The Unthinkable

I had intended to reinstate the early morning run, once a week. However after a manic park session last night MD looks so creased that I daren’t run him and going without him is almost unthinkable. Oh the tears. L, who is on a day off, persuades me to abandon my running plans and snuggle up with her instead. Resistance, I hope, is futile.

It appears that most of the football clubs in the land are falling over themselves to ban vuvuzelas from their grounds ahead of the coming season. Don’t know what Derby’s plans are? I don’t want anything disturbing my nap when I go there.



I think our neighbours may come round and throttle the dogs because of the new toy L bought MD at the weekend, MD loves it, although Doggo obviously thinks it’s his. It’s a squeaky space hopper, although I've yet to see either of them pogoing around the garden on it.



Training happens tonight and goes well, then it’s back home for the cycling... to see if Contador gives back the time he stole... he doesn’t. So not that sorry then.

Saying Sorry

I do an extra five miles cycling this morning. Is this part of some grand training plan you ask. No. I forgot my phone. Not that this, in itself, was problem but I was not sure where I’d left it. Knowing me, probably in the front garden and I can't ring L to ask her to check... So when I realised, I turned round and went back for it. I found it on the stairs, where it could have been crushed under a teenage foot or chewed by a dog. So perhaps a good call to go back for it. Then I have to go into race mode to make up lost time.

Waiting for me at work is a 'Darling...' email from L. Seems her running partner for the dreaded water fest that is Survival Of The Fittest, her sister, has backed out. So she needs a substitute team mate. Hmmm. I have no problem with the running bit, it's the enforced drowning in the River Trent bit that I wasn't keen on last year. Oh well. Duty calls I guess. It better be one hell of a curry afterwards.

Shame she can’t ask her latest fella. She can’t because it’s another fictional character. Edmund Dante, the Count of Monte Cristo. Apparently such is the crush; our next pup could be called Dante. I suppose Dante is a step up, of sorts, because up until last week it was going to be called Mika. By the way, I see Liverpool have drawn an Albanian team called Mika in the UEFA cup. It’s such a common name.

Apparently as I cycle home I miss L, who is walking through Borrowash, where she’s off to meet some friends for a run. Not my fault. I was momentarily distracted by something pink with a ponytail pedalling rather sexily in the other direction. It was not my usual blonde and of course I needed to check out her bike. I’ll make it up to L later.

No training tonight, gardening instead! Then footballs on park before settling down to watch the controversy in the Tour de France.

Andy Schleck’s chain comes off, close to the summit of the Pyrenean climb of the Port de Balès, and jams in his rear wheel. Happens to us all. Alberto Contador took full advantage, powered past him, shot down the descent on the other side and consequently turned the 31 second deficit he had to Schleck into an 8 second lead. Contador was then roundly booed by the crowd as he received the yellow jersey on the podium. Why? Because profiting from another’s misfortune like that goes against race etiquette. Well... sometimes, it depends who the bad guy is.



Contador kind of apologised later saying "maybe I made a mistake". Is he really sorry? Will he give Schleck the seconds back tomorrow, we will see, but somehow I doubt it.

Talking of saying sorry, just when we're thinking someone must have strung up the race director of the Crich 10k, the results and an apology arrive by email.

There For The Taking

We’re in Rugby for a dog show, even L comes to support. I look enviously at the Crufts team event. We couldn’t raise a team. Well we could but the infighting and lack of the availability of good dogs meant we decided not to bother in the end. Thing is some of the dogs we thought couldn’t do the job have since gone on to have storming results.

The winners of the team event do so with only three out of four dogs going clear. So it was there for the taking really.

We start out individual runs and Doggo promptly gets eliminated. MD starts well but has a pole down and demolishes the long jump. Things get better, as Doggo does well on the jumping course but on the Olympia qualifier... well, let’s just say we won’t be going.

MD though is having a good day. Although we get nothing on a jumping course that I thought would suit him, he then turns in a surprise clear on the agility course and gets 15th. This is in a class where he was competing against 175 other dogs including dogs up to grade 4, which is a level higher than where he is, and it was agility, which meant he had to hit all his contacts. Well pleased.

Taking The Commemorative Biscuit

It’s a nice leisurely 1pm start up at Crich for their first ever 10k. This enables L to use Pilates as a warm up and for me to wear the dogs out on the park, so that we can dump them at home.

The start is on the recreation ground, as part of the village fete, but the first problem is the car park is half a mile away. Not very convenient but in the end I think it’s closer than they said, so not much of a problem. Though it perhaps highlights they have a problem assessing distances...

There’s an uphill start to the top of the recreation ground but then it’s generally downhill for the first few miles. We go through the centre of Crich village, negotiate a few stiles and jog across some pleasant countryside. So far it’s all very picturesque... then we go into the woods.

Suddenly things become a touch more challenging. Well actually a lot more challenging as we plummet downhill on very slippery paths, sometimes muddy, sometimes rocky, but never with much grip. Well at least I think it may have been a path. I couldn’t say for sure.

It’s exceedingly tricky underfoot and also at head height as I dodge overhanging branches whilst simultaneously hurdling part-hidden tree roots. Death defying doesn’t really do it justice. I see quite a few people fall but somehow I manage to stay on my feet. When I do stumble and grab a tree for support about ten people tumble past me as they have no chance of stopping on such a steep incline.

This was followed by a battle through some seriously deep undergrowth, overrun with bracken and nettles, nice. Many people who were clearly expecting a fairly bog standard 10k were not happy. I was expecting a hilly off road one but wasn’t quite prepared for an SAS assault course like this. Perhaps I was being too picky last night; perhaps that nice Tara Kinder 10k would have been more me after all. Three and a half laps of a grit track around Elvaston Castle suddenly has its attractions.

Eventually we emerge on to the banks of Cromford Canal and a long stretch of flat and boring, as we follow the canal for two miles through to Whatstandwell. It's so glorious I want to kiss the towpath. Personally I love a bit of a grind and I regain all the places I lost on the descent.

I’m at the drinks station at ‘around’ half way on 38 minutes. Either this ain’t half way or this ain’t 10k. Perhaps like with the car park, they’re not good on distances. The race info did say 'approximately' 10k I suppose.

Then we start to climb. This is ‘the’ climb, all the way up to Crich Stand and it gradually gets more serious and relentless as we continue to gain height. It’s not all runnable. Well it is but when it becomes quicker to pace it out, rather than to run it, then that’s the time to walk. I cope with this better than most and continue to gain places all the way up to the Stand.

Then it’s downhill all the way to the finish, via the local graveyard, with a chap in hot pursuit of me. There’s no way he’s coming past me... I’ll impede him if need be and eventually he seems to give up.

I cross the line in around 54 minutes, which from whatever angle you look at it, is my slowest 10k ever by a huge margin. 14th overall though, which is impressive. I am handed my commemorative biscuit, I kid you not. Perhaps it's a pun. The race did take the commemorative biscuit somewhat. Tastes good though.



(and yes I know it looks pornographic)

Later many of the runners, including L who is sporting some nice lacerations on her legs and who comes in amongst a self-help group of girls at the back, complain about going wrong and getting lost in the woods. It turns out probably everybody went the wrong way and we all ran 7.1 miles and not the 6.2 it should have been. Apparently there was a sign in the woods pointing the wrong way and a lack of marshals there e.g. there were none.

Somehow we recover without the use of alcohol and instead retire to a local cafe for coffee and cake. L seems less spooked by the whole experience than I do.

Later we head out, L has promised me a curry but unfortunately they have the rather wonderful Gales HSB in the Poacher and that kind of takes over the evening. The curry though is still very nice, though I’m well knackered by the time we get there and perhaps a touch drunk as well. Son comes down to join us. The lure of a free curry too good to resist.

(Saturday 17th July)

Supporting Is So Much More Fun

I run into work, taking it nice and gentle. This is just a loosener for the Crich race tomorrow. L though is running tonight, as well as tomorrow. Two races in two days holds no fear for her.

Her preparation doesn’t start well when she finds the leisure centre shut so that she can’t do her morning gym session. She arrived to find all the staff sat on the wall outside while two workmen were frantically trying to unjam the shutters. Perhaps somebody had heard that we might not be getting out £50 ‘Change For Life’ bribe now that the government have axed the scheme and decided to get their retaliation in first.

Tonight’s race, the Tara Kinder 10k, just isn’t really me. L says it’s rather nice, it has a t-shirt and a cake stall, ‘what more could a boy want?’ Answer - excitement, danger and something that isn’t three and a half laps of a grit track around the outskirts of Elvaston Castle or perhaps I’m just being picky.

She’s mainly here for the fitness or it could be the t-shirt. Seems my girl will do almost anything for a t-shirt... and I thought it was chocolate that girls were supposed to do anything for? Well there’s always the cake stall.

After work I walk/jog the three or so miles to Elvaston Castle, sheltering in the trees every time a rain shower comes. My decision not to run starting to look more and more sensible.

L texts to say she’s enjoying the bus ride over, which means she enjoying reading her new book ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’, and is looking forward to copious amounts of alcohol. I think she’s forgetting about the bit in the middle. I mean, isn’t there a run in there somewhere?

As I tuck into the cake stall and grab a coffee from a van, I wonder why I bother competing in any of these events at all when supporting is so much more fun.



After the race we walk back to Borrowash and then catch the bus over to Beeston. Our aim is to check out the Crown, which is now under new ownership, having been sold to Everards by Greene King. It’s been open for a while now but we’ve not had chance to visit. It is now billed as a Beer Emporium with 14 real ales and was recently ‘crowned’ (if you excuse the pun) Nottingham’s pub of the year, beating local rival and many times winner The Victoria into third place. Another of our haunts, the Hand and Heart, came second.

It’s quite impressive and very very busy. This is certainly a business model that works. They are also happy to have dogs in the pub, so it could be a regular of ours if only we could find room somewhere in the pub to sit with them.

Am I That Predictable?

I have an 11.30 meeting this morning which annoyingly straddles lunch. L forgets all about it and when I don’t respond to her emails, she naturally assumes I’m in the pub. Typical. Am I that predictable? The meeting finishes at 2.30. Now I need the pub.

L tries out the personal training plan I’ve given her. Though she's confused about the bit I've called 'warm up'. I know she is from the way she queries ‘Warm up? What's that?’. I tell her not to worry about it, just to do her own thing for the period I have specified. We can get more technical later.

Despite following my PTT she also insists that she MUST run outdoors tonight. So I suggest that my client joins myself and my two four-legged helpers on a run together tonight... and why not, they say that running on a regular basis can slow the effects of ageing. We all need a bit of that. Wonder if this still applies if you run with two collies.

The curse of St Swithin's Day continues to strike. It's foul again, thundering as well but then later, oddly its fine enough to train the boys in garden.

Then we do the promised run, with me attached to the two wayward collies. Although after a good training session they both look too tired to be too wayward. MD even runs at my side most of the way. Well actually just in front, so that I almost fall over him. I think it’s his way of trying to get me to stop.

It’s a pleasant run, made even more pleasant by stopping off on the way back to share a bag of Quavers with dogs, oh and a swift one to wash them down.

(Thursday 15th July)

Laryngitis

Here's a thing. Just to prove that my young dog is now growing up and getting more mature, I can report that MD passed three dogs on his walk this morning and didn't bark at any of them. L thinks he has laryngitis.

Here's another thing. When L got home and unlocked the back door to let the dogs out, she found a teenager stood the other side of it carrying a bag of sausages and bacon. It's actually not as strange as it sounds. We're used to such occurrences. Son had a bit of a mini 'bash', confined to his room, last night but it appears one of his guests had headed out early to find breakfast and we had inadvertently locked him out. Needless to say, all this helped MD made an immediate recovery from his laryngitis.

I ride in to work, dodging the downpours. I even enjoyed being on my old faithful. The weather was far too unpredictable to get my posh bike out. It's still licking it's wounds after getting very damp up in Windermere. It might not be getting another trip out to work any time soon as according to tradition, if it rains on St Swithin's Day (that’s today) then it will rain for forty days, which is basically until the end of August. Isn’t that the period that we call summer.

That said, I reckon it’s gone quite warm again, not that L would agree with me. It even looks like it might stay dry for my ride home.... Ah. 4pm and it’s torrential. Good old St Swithin's Day.. but then it stops and I actually get home in the dry.

And so to squash. I win a game and then celebrate in the pub. Then it rains AGAIN before I can do any training with MD in the garden.

(Wednesday 14th July)