In the car again today because I need to be home and in Lenton for 6pm. Tonight I investigate a possible new ‘career’ in coaching and have enrolled on a course which starts tonight. It’s run by the council, so I’m not getting too excited.
L, who’s looking a bit ill but naturally won't admit it, is also probably thinking about a new career or maybe just retirement. She says it’s positively ‘icy’ at work this morning and she’s not talking about the weather. Maybe that’s why she’s feeling off colour. As expected the refit at work has upset a few people. She worries too much. You can’t beat a bit of infighting. If she retired she’d miss all that.
So to Nottingham City Council’s Coach Recruitment Programme. Tonight they teach us how to coach a new game. They make one up especially, so that the rules are new to us and then get us to make one up as well. It’s all quite fun actually. We even learn how to give a health and safety briefing... guess I should have seen that one coming. Then, blimey, another free buffet. A very large and impressive buffet, no wonder council funds are under pressure. When they talk about preserving front line services amongst all the budget cuts, it’s good to see they’ve not only retained the buffet but kept it at a high standard.
The evening is finished off with more red tape, the filling in of CRB (Criminal Records Bureau) disclosure forms. You need to be CRB checked before you can do any coaching and there are coaching opportunities on this course. They give us a list of these and among them is a post with Notts Athletic Club which could be interesting, or there’s even the chance to rejoin the dark art that is orienteering. We used to do quite a bit of orienteering a few years ago and there’s a chance to coach with the Nottingham Orienteering Club.
(Tuesday 9th November)
Showing posts with label orienteering. Show all posts
Showing posts with label orienteering. Show all posts
Monday, November 8, 2010
Thursday, September 30, 2010
The Last Supper
MD seems to bark at most dogs he meets on his morning walks but not the dogs he trains with at his agility, unless of course they make a careless error on a course, in which case he often volunteers help and advice to them. So L tries introducing him to a couple of the dogs he usually sees, so that they can be friends. Unfortunately he wasn't having any of it. Oh well. Perhaps it’s too late for them to be friends once MD has made his mind up about another dog.
I was a bit late leaving on the bike this morning. L suggest I pedal quicker, and then adds her usual ‘be careful’. I can hardly do both, can I. So I pedal quicker and put ‘careful’ on the back burner. It was also very windy but I think it was blowing my way as it didn’t seem to slow me down much.
L is torn about going into work today, as she feels she ought to be at home on her little boy's last day. Her little boy? She means our great hulking nineteen year old; who is probably saying his goodbyes to a few hostelries as we speak. That is when he gets back from his GP, where he’s having the required meningitis jab. Which I hope doesn’t put him off his curry tonight.
The other day I blogged about the weirdness of age adjusted performance. L reminds me of the time she won an orienteering competition but because the second place girl was fourteen, the girl was given the win on a handicapping system. That is even though most fourteen year olds who take up a sport like orienteering are going to be pretty physically fit and quicker than someone of our years. She reckons the girl had a ponytail and they give extra points for that... Hmmm. Well I would but I’m not sure it’s standard practice. I can see I’ve reopened a raw wound here.
I too, remember it all so well. It was known as the Galloppen, was run on a league basis and had a totally unfathomable handicapping system. It wasn’t just L. I was out galloppened every year by a chap who was twice my age and also happened to be on one of the organising committees (not that I’m saying this had anything to do with the formula used for the handicapping...). This chap never came anywhere close to beating me on a course ever, in fact I’m sure a couple of times he finished the following day... However he was still champion several years running.
I think we’ve both been psychologically scarred by the experience which is perhaps one of the reasons why we don’t orienteer any more.
The weather turns foul. By 5pm it’s blowing a gale and throwing it down. At least I’ve got full waterproofs unlike L who ran into work and hasn’t even got a coat. At least she’s not cycling or anything crazy like that.
I get home and Doggo takes one look at my bedraggled state before heading straight for the sanctuary of the bedroom, that’s before I even open the back door to show him the rain. Thankfully it doesn’t look as if there’s much will there to go for a walk on the park. Instead, MD and I play football in the garden whilst Doggo continues to hide indoors.
Then we head into town for the last supper. I can confirm that the condemned man ate a hearty meal of Lamb Madras, rice and naan bread. Tomorrow it’s Uni.
(Friday 1st October)
I was a bit late leaving on the bike this morning. L suggest I pedal quicker, and then adds her usual ‘be careful’. I can hardly do both, can I. So I pedal quicker and put ‘careful’ on the back burner. It was also very windy but I think it was blowing my way as it didn’t seem to slow me down much.
L is torn about going into work today, as she feels she ought to be at home on her little boy's last day. Her little boy? She means our great hulking nineteen year old; who is probably saying his goodbyes to a few hostelries as we speak. That is when he gets back from his GP, where he’s having the required meningitis jab. Which I hope doesn’t put him off his curry tonight.
The other day I blogged about the weirdness of age adjusted performance. L reminds me of the time she won an orienteering competition but because the second place girl was fourteen, the girl was given the win on a handicapping system. That is even though most fourteen year olds who take up a sport like orienteering are going to be pretty physically fit and quicker than someone of our years. She reckons the girl had a ponytail and they give extra points for that... Hmmm. Well I would but I’m not sure it’s standard practice. I can see I’ve reopened a raw wound here.
I too, remember it all so well. It was known as the Galloppen, was run on a league basis and had a totally unfathomable handicapping system. It wasn’t just L. I was out galloppened every year by a chap who was twice my age and also happened to be on one of the organising committees (not that I’m saying this had anything to do with the formula used for the handicapping...). This chap never came anywhere close to beating me on a course ever, in fact I’m sure a couple of times he finished the following day... However he was still champion several years running.
I think we’ve both been psychologically scarred by the experience which is perhaps one of the reasons why we don’t orienteer any more.
The weather turns foul. By 5pm it’s blowing a gale and throwing it down. At least I’ve got full waterproofs unlike L who ran into work and hasn’t even got a coat. At least she’s not cycling or anything crazy like that.
I get home and Doggo takes one look at my bedraggled state before heading straight for the sanctuary of the bedroom, that’s before I even open the back door to show him the rain. Thankfully it doesn’t look as if there’s much will there to go for a walk on the park. Instead, MD and I play football in the garden whilst Doggo continues to hide indoors.
Then we head into town for the last supper. I can confirm that the condemned man ate a hearty meal of Lamb Madras, rice and naan bread. Tomorrow it’s Uni.
(Friday 1st October)
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The Dream Team
I rest my legs on bus this morning. I was going to cycle but feel this is a more sensible option, as my knees ache. I’m hobbling a bit but I’ve had worse. I think the new shoes must have helped.
L topped yesterday off nicely by entering us, yes, both of us, in the Windermere Triathlon. Yes I was sober at the time, so L can’t be accused of taking advantage of me, well at least not over this.
It’s not as bad as it sounds; we’re doing it as a relay team. So this means I don’t have to swim in the lake or even do the 10k run, all I have to do is pedal around the outside of the lake. Sorted. L and I, the Dream Team...
Well when I say it’s not as bad as it sounds, this will be the first time we’re teamed up together since the ill-fated Peacock Challenge Orienteering events. Which I won’t go into but we did fall out a touch.
It’ll be novel. Handing over the baton to each other, well... the timing chip, and we’ll be the only ones also handing over a couple of yappy dogs in transition.
My work colleague has proposed to his girlfriend and she’s accepted. He must be mad, the arm and the leg he lost in his last marriage still hasn’t grown back yet. Good luck mate.
I manage to blag some extra training time tonight, mainly for Doggo’s sake, whose contacts have frankly become awful. Somehow we even manage to dodge the rain showers.
L topped yesterday off nicely by entering us, yes, both of us, in the Windermere Triathlon. Yes I was sober at the time, so L can’t be accused of taking advantage of me, well at least not over this.
It’s not as bad as it sounds; we’re doing it as a relay team. So this means I don’t have to swim in the lake or even do the 10k run, all I have to do is pedal around the outside of the lake. Sorted. L and I, the Dream Team...
Well when I say it’s not as bad as it sounds, this will be the first time we’re teamed up together since the ill-fated Peacock Challenge Orienteering events. Which I won’t go into but we did fall out a touch.
It’ll be novel. Handing over the baton to each other, well... the timing chip, and we’ll be the only ones also handing over a couple of yappy dogs in transition.
My work colleague has proposed to his girlfriend and she’s accepted. He must be mad, the arm and the leg he lost in his last marriage still hasn’t grown back yet. Good luck mate.
I manage to blag some extra training time tonight, mainly for Doggo’s sake, whose contacts have frankly become awful. Somehow we even manage to dodge the rain showers.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Trench Foot
This morning we defrost the car and drive down the M1 to Huncote in Leicestershire for a spot of cross country, something by the name of the Huncote Hash. The race is on because unlike the Caythorpe run last week it’s not on road so won’t be as slippery. That’s the theory anyway.
Cross country is not my thing at all. I prefer any terrain that I run on to be smooth and tarmac if at all possible, kind of road like, certainly not muddy. Luckily, the fact it’s so damn cold should render the mud meaningless.
I have my River Trent hardened shoes on, the ones I used for Survival of the Fittest and they still have bits of genuine Trent algae hanging off them. They will feel at home in this race, as there’s a stream that we are required to run down. L considers wellies but in the end pulls her orienteering shoes out of what they thought was their peaceful retirement.
As we stash the dogs in the car and head down to the start, they immediately start a duet of howling, totally embarrassing but we can’t give into such blackmail. We ignore them, fully expecting someone to report us to the RSPCA.
We line up for the start amongst a group of cowboys and Indians; fancy dress seems to be the order of the day. Some of the girls are in saris; they have perhaps come as the wrong type of Indians. There’s even a gorilla lurking somewhere near the back of the pack.
I start well but then concede a lot of places. I’m not pushing myself too hard on such a perilous course. I have bigger fish to fry coming up and this event is basically just an excuse to get some miles in. How many miles, I’m not sure, as they are very vague about the length of the course, 6 miles, 6.5, maybe more. I also don’t have the correct footwear on and some of the hills they have us on are quite steep. I almost slide off a few of them. A camber up one ice covered hill, the surface seemingly polished by the runners ahead, and go sliding most of the way back down again. Despite struggling to stand up at times, I still think I’m doing quite well until a gun toting cowboy comes running past me.
Rumour has it that the course offers spectacular views of the surrounding villages and countryside but unfortunately I can’t look up to see because I’m too worried about where I’m putting my feet.
Towards the end, some parts of the course have thawed out a bit and I finally get some traction, managing to run at something approaching normal race pace but then just as I’m getting in to it, we come to the ‘highlight’ of the run. The wade through the stream. Thankfully the earlier runners seem to have broken the ice on the surface. The water though is still feet numbingly cold. My first thoughts are that thankfully it’s only a short section of water. Then once I’m up to mid calf in the freezing water, I think what a long stint it is. As I emerge out the other side, I have to look down to check that my feet as still attached to my ankles as I can now no longer feel them. It takes a good few minutes to warm them back up again and then thankfully it’s the finish.
My time was over 54 minutes for however far it was. They describe it as a fun event, a chance to fun and blow away the Christmas and New Year excesses. Doesn’t stop them disqualifying the first two runners home, who were minutes ahead of the rest of the field and it’s suspected that they found a short cut somewhere.
I fetch the dogs from the car and wait for L to come in. She duly does, managing to hold off a late surge from the gorilla.
Afterwards we retire to Scruffys, to nurse our trench foot and to try out their Sunday lunches. They are all out of beef, so their roast consists of grilled best steak, which is a rather nice variation. The soup starter is also rather tasty and filling, particularly when I remind L of her resolution to cut down on her bread consumption, which means I get double. I’m always thinking of her wellbeing.
(Photos Huncote Harriers AC)
Cross country is not my thing at all. I prefer any terrain that I run on to be smooth and tarmac if at all possible, kind of road like, certainly not muddy. Luckily, the fact it’s so damn cold should render the mud meaningless.
I have my River Trent hardened shoes on, the ones I used for Survival of the Fittest and they still have bits of genuine Trent algae hanging off them. They will feel at home in this race, as there’s a stream that we are required to run down. L considers wellies but in the end pulls her orienteering shoes out of what they thought was their peaceful retirement.
As we stash the dogs in the car and head down to the start, they immediately start a duet of howling, totally embarrassing but we can’t give into such blackmail. We ignore them, fully expecting someone to report us to the RSPCA.
We line up for the start amongst a group of cowboys and Indians; fancy dress seems to be the order of the day. Some of the girls are in saris; they have perhaps come as the wrong type of Indians. There’s even a gorilla lurking somewhere near the back of the pack.
I start well but then concede a lot of places. I’m not pushing myself too hard on such a perilous course. I have bigger fish to fry coming up and this event is basically just an excuse to get some miles in. How many miles, I’m not sure, as they are very vague about the length of the course, 6 miles, 6.5, maybe more. I also don’t have the correct footwear on and some of the hills they have us on are quite steep. I almost slide off a few of them. A camber up one ice covered hill, the surface seemingly polished by the runners ahead, and go sliding most of the way back down again. Despite struggling to stand up at times, I still think I’m doing quite well until a gun toting cowboy comes running past me.
Rumour has it that the course offers spectacular views of the surrounding villages and countryside but unfortunately I can’t look up to see because I’m too worried about where I’m putting my feet.
Towards the end, some parts of the course have thawed out a bit and I finally get some traction, managing to run at something approaching normal race pace but then just as I’m getting in to it, we come to the ‘highlight’ of the run. The wade through the stream. Thankfully the earlier runners seem to have broken the ice on the surface. The water though is still feet numbingly cold. My first thoughts are that thankfully it’s only a short section of water. Then once I’m up to mid calf in the freezing water, I think what a long stint it is. As I emerge out the other side, I have to look down to check that my feet as still attached to my ankles as I can now no longer feel them. It takes a good few minutes to warm them back up again and then thankfully it’s the finish.
My time was over 54 minutes for however far it was. They describe it as a fun event, a chance to fun and blow away the Christmas and New Year excesses. Doesn’t stop them disqualifying the first two runners home, who were minutes ahead of the rest of the field and it’s suspected that they found a short cut somewhere.
I fetch the dogs from the car and wait for L to come in. She duly does, managing to hold off a late surge from the gorilla.
Afterwards we retire to Scruffys, to nurse our trench foot and to try out their Sunday lunches. They are all out of beef, so their roast consists of grilled best steak, which is a rather nice variation. The soup starter is also rather tasty and filling, particularly when I remind L of her resolution to cut down on her bread consumption, which means I get double. I’m always thinking of her wellbeing.
(Photos Huncote Harriers AC)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
