Er, no.
But you’d be forgiven for thinking that given the dearth of running-related news here in what started as a blog for my running-related news.
This question has been thrown at me a few times recently which gave me pause to consider just what I have been (mainly) blogging about.
Not running: Clearly other stuff has been taking the bandwidth https://bigandscaryrunning.com/the-cost-of-energy/
Timeline recap: I break an ankle fell racing at the end of summer 2022 and once repairs and rehab are complete I spend the 2023 season racing mountain bikes. This mainly involves getting my ass handed to me on every race but I enjoy the whole thing immensely having not done it in anger for some 30 years.
Autumn sees me transitioning back to running with a view to be back on the fells for 2024 racing the short and gnarly stuff. (There remains a distinct lack of enthusiasm to tackle anything long, reinforced I suspect, with a recognition that 2024 is going to be more full of prison work than ever). I find have to do a considerable amount of ankle (re) conditioning before I put the last of the creaks and hurty moments to bed and can run full-tilt downhill over the rough stuff once again.
As new prison work ramps up from the start of this year it drives a truck through the consistency and purposefulness of my training. I’m trying to do too much of everything.
First race plans are binned and it takes me an age to get it through my stubborn head that I can’t make this work on drive alone (anymore). I give myself permission to lower the bar and widen the goalposts so that more of my measures of sanity and success are more reachable more of the time – and for less of a stretch.
And I practice the skills of asking for help.
I’m used to prison work being an emotional rollercoaster but this is another level. It’s my first High Security prison – more rules apply for more men who have racked up more serious stuff. For a while anything vaguely athletic I do is simply serving as reflect-learn/making sense of sh** time and glorious stress-relief.
And I learn to be more OK with that.
Ultimately though, the only way to know where I truly am re my racing is to put myself on a start line – and in the middle of May some 22 months after my ankle break I do just that.
It’s an up-down route of 2.2miles and 1100’ climbing and to my horror after holding my own during the hike-climb I descend like Bambi. BUT I finish – and although way down on my usual pecking order I stay on my feet and the ankle is solid.
Then the universe decides I’ve not been tested enough in prison-related matters and I almost disappear down the rabbit hole of mental and emotional angst.
The plus side of this is that it’s forcing me to innovate at a pace and level I’ve rarely done for any length of time in order to get me and my work fit for purpose. This means the work and me are better now on many measures than the start of the year. The flipside of this is that it makes Cognitive Containment very difficult. What my training does do is keep it at ‘difficult-manageable’ and stops the slide to impossible.
Mostly.
Regenerating Time Lord style yet again I blow out another few race plans before confidence is at a sufficiently high level to at least vaguely match the bar of expectation that has been re-set sufficiently low.
Which brings me to an appointment in The Lake District last weekend and another 2.2miles up-down though this time with a murderously steep 1600’ of climbing.
Race HQ is a small village primary school fundraiser tucked under the skirts of one of the big northern fells. Turn up, pay a few quid for your number and you’re in.
I point and state the bleedin’ obvious but wanting to check I’ve got the right bit of mountain anyway:
‘Up there, right?’
‘Aye.’
‘Minimum kit?’ (Fell Runner Association rules require runners to take specific kit with them – and organisers also have some discretion).
‘Not if you don’t want to.’
I’ve learned over the years that in situations like this you can actually get all the detail and more by listening in to the conversations of runners wearing the local club vest – especially if they are pointing at the route in view and in aminated conversation with other interested parties. So I sidle close and listen in and let more pieces make more sense. The course record of around 25mins goes back to the early 80’s set by one of the all-time greats of the sport. I do some extrapolating and figure that means at least a half hour effort for me – not that I’m wearing a watch: I never do for a race.
The only flat bit of our route is the 30 yards across the playing field before hard left and UP. I reckon there’s no more than 2 dozen of us but we range from near-national standards local club runners – I recognise faces – to a first timer up here on holiday. I’ve told myself to start at the back and make sure everyone I pass stays passed.
And some hurried braking – slow down you idiot! – in the first 50 yards not withstanding, I manage to do just that. 100yards of uphill tarmac takes us into the woods on the edge of the fell before it opens out to soaring fellside. Heavy breathing all around me and I do my best to not: Wind it up steadily, remember? In what seems like a very short time it’s too steep to run and we’re hiking hands on knees as best we can up through the rocky, broken fellside.
It’s quickly so steep that if I miss a step and lurch back or sideways I’m over balancing and teetering on falling backwards. I have 2 bodies in striking distance ahead and I see if I can hold the distance without blowing a gasket. I can for a while and then the elastic stretches to No 1 but I’m pegging No 2. As the summit cairn finally looms I close right up thinking I’ll getcha on the decent…
Barely time to glance up to take in the panorama as eyes are quite urgently needed on the ground. A hurried Thanks! to the wind-blown marshals and then all faculties are required for legs to keep pace with falling body sucked by gravity back down the way we’ve come. It’s narrow, broken and twisty and we ain’t setting style points for leaping like any kinda mountain lion.
We nearly collide a couple of times – Sorry! – but then suddenly I’m losing him. I have no idea how far he is because I can’t look up from my own foot placement. Peripheral vision ain’t much help either on this angle of slope. So all I know is that he’s gone from my field of view and that ain’t good. Still, I haven’t fallen yet – though it’s been close a coupla times – and a standard race goal post ankle calamity remains Finish Intact & Stay On Yer Feet.
That I do though even a grunting seat-of-pants dash through the skatey woods post-shower to career less-than-stylishly down the last road bit is not enough to reel in my target.
But I’m intact, grinning like a loon and racing again.Tea and cakes from the Parent-Teachers Association stall anyone?
