will give it our best shot.

‘Timitus’ struck big time two weekends back, when the newly purchased snow mobile packed in on its first outing, some 20km up a logging road. Fantastic skiing, the dogs in snow heaven, but reminded me – and others to their amusement – that I have this special way with all things mechanical that if it will go wrong, then it will when Tim owns it. I duly returned the machine to the dealer, who of course found nothing wrong with it. But the ‘crowing turd in the trifle’ (©Hugh Ellis) was on asking the mechanic to give me a quick idiot’s guide to snowmobile maintenance, he proudly showed me where the oil went, only to discover that was running dry. And they had just serviced it! Oh yeah, right.

My sister turned up trumps the other day. She pulled together a meeting of minds – my mum and her sister. Not seen each other for years, both aging, my Auntie in care home, my mother fiercely independent and proud. Perhaps they met for the last time? Must have been great to witness. Thanks Claire!

I have tried something new this past three months. I was successful in my application to for a reception post at the local veterinary practice. The trouble was that I have had zero training and background and I found it nigh impossible to learn the lingo, the ways and wherefores of veterinariasm (??). Enjoyable experience though, and no regrets for treading this path. But good job I kept my former employer, Colin, on my Christmas card list…..

Things to look forward to? More bees on their way, all four hives having survived our long snowy winter. Matthew, my nephew, comes out to visit in May. Peter and Lynne, long time friends and mentors, visit in July. B&B bookings trickling in.

Life is varied. Life is good. As I said to Peter the other day – don’t reduce. Modify.

A new year?

Are we staring at the onset of spring? The rain has started, the daytime temperatures are above freezing, the snow slowly turning to a granulated ‘slush puppy’. Doubtless the nights might well still be cold, but winter is surely behind us now. For we have had a winter, not as severe as last year, but white and cold nonetheless. People will be heartened, as snow here is the lifeblood of the summer waters. No snowpack equates to no water. Climate change is like a gun to our head, but the Harper Govt continues to deny. Let me not start on a Rick Mercer style rant…..

2012 has been a gold medal to me, hanging large and glitzy round my neck. I have emerged from 2011 fit, healthy and with work. My grievance with Husquavarna and Sears have been resolved (I won), I kept my running fitness, Bonny and Tasky continue to delight, snow has fallen, my bees are alive (all four hives), we have a new truck and I have a job.

For reasons unbeknown to me, I beat the rest at interview for the post of veterinary reception / assistant. I now work 40 hrs a week at Nakusp veterinary clinic for the vets Laurie and Bill, and alongside Caroline, another English lass. A massive learning curve for sure, as I am not in any way medically trained, the language and terminology all alien. As are the systems, layout, clients and patients. So a new dawn beckons with all the trials and tribulations it brings.

Thoughts are turning toward holidays, of which I have precious little. Perhaps Yellowstone Park for summer? We have Peter and Lynne visiting in the summer, which I am so looking forward to. I want to race the local KasloSufferfest in September, but I suspect a half marathon will lure us before then. Projects abound – bathroom renovation, car port, deck railings, new woodstore. Four more bee hives will live alongside my existing four, so hopefully a bountiful nectar flow will occur in August. Bookings are slowly coming in for Smiling Hills B&B, a summer wedding no less! But where do I find the time?

Natasha is trying to find a publisher for her second book ‘An Immigrants Tale’, hoping to continue the success of ‘The Last Field…’.  As of today, her Amazon book ranking is 215 641 - a way to go before a world best-seller. She is stretching her brain and qualifications with her A level equivalent French. Quite beyond me, but its great to see her study again.

So, till the snow melts, we continue with our jobs, dog snow-walks, occasional ski, looking ahead to a great year.

Life is good

The late afternoon lighting over New Denver glacier sky winked at me, saying ‘I’m off now. See you tomorrow’. The brilliant, clear white light reflecting off the virgin snow dazzled me for a few seconds, as I felt that rush of adrenalin and sheer pleasure of being alive. But then I realized I still had 6km to run in 12” snow, with two dogs intent on chasing every deer in the area and no headtorch. Life is fun, and if not, make it fun!

I had been intent on going for a run, without really giving any practical thought as to where I was going and the time of day. I left at 3.15pm, and ran up the ‘old highway’, a dirt track, called Old Sandon Road. I call this run of mine the ‘bucket loop’ and its one of my favourites. 12 – 13km of pure fun, and includes a bucket crossing of Carpenter Creek. There is a fair amount of climbing too, and I was blind to the consequences. As I climbed out of New Denver, I noticed the snow getting thicker, the dogs ever more excited. I lost them twice big time which cost me about 10 minutes of precious daylight, but I kept saying to myself ‘nah, it be reet’. But that view as I topped out at upper Alamo Siding mine site was inspiration in itself, making me realize that we lead such sedate, safe, TV lives.

All through the run, I was pondering over something I had said to a good friend of mine, Colin, who happens to be my boss. (I’ve been fortunate over my time of employment to have had predominantly good bosses, even if their superiors were useless). But I had said to him earlier on that week that I hoped one day to be an inspiration to him. It had bothered me at the time, and it had been bothering me ever since, as to why I had said that to him. Was I seeking recognition? Friendship? An ego massage? His answer was very politically correct which was good, but left me puzzling over this issue even more. It was whilst running down Alamo Siding, up to my ankles in drift snow, the dogs long gone, light fading, with the prospect of a dark run through forest, down towards the coveted bucket crossing, that it suddenly dawned on me why. It had little to do with our  relationship, as a friend or employee; It had everything to do with Tim and the relationship with himself and the outside world. That moment of topping out had said it all.

Since the Victoria marathon, I have only been out running a few times, and only once on the dreaded road. Every time I went out, I have been in my running haze, winning all these races, breaking all those PBs, breaking the 3.30 marathon. I was the best I could be. If you are a runner, you will know exactly what I mean. But since the snow, I have done nothing. No endomorphine flow. But here was I physically maxed out, head buzzing, heart pumping. I need to be fit enough to be able to do these special things. It’s too easy to sit back and watch the world go by. We all need to keep our head strong. Live for the moment and let your footsteps be the first in that snow.

It was a long run back in the dark.

We have snow here now. Winter has not fully arrived, but its certainly knocking at the door. I am continually in and out of work. Its tough, but reality; the cost of living where we do. I’ve tried once again knocking on the Federal MPs door to see if I can help. I’ve become a board member of our local ski club, along will all the frustrations it brings. The new snowblower has bust, our fridge saga continues and the diesel truck is up for sale. I’m not doing well with mechanical things right now, so I’m glad not be a mechanic. Natasha’s book continues to generate interest, book 2 on the proof reading table. I'm dabbling in the cosmetic world, using my beeswax for skin cream. Hardly redneck manly, but its quite fun.

I was given a ‘Life is good’ T shirt by Jane years back. Life is indeed good, but its not necessarily easy. If you lose sight of it, go looking.

Tim

Adieu or Aurevoir?

The weather was the first hurdle. Canadian Airlines decided that the storm was so bad that no flights were happening. So how to get from Kelowna to Victoria in next to no time? On pondering our choices, the announcement came that the plane had sneaked in and all should be ok (just how does a flight sneak in?). The flight left on time. There was no storm. There were no delays.

The second hurdle was the taxi journey from Victoria airport to registration. 30-40 minute journey became a 90minute torture, with our beloved driver talking for England. Drove us potty and we eagerly disembarked, somewhat jaded. Registration was lacklustre, with merchandise being pushed more than the race, its history, the athletes commitment to their arrival at the start line, the course etc. A sad reflection on where we have come.

The third hurdle was finding our sleeping quarters for the weekend. However, we need not have worried for the only obstacle was a grumpy bus driver. The directions we had been given and the residents who helped us en route were superb. The flat we had taken over was perfect - thanks Sarah!

The weather on the Sunday was supposed to be bad for the race, too, but as the stars shone on 6000 runners for the start of the Victoria half marathon, it was obvious that there was no storm. There were to be no delays. Everyone should finish on time, legs 'n lungs permitting. The main announcement was that the police were happy, as they had been observing the 5000 + crowd that morning: no drunks, no violence, no vandalism, no riots. All was set for Natasha's journey of 21.1 km.

My 42.2km journey started 85 minutes later, joined by 2000 others. By this time the sun was poking out from behind the clouds. Ideal conditions. Why is it that (mainly men) runners have to tell their stories at volume 9? Why is it that (mainly men) runners decide that the race is the place to tell the world how good they are?  The miriad of electronics and equipment had to be seen to be believed, enough to start a revolution for sure. Perhaps folks should concentrate on their running as opposed to the flag they were flying? They'd sure go a bit faster.

Fortunately, the two guys who obviously should be in London 2012 faded after 25km, and the faithful few in my group concentrated on getting home. It was hard. 30km onwards, my time slowed and there was nothing I could seemingly do about it. I finished slightly disappointed in 3.33.54, having set out to break the 3.30 barrier. Why that time? No reason other than the belief I can. However, I had run the best race I could. The course record was broken by both male and female athletes. Record numbers, fantastic weather, and the MC Steve King is king indeed. He knows more about the runners than the runners themselves.  Natasha met me at 38km which was fantastic, she herself having run a superb 1.44 for her half marathon. We both lazed on the grass, outside the Legislature buildings (for Victoria is the capital city of BC) soaking up the atmosphere, relieved our personal journeys were over.

Monday morning was spent with good friends, catching up, attempting jokes, eating a hearty breakfast. But time cut us rudely short, and we were driven out to the airport by our personal taxi. This time, perfect.

Its been a tough 16 weeks, pounding the pavements, more often than not alone. For me, I've been training really since January. No more marathons for me, but perhaps I might persuade a bunch of us to run one in 2016 (my 50th year). However, I love running. I love feeling fit. I love eating what I want, when I want. I love the freedom and simplicity it brings. So I wont stop, not till I have to. I look forward to planning a few shorter races next year.

And this might well be my last blog, but as many know - never say never! So, is it adieu or aurevoir?
Tim