Idea Theft

It’s a touch cold when we arrive in Shepshed for the Shepshed 7 race and it’s not even as if it’s a crack of dawn start. Kick-off isn’t until 11am.



I ran this race three years ago and didn’t particularly enjoy it, too much off road for me. Nice smooth tarmac is what I like. So I haven’t been back since. L though has never done it, so it’s a nice treat for her... I think she’s also taking it quite seriously, right down to the aerodynamic sports bra. Think Madonna in Vogue. Red hair and now Madonna gear, she’ll be singing next. It does looks good though, on as well as off, but I digress.

Looking back at my performance in 2007, I put in some cracking split times, well suicidal ones and I feel well intimidated by myself of three years ago.

This week I have split the dogs up in the car, to try to prevent them egging each other on in a chorus of howling. It kind of works. MD appears mute, which is slightly unusual, ok very unusual, but Doggo makes a pretty good attempt at going solo.



Then we line up at the start among the impressive 536 entries. The course, to me, is a lap around the muddy playing field followed by roughly half a mile downhill, before about a mile on the flat and then uphill for the remaining two through a quite picturesque private country estate. Seems more up than down to me, which is perhaps why I didn’t like it much last time. And then we do it all again, as this is a two lapper.

As expected, at mile one, I’m already well down on my splits from 2007 but my pace isn’t too shifty. I catch up a chap who is wearing a special running vest that tells us he is doing ‘50 races in his 50th year’ and that this one is race number three. Ah, L won’t be happy when I tell her, that's idea theft, he’s pinched her idea. He’s also got the dates of his 50th year on there and as he was 49 right at the start of October, I reckon he’s already a little off the pace. It's five weeks in and this is only race number three. I pass him and wonder how I’m going to break the news to L. As I say she won’t be happy.

Then when he later re-overtakes me, I’m not happy either.

As I climb up the hill in the final mile, I pass the 10k point and it’s pleasing to see I’m actually faster than last week and that’s with saving a bit for the last .8 of a mile. It’s still in the 42’s though, so I’m not totally ecstatic about it.

The race goes ok. 68th I think. Over a minute slower than 2007 but I expected that and I did have a few beers last night, not that they seemed to hold me back.

It’s a well organised race with a nice technical t-shirt that I will actually wear and most importantly it’s not red. Well mine’s ok, I pick a medium and it’s a perfect fit. L’s t-shirt choice doesn’t go quite so well, they’re all out of smalls and her medium turns out to be blank, with no logo. In fact all the remaining mediums turn out to be blank, so I give her mine and grab a large for myself. Gallant or what.

We head home and after a hot bath take Daughter with us for Sunday Lunch. Hobgoblin is on at our local which is a cruel trick for a Sunday.

Daughter goes out later, so with the dogs comatose and of course Son in Warwick we have a quiet house all evening. Which brings back memories. Those were the days, before dog ownership and children who stay up until midnight.

(Sunday 7th November)

Role Reversal

Only just the other day, L and I were trashing the concept of ‘runner’s nipple’ and what have I been suffering with since Friday? Yep, you guessed it. Or ‘fissure of the nipple’ to give it its correct title. How embarrassing. I’ve never had any such problems before and I always wear the correct type of ‘technical’ shirts and not cotton ones, just like you’re supposed to. I also have a bruise on my upper arm, which I’ve no idea how I got.

However all my wounds are trivial stuff compared with Miss Black ‘n’ Blue herself, who is struggling to even roll over in bed unaided. L always has to try and go one better and has outdone me in style. She’s bruised all over from the Survival Of The Fittest experience. Daughter even has to slice the bread for her so that she can have toast for breakfast. Despite that she’s off today to run, or maybe hobble, around the Merrill 10k.

Meanwhile I’m at the East Of England Showground, for a spot of dogging. Things don’t start well. Doggo skips his dog walk contact. So as soon as we leave the competition ring I drag him off to the practice one. Which is an ‘honour’ I’ve not bestowed on him in over three years. He looks gutted but is immediately better, although not perfect like he is in training. Hopefully that has given him the hint that I want him to be just as good in competition as he is in training.

MD makes a decent effort on a grade 1-7 course, which is above his usual level. He has only one jump down, although I do mean down, as in flattened. Both wings down as well as the pole.

Next up is his G3 course, his usual level. He’s perfect to jump 10 out of 20, then if all goes spectacularly wrong as he hurtles off down what I assume he thinks is the finishing straight, eventually hurdling the last jump with the timing gear on it. Only problem was, it was the start jump not the finish. An easy mistake to make I suppose, both have the timing gear on them. All the same though he should be taking instructions from me and not adlibbing.

Doggo redeems himself, temporarily. He is clear on his jumping course but then tries to take a chunk out of a Weimaraner, for which he gets booted. As in sentenced to a stint back in the car boot, which is where they usually travel. Whilst ‘he who usually get booted’, MD, is curled up quietly by my feet. Role reversal. L will never believe this.

So that’s all my runs done by 11am, bar one. I’ve got just one more to do with MD, in about four hours time... I pour a coffee from my flask and start reading the paper, slowly.

Bugger. A four hour wait and then MD does a near perfect clear round. So we’ve got to wait for the results now. I drain my flask and sip the last of the coffee, slowly.

We get 15th, not bad out of 185 entrants. Almost worth waiting four hours for. We’d have done even better if the judge hadn’t got in my way on the course. We took a revolutionary route and he clearly wasn’t expecting such innovation. Now I’ve just got to wait a little bit longer for the presentation and our rosette. Yet I’m all out of coffee.

Home for roast lamb, a take-out tub of ‘Brush’ from Fox and Crown and a romantic night with L. Who was a bit slower in her 10k than she had hoped for but after her exploits yesterday, it’s not surprising. So I won’t call her in for extra training.

Only thing is we’re both knackered, L protests that she got about as much stamina as a collie, and we both promptly fall asleep. Although not as promptly as the collies.

(Sunday 10th October)