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It would appear over recent months, based on the content being generated by the RC collect of running misfits, that MLCMM is the only one who has been doing any running… well the only one stringing jumbles of words together.  I am not sure whether this constitutes much running, it is hard to tell.

Anyway, in the land of Le Chat things appear to be going quite well.  After a summer of angst and little running, the tide has turned and, touch wood, I’m running reasonably well at the moment.

As is the case with us Rawsons’ (we are all the same) we don’t tend to do things the easy way, or indeed the intelligent way.   Having arrived back from holidays a few kilos over weight and doing a pretty good impression of a sloth in the slow lane… I decided it was time to get one’s self sorted.

So… I crashed my calorie intake in half, stopped drinking beer and decided to run every day.  This started on the Sunday after a very hard, and frankly embarrassing Twitten Run and ended on the following Friday when I discovered that I was completely buggered.  I couldn’t run more than a mile without stopping and every bit of me hurt, mentally and physically.  Worse, on my Tuesday outing with the herd, I had to bow out at 5 miles.

I know what you’re thinking… you’re thinking “duh… lack of food, no recovery time between runs, over-doing it… what the funk did I expect”.  And I’m thinking: “yep… you’re right”.

So I started again… went back to a sensible calorie intake (by the way, I did lose the kilos) and started to measure out the running in a more sensible fashion… with an aim to maintain an average distance of 2 miles a day (currently on 2.5).
  
The turning point however, was Bank Holiday Monday when I took myself out to prove that I could still run some kind of distance.  Eleven miles up and over the hills surrounding Lewes (including the Relentless Bastard) was just what I needed to tell myself that it was all still possible.  It wasn’t quick, and it wasn’t pretty, but it was done.

Since then I have my mojo back.  I have re-started track running to help with my speed – and frighteningly have started to enjoy it…  made more enjoyable for having @ThatCoachNick to laugh at, and Mary-Louise to try and keep up with.  The Tuesday night herd runs have been great… the last one was a tough 6 miler through the Valley of Death… but I flew down the last hill, not just running with the Crazies, but actually catching them up as we tumbled down the hillside.  Although, once on the flat they pulled away again… but only just.

Last weekend I ran through the forests of Nottingham on a new Wildrunning track which had been built by my good friend Chris, inspired by my love of off-road running!  Why it’s not called CharlieCat's Wildrunning track, I have no idea. 

Tomorrow I head out for a 10 miler over Blackcap and then into the unexplored wildlands (well, I’ve not been there before). 

And then of course there is Almeria in February.  I don’t like races.  I don’t like road running.  But I am really looking forward to meeting new friends and getting back together with old. 

Finally, my old mucker set out for his first post op run this morning… I can’t wait to hit the trails with old goat face again.

Oh yes... there's this as well:  https://vimeo.com/181526755

(10-09-2016, 10:05 AM)Charliecat5 Wrote: [ -> ]So… I crashed my calorie intake in half, stopped drinking beer and decided to run every day.

EG, I think Charlie's login has been hacked.

(12-09-2016, 07:45 AM)Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man Wrote: [ -> ]

(10-09-2016, 10:05 AM)Charliecat5 Wrote: [ -> ]So… I crashed my calorie intake in half, stopped drinking beer and decided to run every day.

EG, I think Charlie's login has been hacked.

In my defence, I only managed to stop the beer drinking for five days.  I was back on the grog by Friday evening.  I am never going to do that again.  I almost sobered up... and I didn't much like the world I was looking at.

Stone the crows.  I did something last night I never thought I would do.   I went to a yoga class.  But not any old yoga class… a yoga class for runners.

How did this happen, I hear you cry?

Well, as you will be aware some of my more recent runs have been with Mary-Louise.  A very determined individual and one that isn’t shy of taking the piss of La Chat it seems.   She is a bit of a ‘feminist yoga bore’ (her words not mine) who, when on a 10 miler coming back along the river, was muttering about the benefits of yoga for runners.  I was doing my best to ignore such crazy talk, until she mentioned that her other half was about to start a Yoga for Runners class.  She went on to explain how yoga had transformed his running and how before he started he was like me… completely inflexible and constantly moaning about sore muscles. Which was a bit rude I thought - albeit true.

Suddenly I was intrigued… is this the answer I’m looking for.  The answer to the question I didn’t know I needed to ask.  It couldn’t do any harm could it?  I signed up!

Several weeks later on a rainy Monday evening I found myself in a small room on Station Hill with four other victims and Graham, our tutor.   Graham looks like a runner, a fit runner, and it soon became apparent, a very bendy runner.   I arrived very nervous that I wasn’t going to be able to do all the bending stuff as I struggle to touch my knees, never mind my feet.  

We started by doing some breathing exercises… which was a bit odd, because I know how to breath… but it was strangely relaxing.  We then spent a little time finding our centre of balance before starting the real work.  I learnt how to do a Downward Dog, we did lunges (which I think are called Warriors).  We did a Cobra and lots of exercises stringing all these together.

What surprised me, is that I could actually do these things.  I can’t imagine that it looked pretty and there were a few of those grunts you get when you’re my age… you know the ones… the ones you make as you get off the sofa.   I also managed not to fart for over an hour – which was also a result in my book (because again at my age, you never quite know where a fart might lead).

I came out of the class an hour later feeling really good and inspired to keep it up.  Sadly, work will mean missing next week, but Graham has promised to save the session on legs and calf muscles for the session after that. 

My only disappointment is that we didn’t do any ‘standing on your head’ exercises.  Mary-Louise promised me that after five weeks I would be able to stand on my head.  Perhaps that’s the next lesson.

(20-09-2016, 08:02 AM)Charliecat5 Wrote: [ -> ]Mary-Louise promised me that after five weeks I would be able to stand on my head. 

Maybe it's just an "X-Files'' thing, but I had lunch with a friend last week who shocked the pants off me by saying that he, like you, was a yoga fiend. If you really can stand on your head in five weeks time, maybe I'll give it a crack, too.

Too freaky, man. So much so that I'm listening to Jethro Tull again.

(20-09-2016, 11:20 AM)Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man Wrote: [ -> ]

(20-09-2016, 08:02 AM)Charliecat5 Wrote: [ -> ]Mary-Louise promised me that after five weeks I would be able to stand on my head. 

Maybe it's just an "X-Files'' thing, but I had lunch with a friend last week who shocked the pants off me by saying that he, like you, was a yoga fiend. 

Like me, a yoga fiend?   I've been to one class.  At least let me attend another before you start calling me a fiend.


Talking of fiends, the big man has started running again.  I must arrange a jaunt with him.

One yoga class is enough, my friend. 'Fiend' it is. There'll be beers bought and consumed and stretches and positions reattempted in pubs and clubs throughout the land over that little story, I am sure.

Yoga ..... interesting interesting ....hope there will be more and you can tell us if it really helps you or not.

Jethro Tull. Many years ago when I lived in Devon I used to cross paths with keyboard player Martin Barr when he was out for a run early in the morning. At the time I had no idea who Jethro Tull was... sounded like the name of one of the old farmers! One of my classmates from school ended up working for him in his recording studio. So there you go...

(20-09-2016, 01:36 PM)Bierzo Baggie Wrote: [ -> ]At the time I had no idea who Jethro Tull was... sounded like the name of one of the old farmers!

He was indeed one of the old farmers...

Running this last week has been the expression and epitome of what life itself is all about.   Even though nothing actually happened on the running front until Thursday evening’s track session with the herd. 

I have been reflecting somewhat on track nights, as they have shifted in my conscious from being an horrendous activity but one that’s good for you… to one that I have started to enjoy and even look forward to. 

I can only come up with two answers to this: 1) I am getting better at it. Only throwing up now and again, rather than every lap; and 2) I enjoy the company.  It’s a good craic.   This Thursday I had the company of Outalongtheriver (OATR) and Hugs.  Both very fine runners and both whom should have been in a quicker group.

However, Thursday evenings are Thursday evenings… nothing really new there.  What is new, is that today I entered and ran my first ever running race.  I have a number and safety pins to prove this.    The reason for this madness is a good friend call Baz the Haff.   Baz the Haff, for reasons I won’t explain here, has decided to take up running again after quite an absence from the sport, and thought that the ‘Lewes Downland 5’ would be a good target to aim for.   From a distance (i.e. on Twitter) I have noted a marked improvement in his running form over recent months… but there is a gulf between 3 miles on the flat and 5 miles over our beautiful hills.

To help him conquer this challenge he looked towards a few of us who understand the tenacity of the Downs.  Those of us who on a regular basis take her on as our mistress, and have leant over the years how to tame a little of the cruelty she inflicts.  So Sweder, OATR and yours truly agreed to stand shoulder to shoulder with the man.

However, there was the small matter of the Twittens to deal with first.  At 9am the original band of Twitten runners, the founders of this Sunday morning lunacy, found ourselves as three taking on this strange form of medieval torture.   With only three pretty evenly pegged athletes (!) in attendance… it was a tough run.  Little time (or should I say NO time) to take stock at the tops before setting off again. 

So back to the race – having adequately warmed up – we arrived a Wallands School to pick up our numbers and to meet the Baz the Haff posse.  It was a very strange feeling walking in; the last time Ash and I entered the school was the morning of the Moyleman.  Numbers collected we set off for the start-line.  A start-line we discovered to be at the top of the hill, not at the bottom.  A start-line it quickly transpired, that meant running back down the flippin’ hill only to run up it again to get the full 5 miles in. 

Baz the Haff had set himself the target of one hour for the five miles.  A target that, truth be know, we thought was a bit steep given this was his first time out with the cruel mistress. 

The first three miles of this challenge are up-hill; and even the relief of the downhills are tempered by the view of the elevations ahead.  It’s a hard run.   His pace was not setting the world on fire… it was steady… but it was relentless.  He didn’t let up once.  He stopped only at the drink station to briefly re-hydrate before kicking off again whilst the rest of us were still sipping.   This was determination at its best - written all over his face as he took on Mount Harry. 

At mile four, Sweder and I slipped in behind him and OATR, resolute that we were going to get him over the line within the hour.  The banter slipped away to singing – I kid you not – OATR and BGG produced, at an ear splitting volume, what can only be described as, well, an un-describable rendition of Rawhide.  As we turned into the last hill – as short but evil affair - we pushed the man hard, keeping him moving when every bit of him wanted to stop.  A feeling I know so well.  As we turned the last corner with the end in sight it was time to ramp up the pressure even further, to finish on a sprint.   The crowd was cheering as the four of us crossed the line, Baz the Haff leading us over in 55 minutes.   An awesome achievement and one that I am very proud to have played a little part in.

For me, this is what running is all about.  Great friends, great countryside, and great experiences. 

The only thing left was for Rob and I to run the mile and half back home.

Was there beer? There has to be beer. Beer or not (surely, not not), it sounds like a tremendous time was had by all. And if you and BGG are already murdering the hills like this, then look out Almeria ... it could be a PB-fest (well, for you, obviously it will be).

It's getting exciting round these parts!

(02-10-2016, 05:26 PM)Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man Wrote: [ -> ]Was there beer? There has to be beer. Beer or not (surely, not not), it sounds like a tremendous time was had by all. And if you and BGG are already murdering the hills like this, then look out Almeria ... it could be a PB-fest (well, for you, obviously it will be).

No PB for me, mate. I'll be happy to get round before they turn off the lights; it's early days in my long road back.

This was a gentle jog for us, a very real mountain for Baz. He gave all he thought he had, then dug deep to find a bit more.
There is beer, though. Several, so far this evening. Here's a couple of them ... 

[attachment=3099]

Burning Sky. God's Work.

Running is adventure, and that’s what I like best about it.

Up until mid-afternoon yesterday, I was going to run the Twittens this morning, perhaps with a three-mile romp over the Downs as a warm-up.

However, a well-timed email from my crazy friend Mary-Lou changed all that.  She forwarded me a missive from the Head of the Herd inviting people to attend a little Sunday jaunt from Firle pub carpark.   I looked at the weather forecast – cold and crisp – and decided to go for it.

So at 07:45 IN THE MORNING, I picked up the crazy lady and we headed to the pub in Firle, which sadly was closed.   We were pretty much the first there.  As others stated to arrive we realised we’d made a tactical error.  They were all the quick, serious guys… you know the sort.  One chap who goes by the name of Ed, had run from Newhaven to join us!

We stood around in the carpark doing our best to keep warm as the sun did its best to break through the early morning mist.  Then the Head man blew his bugle (he didn’t actually have one – I wish he did tho’) and we set off - straight through the village and onto the Coach Road (Moyleman in reverse). 

It was chilly for the first mile but then the pace upped a gear and soon I was panting and sweating like an overweight bulldog in a chip-shop.   We cleared a good couple of miles at a 7:15 mile pace, rolling gently up and down the track underneath the shadowed hills to our right.   Eventually we joined Bo-Peep borstal and I readied myself to take it on and give it everything I had; only to find that we had another half a mile (I’ll come back to this ‘half a mile’ in a second) before we turned right and upwards.

One thing I have noticed about our esteemed leader is that he doesn’t really have a good grasp of how far a mile actually is.  I have realised over the last twelve months in his company that when he says “half a mile”, what we’re actually facing is a minimum of a “whole mile”.

So a mile later, we turned right and headed up a lovely, but soddin’ steep track.  But hey, I like lovely steep tracks, so I saddled up and started to grind it out.

Pleasingly I was got to the top in third place after Newhaven Ed and a lovely South African guy.  At the top we waited for the others to catch us up (I say we… Ed did a loop back down the hill so he could run back up again – that tells you all you need to know about the people we were running with).

After a while most of us were there enjoying the views and the sunshine, which was now making an appearance.    The front group decided to head off, leaving a few of us to pick up the tail-end.  The tail-end arrived, but there was no sign of Mary-Lou.   Then my phone rang.  The good news is that she hadn’t fallen over… the bad news is that she’d got lost!  I say ‘bad news’… I meant funny news… until it dawned on me that I was going to have to go back down the STEEP hill to find her.

So having sent the others on their way, I headed back down the hill until I eventually found her, looking sheepish, now back on the right path.   Back on track we made our way across the tops of the hills, with the sun on our backs crossing Bo-Peep and Firle Beacon before eventually starting the long downhill into Firle.  Back in the carpark several of the runners had waited to make sure the lost sheep and her crazy friend had found their way home.

For me, this is what running is all about.  It didn’t matter that we arrived back last… it didn’t matter that we didn’t achieve a personal best.  What mattered was we had an adventure and we spent a couple of hours in great company with some mad, mad runners.

9 beautiful miles.

Envious of this sort of outing, currently, sadly beyond me. I'm going through a tough patch, with work the over-riding factor.
Health/ fitness concerns are a close seconds. More of that in my own web-slung diary soon.

Good Grief

Work means that I missed last night’s run with the Herd and will miss tomorrow’s track session as well.  So I went out for a rumble around town on Monday evening... pounding the streets for four miles; and tonight I thought I’d try and beat my record around Sweder’s Circuit, to replace the missing track shenanigans. 

The first half a mile was a breeze – mostly downhill with a fair wind behind me.  I needed to complete the first mile in 7:30 minutes to have any chance of the record; and when I reached the main road I was well on target.   It took me a full minute to find a break in the rush hour traffic.

Eventually, I squeezed my sorry arse between the fast moving traffic and took off up the track.  Now there’s a bloody thorn sticking into the side of my foot.  I did a cat-tastic dancing shuffle in an attempt to dislodge the little bastard, but it wouldn’t shift.  A minute later the shoe was off… the thorn extracted, and I’m back on my way.

The next mile went without mishap… apart from the running up the Sweder’s Hill bit, which is always problematic.   Then as the measurometer clicked over the two-mile mark, my shoelace came undone and a shin splint appeared.   I stopped… I re-tied my shoe… and I eased back for the last mile.

The result: 26 bloody minutes.   The good news is that my moving pace was 8:03.  I had been aiming for an overall pace of 8:00.  
Next run planned for Friday evening – trying to persuade some of the other RC ne'er-do-wells  to join me.

Homer running with a thorn.

This is where it starts… this is the beginning of a new obsession.  

This morning I ran my first proper race.  An off-road 4.5-mile blast through the West Sussex countryside.  The last race of the West Sussex League session, a league that the Herd won this year -grabbing the trophy with some ease.  Obviously my intervention today had little to do with their success.

I’d had a tough week workwise.  Late nights, early mornings and heavy drinking.   I then ran 5 miles on Friday morning over the Downs and had a little jaunt with the Goat yesterday morning – trying out his new heart rate running malarkey.   Last night was Lewes Bonfire night, so more drink and another late night. 

I am not making excuses for my performance today – It was alright for someone popping his race cherry, IMO.   I mention the week of gluttony and greed to make a point later on.

So why enter a race?  I was bullied (for good reason) by the Herd to enter… in fact I was asked to run last week as they were short of numbers, but had other plans… so agreed to run today instead.

Being a good running citizen I offered my services as a driver this morning and very quickly had two people take up my kind offer.  Two people who are beyond the usual Crazy runner status.  These guys enter races and WIN them.  These guys run upwards of 80 miles a week and do the secret Wednesday night track session that is only mentioned in hushed tones.   These guys were lovely, but spoke a different language to me.  A language that muttered about 5 and 6 minute miles and running not twice a week… but twice a day!

We arrived at the race site and I was feeling very, very nervous.  I joined a few runners for a brief warmup heading up the field, and found nothing in the tank which I put down to nerves.

The 10-minute warning sounded, then the five, then we were off.  Big steps, small steps as a mass of people tried to find their way through the pack.  The lead guys had already cleared the top of the field before the rest of us had really found any sort of pace.  I decided to relax and enjoy the run… just as I had yesterday with Sweder (albeit a little faster).   The first section was uphill so I managed to clear a bit of space by overtaking a few runners before getting into a steady pace on the tops.  We soon cleared the fields and headed into beautiful woodland and a lovely long downhill.  But sadly a downhill I knew I was going to have to climb again shortly.  I looked at my watch and was pleased with the time – the first two miles were cleared under 16 minutes.   We exited the woodland and set off across a few fields and a bit of tarmac before turning back into the forest to follow our footsteps back to the finish.  

This was a mile and a half of uphill running.   Similar to the Snake for those that know that particular bastard.  I realised then that I had overcooked the first half of the race.  The pace fell… my usual ability to power up the up-hills deserted me as I just dug in and concentrated on putting one foot ahead of the other.  

After what seemed like an eternity the wood was behind us once again and we were on the last mile home.  I dropped in behind another runner to hold the pace before we turned the last corner to see the end in sight, half a mile a head.  One downhill and one short-uphill section to go.   I let rip and pushed hard, arriving over the finish line to the cheers of my fellow Herd members (some who had already been back for 9 minutes!).

I am not sure whether I enjoyed it.  I enjoyed the bubbles to celebrate winning the season, but appreciated the fact that I was a bit of a fraud joining in.   I enjoyed crossing the finishing line, but the lack of oomph in my legs at times was very frustrating.   Will I do another one?   Well putting Almeria to one side as I see this as a run with some good mates, the answer is probably yes.  And this is where the problem starts.

All the way home I picked my passengers brains about getting faster. What they eat before a race… how they get faster… how they manage the mental anguish.   My brain was rattling about, wondering how much faster I could have run if it hadn’t been such a torturous week, if I’d eased back on the beer, if I hadn’t sprinted up Blackcap like a loon yesterday.  

These are dangerous thoughts… as its these kind of thoughts that lead to obsession in my strange old world.  But as my new Crazy friends pointed out… as obsessions go, it’s a pretty healthy one.
 
4.5 miles in 36 minutes.  I'll take that for a first race.

Great effort Charlie. Mixing it up proper.

"I realise then that I had overcooked the first half of the race."

Just be prepared to forget this and relearn it many, many times.