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Monthly Archives: November 2016

Let’s talk about the run up to Haria Extreme before we get into the nuts and bolts;

  • You’ve run three times since August Bank Holiday
  • You’ve been unable to run since 29 September – (the Vegan Challenge was a reckless mistake)
  • Injury was causing enough concern that you weren’t sure you’d start Haria Extreme
  • Pre-race prep severely hampered by circumstances beyond your control
  • There was more than 3,000 metres of steep climb across 102km
  • …and unsurprisingly you retired from the race
  • however, this was not a failure – far from it

Now the question is, ‘when is retiring from a race not a failure?’ The answer, for me, lies in the thoughts I’ve put together over the last week while bimbling around Lanzarote post race. The journey to HE begins where so many things have done – in my failure at the CCC, while I was in France I came across the HE stall and said to myself that looks like the most brilliant piece of cool and I have to do it. The problem was that it was in November last year and I was already committed to running the SainteLyon. However, HE has stayed in my memory since that day and when applications opened in about April I was first on the list.

Yes please sign me up for your newly enhanced, hillier and longer route, I said with an undeserved air of confidence.

In truth my running had been going pretty well all year and I had good reason to be confident, Green Man, Skye Trail Ultra, Vanguard Way, Country to Capital, Brutal Enduro had all been completed and pretty well – but the wheels started to come off at The Ridgeway when I DNF’d over some severe chaffing and it got worse when my disagreement with the GingaNinja turned into a full blown retirement from running and by the time I was going again I then found a nasty new injury to give me a kicking. That calf injury needed severe physiotherapy, lots of rest and no running – in fact no exercise as there was a point that it was too painful to walk on. With days quickly rolling by I cold see HE slipping from my grasp – I was pretty devastated.

With two weeks before the race I took part in the SVN Vegan Day Challenge and tortured myself round the route, looking back on it with a little common sense I should have realised that this was not a good idea but I needed to test the calf problems and although they held up on the day they never felt very good and the days after the race were some of the most pain I’ve ever been in.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

We arrive to the day before the flight (Wednesday) and I’m rushing round like a blue arsed fly trying to ensure that everything for the flight, the race and the family holiday were all complete and that it would all be super smooth when we arrived at the airport at 3.30am. Little did I realise that this would be a monumental disaster with UltraBaby, the GingaNinja and I making the flight with mere seconds to spare, it wasn’t helped that the support we received from Special Assistance for our disabled companion was pathetic and so the trip and the race were off to a stinking start.

We arrived exhausted, aching, grumpy and in my case the physical exhaustion came from lugging around the huge amount of luggage we had needed to transport to support an ultra runner, a 2 year old toddler and a disabled traveller – I could really feel my lack of base fitness from the lack of exercise in the previous few months (and this worried me). However, unpacked (roughly) we headed up to Haria to collect my race number and take a look around the event.

There was no doubt that my mood improved but my worries refused to abate, looking again at the race profile and steep climbs it involved had me very concerned. On the positive side number collection was very easy – passport was checked for ID, collected my number and got hold of a giant set of HE kit (compression shirt, compression arm sleeves, neck gaiter and head band – all very high quality). This was a very welcome bonus and for just €30 I added a lurid yellow hooded top which will brighten any cold winter UK day.

The race village didn’t have much in the way of people selling kit but there were a few bits and actually it was all very low key and rather delightful, there was also the live local Canarian musicians which I felt was something a little special for a race that was starting to feel a little ‘buzzy’. I had feared that this would be another UTMB type race but all appearances seemed to be suggesting that this had a much smaller, niche feel to it and I felt vindicated in my decision to run this over attempting TransGranCanaria earlier in the year.

With number collected, Friday was left as a family day and the holiday could finally begin and I enjoyed a day doing swimming, watching animals and generally running riot with my daughter at a number of bits and pieces we had identified and we even dipped our feet for some splashing into the pool at the villa we had hired via AirBnB.

Friday evening though was used to fine tune my kit, Oxsitis bag rather than Ultimate Direction – Ronhill top rather than La Sportiva and Lone Peak 3.0 over Olympus 2.0 – it took quite some time to make final decisions but the biggest choices were in leg wear and nutrition.

For leg wear I selected the excellent Raidlight Freetrail (longer length but very lightweight shorts in a delightfully ridiculous colourway with stupid typography on them – full review to follow). I teamed these with raidlight tights and runderwear pants to maximise my comfort in the heat (just incase there was a repeat of the R86 chaffing nightmare).

Nutrition though was a very different matter – I had chosen to bring Tailwind with me but having never used it I was somewhat worried about how I might react so in typical fashion I had both Tailwind and real food options with me (lots of chocolate). I knew that I didn’t want to pollute my main water supply so my bladder had to remain free of tailwind, instead I carried two 150ml soft bottles that I could easily store in the small waist pockets of the Freetrail shorts. This was the perfect way to take Tailwind for me.

The race
Anyway, the race itself was a 7am kick off to maximise the Canarian daylight. We were due to start out from ‘Timanfaya’ the volcanic national park with the last remaining active Lanzarote volcano. We pulled into the car park at about 6.30am and saw the runners and supporters lining the dark sand and lava gravel track. It was quite a sight next to the huge herd of camels that also lined up alongside them.

I drifted over to the toilet block which was located inside the normally bustling tourist cafe but at this time it was simply a very long queue of runners. I opted not to wait and would hope that the first checkpoint had a toilet stop as I was rather in need. I rejoined the GingaNinja and UltraBaby for the 10 or 12 minutes before the race began and we admired the camels, the sea of volcanic rock and the sunrise – it was all suitably spectacular.

At a slightly later than expected 7.15 the sound issuing us off was given and about 200 hardy souls set off at a fair old whack down into the unknown. For the first 5km we thundered along a rocky and sandy track through the national park – admiring the amazing geology as we went. I unfortunately was allowing myself to be caught up in the moment and being dragged along at a pace that really didn’t suit. However, within a couple of kilometres I settled into myself and looking round realising this would be no follow the leader – you were out there on your own.

At about 5km we turned out of the core Timanfaya National Park and entered the broader volcanic area which I had hoped would make for easier going on the feet but as the gritty sand slipped around your feet you knew this was going to be hard work.

What I hadn’t expected was the ground to be so varied, there was of course the gritty dark remains of lava and black sand but there was also huge swathes of pebbles, big rocks, slippery rocks, jagged rocks, basically lots of rocks. There was no nice easy Kent countryside trail here but thankfully the Lone Peak 3.0 were the right choice for the job and my feet felt well protected from the elements.

I started the first of the ascents after some off-roading through what looked like a well pruned back Canarian vineyard and then into the first serious descent where I allowed myself the opportunity of a bit of respite and I flew to the bottom knowing that the next ascent was several hundred rocky metres and I would need all due care to navigate this. ‘Surely not all the ascents could be like this?’ I asked myself as the track disappeared and we were left to find our own path amongst the course markings. But with every ascent there is a matching descent and here I thrust myself forward once more. This time I was lurching left and left through a vineyard – no trail specifically, just the tracks of my fellow runners. With each step I could feel the black gravel being kicked up behind me and I was grateful for my gaiters which kept the stones and sand to a minimum.

Through the vineyard I passed and by a volunteer who cheered ‘bravo’ and I offered a cheery wave with a solid ‘grassy arse’. In the distance I could see the checkpoint and so with as much energy as I could I bolted to the stopping point.

All the volunteering points were excellent although there wasn’t much English spoken and there were a lot of very competent 15 year olds manning them. I did ask if there was a toilet in my best Spanglish ‘whereas are ass los toiletos por favour’. They smiled politely and told me ’20 kilometres’. I assumed they meant checkpoint 2, it turns out they simply hadn’t understood my brilliant piece of linguistics.

The problem was I was now about 10 miles in with an urgent need for the toilet. Looking around offered no immediate solutions as there was no cover whatsoever – Haria Extreme was pretty exposed and I had no intention of exposing myself here. So onward I moved, taking things sensibly as the day began to warm up. I refuelled at the previous stop on Pepsi and refilled my Tailwind bottles and actually my energy reserves where holding our pretty well. Pushing through the next 10 or 12km was relatively easy despite my urgent need for the loo and as I crossed the car park into checkpoint 2 I grabbed more Pepsi and took the opportunity to admire the view. Although I was clearly near the back of the field I felt that this was being sensible – I knew the heat would be an issue and f I could make it into night then I’d be much more able to make up time on the people in front of me.

With these thoughts in my head I bade the checkpoint ‘adios’ and moved on – in the distance I could see a big hill but I could also see some cover. I therefore looked back about a kilometre and realised I was alone for at least a few minutes and found a discreet cave in which to deliver the problem child I had been carrying for more than 25km – I was very relieved. After quickly rearranging myself I pressed on through a slightly greener Lanzarote but then I realised I hadn’t seen a route marker for quite a while, I checked with Suunto, I was off course.

Ah.

I looked back and could clearly see that there were no route markers nearby – I therefore retraced my steps, after about ten minutes of running I saw a man a couple of hundred metres higher than me at the top of the hill. I was probably about another kilometre back away from finding the point at which the rise started and so I looked up, a near vertical climb – probably 200 metres. I dug in and I climbed. I remember that I refused to stop, I refused to look down and I refused to give up even when my breathing was heavy and hard I was determined to continue and then I reached the summit to be greeted by a volunteer who was pointing me in the right direction.

‘Wrong way!’ I exclaimed. He had clearly watched me climb the vertical and offered me a pat on the back as I ran beyond him.

The route was unrelenting and when it wasn’t punishing you with ascents and descents it was looking for cracks in your kit to place stones, sand and general pain and the road to checkpoint three was no less so.

The interesting thing about HE and in particular the road to Soo) was that you could tell where the checkpoints were long before you reached them because they were found in the towns dotted around the island – which were often isolated pockets of life. As I banged on down to sea level and on to the thick hot white sand I could see my next stop and I knew that my family were waiting for me.

I made my into the town and drifted over to UB who ran towards me with arms outstretched and a stone, presumably for nutrition. A runner sat on the side of the road looked miserable as he had clearly DNF’d but the GN told me I was looking good and that I wasn’t actually that far behind a number of runners. I stopped here for a few minutes to have a mental uplift but then it was back off and on the way to Famara.

This was a tough section for me as it represented the hottest temperatures of the day but I’d been drinking consistently and the route here although hard going through tricky roads and soft sand allowed me to pick up the pace a little. I realised as I was running along that I’d never run in sand before and it wasn’t an enjoyable experience as it finally found a way into my shoes but any problems my feet faced were offset by the bevy of topless and naked ladies who lined parts of this section of the route. I swear I tried not to stare but I’m only human and this wasn’t some British nudist colony this was wave after wave of the beautiful people. I felt somewhat self conscious, especially when a very naked lady walking towards me with her (I’ll assume) husband cried ‘bravo, bravo’. I mean seriously where do you look in that situation? Anyway I thanked them for their good wishes and pressed on.

In the distance I could see the next climb ‘Lomo Cumplido’ which in my head was reading like some form of oral sex act but was actually instead a straight up 600metre climb, this was what I had come for. I wasted no time at checkpoint 4 other than to revitalise my stock of Tailwind and drink about a pint of Pepsi. Still feeling pretty good I began to climb and in the distance I could see runners coming towards me – runners who had decided enough was enough. I wished them well, but wondered what had driven back these very fit looking men from ascending this rock? I made surprisingly good time to the top, stopping only periodically to either drink in the view or rebalance myself and calm down (I’m terrified of heights). As I reached the top I rested on my Poles and thought about how much better a runner I was this time round compared to when I attempted the CCC.

It dawned on me at the top of this monster that I was still very much in the learning phase of running big inclines, descents and bloody big mountains. It was in this moment that I realised that however far I got today I had made significant progress.

I took a moment to check my messages as I had asked the GN to supply me with a list of all the cut-off times for the checkpoints and then I nearly had a heart attack… I was less than an hour from the checkpoint cut-off. I hurried along the ridge as fast as my body would carry me, facing my fear of heights with every step. I stopped at the mini checkpoint and said hello to the people there but quickly strode on to reach the full checkpoint a further 1.5km along.

I stopped here for mere seconds before realising I needed to bag some time or the sweeper would catch me. Zoom, zoom – this was a significant downhill section and I was able to use my sure footedness to power through the loose rocks and gather some much needed time. But it was now getting darker and I didn’t want to stop to grab my head torch and so lit my way along the coast with iPhone. Not the best light for making swift progress but it sufficed and I knew the GN and UB would be waiting for me again.

I ignored the checkpoint other than saying ‘hola’ and instead asked the GN to get my head torch out, I dumped my GoPro and other equipment I no longer needed with her – kissed the family goodbye and insisted I would make the next checkpoint. What I did say about my situation though was that I had cut myself on my shin quite unpleasantly and that my injured calf was sending shooting pains through my leg and both of these combined where making running painful. The good news though was that I had made up time on the clock and I was ahead by more than 90 minutes rather than the 40 minutes I had going spare at the previous stop.

If I could hold my leg together and the next section wasn’t too tough I might make it through. BOOM, onwards – foot straight into the sea! But thankfully the LP3.0 repelled this nicely. With the wrong mental head on this could have been disasterous but not so soon after seeing my family and with the aid of some local children I found my way through the wasteland of the town and crept bent double under the bridge tunnels, more suited to rats than runners!

Then up again.

On paper this section looks easy and filled with lovely respite but in reality it’s a ballbreaker, the climb is hard, unforgiving and filled with loose rocks and undergrowth that simply rip you apart. This was the section that drained my spirit and when the sweeper caught up to me I admit I became a little dispirited – despite him being clear that I was more than 2 hours ahead of the cut off. I was now gaining on people but I was done, I had maybe 5km to think this through but I knew I had come to Haria Extreme and achieved more than I thought I would.

As we passed through the end of the clambering section here the sweeper called out to me ‘bravo’. He didn’t seem the jokey type and so took him at his word as we had made really quite good time and so when we ran into the checkpoint I asked for ‘cinqo minutos’ to go through my thoughts.  I sat down for the first time in about 12 hours with a little under 10 hours remaining and 23km to go. I rubbed my calf a little while the checkpoint staff tried to force watermelon down my throat but I knew that I’d damaged my calf enough to not want to risk it further.

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I went over to my companion of the last few kilometres and said ‘I’m retiring and it’s okay – I’m good, I’m happy’ and I was. I had turned up to Haria Extreme with the hope I would make it to the start line, once I got there I hoped I wouldn’t crap myself somewhere in the first 25km, I hoped I wouldn’t disgrace myself and I hoped I would make it beyond 50km or running. Obviously I hoped I would finish and I didn’t but that’s okay because the experience of Haria Extreme has given me a tremendous confidence boost ahead of MIUT and I know what I need to do to ensure I finish that race.

Key points

  • Distance: 102km
  • Profile: Hilly, sharp ascents and descents
  • Date: November 2016
  • Location: Lanzarote
  • Cost: £55
  • Terrain: Technical trail, rocky, hilly
  • Tough Rating: 4/5

Route
The route was amazing – I can’t praise it enough, from the start in Timanfaya through vineyards and across rocky ascents this had everything. It’s tough too but not impossible and had I been even a little bit fit then this would have been much easier than I have made it look. That’s not to say it is easy though because it really isn’t, it will fight you every single step of the way and just when you get comfortable it will throw up amazing challenges. Brilliant!

Organisation
The organisation is always going to be slightly more difficult to analyse as a foreigner but information was communicated in good time, translations were decent and GPX files and all the other pre-race material was handled very well. In Haria itself number collection was easy and there were lots of English speakers available. It felt friendly but also a little local rather than a huge international race. The other really nice thing was that there was a range of races and distances so if you fancied a marathon or a half marathon or even a 10km there was something for everyone. (And the good news) each route had been clearly and concisely thought out.

Support
Aid stations were suitable for the race but the only food was fruit (which for me was a bit useless) but there was cola, water and electrolytes at every aid station. Most aid stations had at least one English speaker but where there wasn’t one I had a real laugh with the guys trying my best Spanish!

Awards
The real reason I rolled up to the race wasn’t the medal or the route it was the experience and the experience was amazing. I suppose its lucky I didn’t roll up for the medal given that I didn’t get one

Value for money
Incredible value for money, lots of lovely freebies, lots of great experience moments – yes the aid stations were not exactly brilliantly stocked with lovely houmous, breads and Canarian potatoes but I can forgive that given the brilliance of everything else. The race cost about £60 (exchange rate is difficult to judge at the moment) and there are 10km races in the UK that cost this, believe me this is much better than any 10km you’ll run.

Conclusion
There are races and there are races – this is one of the latter. Haria Extreme is a race I would do year in and year out if it were closer to home – instead I’ll simply consider going back in a few years to ensure that I finish it. My experience, as you can probably tell, was one of absolute delight given that I didn’t think I had it in me to start never mind get to 80km. Basically, you can’t go wrong with Haria Extreme it does have everything and if you decide to seek out a lovely low key but spectacular race this will not disappoint.

Good luck and enjoy those hills.

 

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Voter turnout

  • 2016 EU Referendum
  • Electorate: 46.2 million
  • Voted: 33.6 million
  • Turnout: 72.2%
  • 2015 Election
  • Electorate: 46.5 million
  • Voted: 30 million 
  • Turnout: 66%
  • 2010 Election
  • Electorate: 48.3 million
  • Voted: 29.5 million
  • Turnout: 65%
  • 2005 Election
  • Electorate: 44.3 million
  • Voted: 27 million
  • Turnout: 61%

I want you to look at some figures – 10 years of general election figures. In the last 10 years between 34 and 40% of eligible voters haven’t bothered.

Labour, Conservative and even a coalition government have happened in this period along with two unelected Prime Minsters and cabinets. There is a more interesting figure though in these numbers and that’s the referendum vote – the highest percentage and numbers turnout in more than a decade (and further back if you look through the ONS data).

3 million extra people voted in the referendum – 3 million. Sadly there is no data to indicate how many extra wet liberal, Guardian readers (sounds like me) voted, however, if my experience of the voting public is anything to go by (see blog post about Michael here) then a large portion of these were the ones who pushed the UK into this difficult position with the EU by voting leave.

As pointed out earlier it’s impossible to say how these extra people affected the result but given the way it ended you suspect it was the ‘Leave’ campaign that came out in their droves. Perhaps it shows how brilliant the Leave campaign was, filled with simple messages designed to connect with the heart – rather than Remain who focused on complex numbers and the head. You don’t win with Excel spreadsheets – that doesn’t inspire people (well maybe the odd accountant).

I’m aware that the figures are always going to be a little bit out, births, deaths, inaccuracies, changing voter patterns, eligibility to vote etc but there wasn’t a 3 million voter sea change between May 2015 and June 2016. What we saw the result of people being whipped up into a frenzy of mistrust and hate on both sides – the problem was this appears to have appealed more to eurosceptics who believed the lies that have now set the UK for the biggest spanking of its life.

So where do these 3 million people go now? Back into their hidey-hole? Probably. Set to moan from the sidelines but without voting for it.

Voting shouldn’t be a right it should be mandatory, with the caveat on the ballot for a ‘none of the above’ if you want to send a strongly worded message. The difference I would enact between the UK and Australian system though is I’d suggest a gigantic fine, stopping of benefits, put in stocks in the town centre as a deterrent to not voting.

3 million additional people came out on referendum night to have their say – people who couldn’t be bothered to vote in the general election. This says much about the state of care these people give to their country.

So if you were crying out to leave the EU, if you are one of these 3 extra million, if you’ve never voted other than in the EU referendum well I hope you’re proud of yourself but you disgust me.

Sources: BBC, ONS 

Run Rabbit, Run Rabbit, Run, Run, Run! That’s how it felt, like a rabbit in the headlights – it might only have been 10km but I felt it.

My return to running from retirement was in the form of the infamous Chislehurst Chase.

I hadn’t run at all since my testicles had been consumed by the almighty chaffing fire at the Ridgeway Challenge and my disagreement with the GingaNinja had stopped me running altogether and enforced a diet of pizza and chocolate for about 3 weeks. However, armed with resolution from the disagreement and the High Weald 50km a little over a week later I decided to enter the Chislehurst Chase. It should be noted that the CC was rescued from oblivion by the brilliant people at ‘Bridge Triathlon’ who took it on after it looked like it might not return a couple of years ago. Now sadly I didn’t run it under the previous directorship but I have run a couple of ‘Bridge’ events and so I was very confident I’d have a load of fun.

The race itself takes place in Scadbury Park, an obscure and hidden treasure of a park near Orpington, two loops and lots of hills – both up and down. I lined up with about 300 other runners, waved goodbye to the GingaNinja and UltraBaby and loped gently beyond the start line. As a previous resident of these parts I knew these woods very well and had run them many times on training runs with my beloved spaniel and so I knew what was coming.

The ground was good to firm and the trail was well shaded on a pleasant September day. I bounded along the down hills (of which there were many) and a meandered on the up hills but all the time maintaining a reasonable pace. Sadly I was going to be nowhere near my 41 minute personal best for this 10km route but it wasn’t about that it was about enjoying a delightful race that has been on my radar for several years.

I came out towards the biggest of the down hills and realised that if I wanted a decent time I would need to power down this until we hit the ankle grinding uphill back to the second lap. This I did with great aplomb and powered past my fellow runners, giving me some much needed momentum into the uphill. Thankfully the grass was receding in the gaze of autumn and it had been a few days prior to the race so the uphill had decent traction. In the distance I could see volunteers directing back towards the car park and what I describe as the fun fast section where we split off for a second lap or onto the home mile.

I thundered out for my second lap but my body was now tiring, the lack of running clearly rearing its ugly head but such was the fun I was having that I was happily able to maintain my sensible pace and give it enough riz to reach the final mile.

It was here that I could feel my blood boiling and the dozen or so people in front of me looked like targets. Boom – one, two, three, seven, ten down – all easy. Miss Eleven went with about 300 metres to go but I wanted the dozen. Mister Twelve had 50 metres on me but he didn’t have any momentum, nor an afterburner button.

I drew level with about 100metres to go – he was about my age, local club vest and had clearly given his all. I thankfully hadn’t. BOOM. The afterburners fired and I was flung forward to cross the line with my chest beating and my lungs on fire. BOOM – I was back.

Conclusion: Great route, great race, traditional organisation – felt like a great Sunday morning run. Medal, sweets and water all available and the local cafe as a sponsor provide excellent toilets and an even better pre-race Eggs Benedict.

There was also the added fun of the 2km children’s race, which UltraBaby ran and you can read about here. All in all this was brilliant and if you’re local this is a must-do and if you’re not then it might well be worth the journey for a beautiful September 10km.

Do you remember a time before the referendum when we were all worried but knew it would be okay?

We’d stay in Europe and we’d have at least another 4 years of a democratic White House in the US. The world seemed unstable but that common sense would prevail.I’d been participating in the debate for the Referendum, very much on the side of remain and although it looked perilously tight we should pull through.

I tell this as a true story – I had not intended to as it upsets me greatly, it is told from my perspective but it is very much what I witnessed and in light of the horrific results in the US presidential election and the ongoing referendum fall-out it seems appropriate to try and put into perspective why this image summed up the referendum for me.

A battered Y registered, turquoise Opel Astra with a near collapsed suspension thundered up behind me. In the car was a rather grubby, drawn faced looking man with the stench of tobacco and weed about him I noted as he pulled up beside me, his one arm driving technique making me take a step further back on to the pavement. In the back of the vehicle three children sat, but I barely had time to notice them as the driver bawled at me ‘where’s this fucking polling station mate?’

I offered the information he was looking for, ‘first left and a couple of hundred metres up on the right, it’s the local church centre if you know it?’

He pulled away without saying a word and by the time he had driven up I had pretty much arrived too. There was a queue and he was before me, turned out his name was ‘Michael’ and he had been speaking to some of the others about his vote. I listened because here, in this man, I could hear the voice of discontent and also the level of ignorance that hadn’t just invaded my community but much of the country.

‘Kick ’em out,’ he said, ‘I mean not all of ’em – Alvin at the Chinky does a lovely lemon chicken’. Michael was making me want to vomit, partly due to the smell, partly due to his quiet tirade. Perhaps he didn’t realise that the pizza he had recently ordered is more famously associated with Italy or that his Opel Astra has long standing German links. The people around him didn’t shuffle uncomfortably at his words, they merely smiled politely, they were older and tried at least not to encourage him.

Michael eventually voted, I’ll assume ‘Leave’ and I voted ‘Remain’ we both left.

He opened the door to his car, telling his children it was time to pick up the pizza (that’s how I know what was on the menu that evening) and he left, driving as wildly as when I first encountered him.

I returned home in dismay, worried about the result.

I can’t know for sure but Michael didn’t appear to be a regular voter – his lack of knowledge of the polling stations location despite his local accent suggested he had made a special effort to vote. But the things he said while waiting where hideous and given the evidence of the months since the referendum result we can see that he really isn’t alone.

I know not everyone who voted ‘Leave’ is a Michael, but I wonder if we really want to hand the keys of the UK to people like this? If they get what they want where do they stop? Michael didn’t mind Alvin at the Chinese takeaway but I wondered how he felt about the local barber who is actually an Iraqi refugee. A young man who fled conflict in his own country and has made a good life for himself here, married to a lovely Polish lady and now with a British born child. How far does the anti-immigration view go? How far has hate in England and Wales engulfed our nation and our national identity? 

Last night I was told by the lovely Lesley that ‘we’d lost’ but to everyone who thinks it’s okay to just accept defeat then I’d ask you to look again.

Do you know a Michael? Do you want the future of the UK to be determined by a vision built on fear and loathing. I want my daughter to know I fought every single day to give her an inclusive, tolerant future and if that means being less tolerant of the ridiculousness the people of the UK and the Westminster elite have brought down upon us then so be it.

Being an ultra marathon runner you come to realise that the starting gun or vote is just the beginning of the race and I’m hoping that those who want to be part of the EU feel like endurance runners because this race has a steep profile, lots of evil elevation and big fast downhills but by holding steady, getting our nutrition right we might just finish this. Let’s hope those who dream of an EU-less UK have gone out too quick and blown up at checkpoint one.

I’ve been trying to pay it forward a little and say thanks in meaningful ways. It all started last week when I saw that lots of the big names were once again lined up for the #RunUltraBlogger nomination and as much as I love some of the names on the list, it was, to my mind, mostly uninspiring and I wanted real runners who motivate me and so I nominated the two that have inspired me most over the last 12 months or so.

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The blogs therefore I nominated are UltraRunnerDan (dan-fattofit.blogspot.co.uk) and Totkat (www.totkat.org). If they make a shortlist (or whatever the process is) do be sure to give them some support – they both highly deserve it for their awesome running and tremendous contributions to ‘run’ debates and healthy living. And even if you don’t vote for them do go along and visit their blogs and see what can be achieved with a bit of tenacity. They really are excellent reads.

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Now, while in awards mood I also slid over to The Running Awards website and both put my tick next to some of the nominees and also nominated a couple of races.

The most important things I nominated were the SainteLyon (best international race) and the Skye Trail Ultra (best endurance race). This seemed like a good positive thing to do – the SainteLyon is (I believe) the second longest running ultra marathon in the world and is an inspiration – I recommend that all ultra runners look it up and take part (there were only a dozen or so English runners there last year).

The other nomination for the Skye Trail Ultra is for three reasons 1) it’s a small local race across a tremendous landscape 2) it deserves to compete against much larger races because it has a spirit not found at places like VMLM and 3) the race director Jeff Smith is a brilliant, brilliant man who gives up his time to put on the most amazing event!

You can click links here for both The Running Awards and Run Ultra Blogger awards to find out more. Run Ultra Blogger awards are available by clicking here and the The Running Awards can be found here

Now before I go I wanted to discuss a different way I’ve been paying it forward via running; but as many readers will probably be aware I’ve been heavily focused on politics the last few months. This is very much because the referendum result has left a shit show which I feel has shown how nasty, insular and intolerant the UK has become. It saddens me hugely that many people, I had once considered friends, voted leave with the key reason being immigration.

Roll forward to the last week… twice in the last week I’ve been running slowly home and it’s been cold, really cold – winter is finally upon us.

On one of these cold early evenings I saw a man reading a book, a little bedraggled, trying to remain warm – he looked homeless, he certainly looked like he had troubles. I asked if I could buy him something to eat and he accepted. It wasn’t much but I bought some hot food and drink to take to him because who knew when the last time he’d eaten properly.

He was English or at least had an English accent, white, young(ish) probably my age actually – we didn’t speak much because I was cooling down post run and I didn’t want to embarrass him by standing over him as he ate. I wished him well and we shook hands.

I wondered if I had done right?

I did a similar thing tonight, a young(ish) lady who spoke little or no English, not enough clothes on, carrier bags with possessions that looked like her entire life and no hope. I was at Charing Cross with 15 minutes to spare before my train and I spotted her. I mimed the idea of food to her, tried to explain I’d just be a minute or two (I was) and thankfully she was still there when I returned. Given she couldn’t understand me, nor I her, I didn’t feel the need to make small talk but as I stood to leave she grabbed my arm, pressed it firmly and smiled thanks.

I could have cried.

Instead I smiled and waved gently before getting on the train to write this.

I see lots of homeless people as I run, people selling the big issue, refugees desperate for help, the mentally ill, the runaways, those hiding in plain sight and I don’t know how to help but what I do know is that too many in the UK see these poorest of people as a blight and a problem.

But maybe we could look at it differently?

Instead of seeing a homeless woman, try and see a woman who needs help. Instead of seeing a starving refugee, see a hungry man. If you were displaced, tired, hungry, distraught, abandoned wouldn’t you want someone to help?

Post referendum result I’m scared what my country is becoming.

So I’m asking you to do something for someone else. I’m asking you to pay it forward, help someone else or if you can’t help someone else then consider helping yourself by fighting to overturn the stupidity and the rhetoric of this country.

It’s never too late to start making a difference. #IAmEuropean


What kind of world do you really want?

One ruled by a Putin or a Trump or both? Businesses run by people like Philip Green? Weak political figures ruling our country like David Cameron and Theresa May? The media run by the ‘double D’ of Dacre and Desmond the likes of the ‘triple M’ Maxwell, Murdoch and Morgan? And our circus run by Simon Cowell, Ant, Dec or Alan Sugar? Maybe you want the good of days of Margaret Thatcher and Bernard Manning? Or maybe you dream of a time when Oswald Mosley was bumbling around and the Daily Mail cried ‘All hail the blackshirts’.

Perhaps you’re the type of person that goes shopping and wishes that all accents sound like yours or that the only skin tone different to yours comes from two weeks in Magaluf.

Maybe you feel that refugees are someone else’s problem, that The Daily Mail, The Express and the Murdoch Empire have a point.

Maybe you worry more about people with names like Kardashian rather than people who will probably die with no name.

Perhaps you’re the type of person who doesn’t mind foreigners who take over football clubs and big business but you mind them in the NHS and your local takeaway.

Maybe you’re the person who thinks fame is better than talent and that any religion outside your own is wrong and probably dangerous and full of hatred towards others.

Maybe you don’t care about Sterling and it’s dramatic drop against the dollar and the Euro. You were probably unmoved by its terrible performance as a currency and you probably don’t care about the fact it rallied (a little) after the result of this weeks high court ruling.

You probably don’t care that people, post referendum result, are being abused for being from other countries and you’re the kind of person who thinks Al Murray isn’t a character.

Maybe you’ve just buried your head in the sand, you probably deny global warming and think Fracking is a good idea.

You probably think the banking industry considering pulling out of the UK is a positive and that devolution is something that turns Welsh, Scottish and Northern Irish into Neanderthals rather than the opportunity of greater independence.

You might be the kind of person who looks at Donald Trumps ‘Wall’ proposal and think that would be handy for keeping Johnny Foreigner out.

If any of that looks familiar then the chances are you voted to ‘Leave the EU’.

Sadly not all of you are like the people I’ve described above, some of you who voted Leave are the clever, the wise and the witty. I really should despise you for taking a country I love into the darkest of possible futures. But… you’re the people who can now make a difference to our country.

You have the opportunity to look again at a refugee and see a person, you can look at the deep fear in the country and uncertainty and choose to change you view on our future. You can see the rises coming in the cost of living that are only just beginning and say enough is enough.

Maybe you can do me a favour and have a little look outside and ask yourself if ‘that’s a place I want to live?’

It’s never too late to stop something stupid, it’s never too late to help your fellow man, it’s never too late to stand up and be counted. Greed, hate, envy, mistrust – these are the new cornerstones of our future. I want you to look at yourself, your neighbour, your fellow man and ask what the future holds for each of them. Are you prepared to make a tough decision to improve the future for everyone and fight for our right to be a European?

Don’t listen to hate, don’t listen to the Trumps or the Farages of this world, they are wrong about the future. Remember the EU didn’t create our problems we did, the UK did and only together with the EU, working together, being stronger together, can we achieve our maximum potential.

It is togetherness, positivity, innovation and curiosity that will drive our future. In light of the High Courts ruling that Parliament must be involved in the process of leaving the EU we have a genuine chance to re-evaluate our position (on all sides). I want to urge us all, be you a politician, business leader, cultural icon, religious leader, media magnate or person on the street – get involved.

Fight for the future – this one really is worth it

And in a related matter I’d urge Americans to do the right thing, we might have screwed up but you do not have to. Vote Clintonyes she’s not perfect but she will not take the world into the abyss and she will help to progress our world.

And to everyone else, take on board the Bill and Ted mantra, ‘Be excellent to one another’.

‘I’m just going to do one lap – see how it holds up’. These were the words I said to Rob just before the kick off of the Vegan Day Challenge when describing my approach to testing my newly knackered calf.

But let me roll back about 13 miles and a dozen nasty hills – it’s 6.25am on a chilly Tuesday morning – I had taken the day off work to go and run a final marathon before Haria Extreme. Seemed like a very good idea, the only problem is that my left calf has been struggling for a little while now and been getting progressively worse, thankfully I’d done something about it.

  1. Intensive physiotherapy
  2. Intensive TENS machining
  3. Intensive stretching
  4. Intensive strengthening
  5. No running whatsoever

Anyway I digress, race morning I pulled out the mountain bike and set off on the 13 mile route over to the start line. I knew it was quite hilly and I knew the moist fog and leaves had made the ground a little slick but I found it really hard work getting to the start line. I eventually rolled up covered in muddy spray and a gaunt tired expression that suggested I’d be lucky to make 2.6 miles never mind 26!


Regardless I listened to the instructions and the information regarding it being the first Vegan Day Challenge, with a vegan inspired checkpoint – at which point I started dreaming of meaty burritos! Then suddenly the brave souls who had come out to play were sent out to run.

I ambled to the back and gingerly moved forward at an unremarkable pace and every time my heart insisted that I put a bit of effort in my head replied ‘You’ve paid a lot of money to run some Lanzarote trails, don’t arse it up again’ and so I would slow back down. I drifted down the first incline and powered up the inclines and my calf was holding up. I decided to add a bit of welly to proceedings and still my calf held up. However, what was clear was that several weeks of absolutely no exercise and a 13 mile hilly MTB ride was really punishing me and so as I came into the checkpoint I laboured over to the checkpoint food and ate my bodyweight in Vegan Rocky Road and Starburst. I chatted a little with the lovely chaps who regularly volunteer but my mood was pretty grim and I felt like ringing the bell to say ‘finished’ but this is why I like SVN events – you have Traviss and Rachel. Traviss advised me to get back out and I did – only moaning a little bit. I strolled up the tarmac bit to reduce the impact on all my old injuries, once back on the trail I resumed what I dare to call ‘Running’.

The next few laps of up and down at the Ranscombe Farm Reserve were thankfully uneventful with only my own lack of self-belief to battle. However, I urged Traviss to not let me stop until the marathon and both he and all the other superb volunteers made it possible for me to keep going. I knew that once I hit lap 5 of 7 I would make it and so it was simply a matter of holding on.

For my 7th and final lap I was joined by Neil, a very nice young gentleman who provided some much needed guilt to get me to the end. ‘I’m not sure I can be bothered to run the last few kilometres, I might just stroll this in’ I said. His response was that I’d made him not feel like running it either and so, despite having nothing in my legs I said, ‘well I feel bad about that, let’s go…’

And so I finally put together a bit of decent running, picking my legs up, bounding along, eventually leaving Neil a few minutes behind.

Normally I would hit the afterburner for the final few hundred metres but as I saw The SVN team in the distance I was simply grateful and rather than sprint finish I bundled myself home.

Traviss passed over another neck breaker of a medal, quite a cheery one in the midst, or perhaps that should be mist, of November gloom and a delightful vegan goody bag.

Things worth noting?
As always Ranscombe was a fun filled ride, full of up, full of down and hardly any flat. There are some lovely views at Ranscombe and no two runs are ever the same.

The lovely SVN team and volunteers are some of the best people around to bring you a great event experience. I really wasn’t up to pushing myself round the course but thanks to everyone there, be they manning the checkpoint or the treat table I managed to get beyond my pitiful ability. So thank you.

As mentioned, another stonking medal to add to my haul and it has already assumed pride of place at the front of my collection.

And finally… thanks to the other competitors – you were all marvellous, whether I chatted to you or not – I really enjoyed the experience and the Vegan Challenge brought out lots of runners I’ve never met before – which was delightful.

Epilogue
It’s not often I write a ‘what happened next’ but my 13 mile cycle home hurt like hell and felt like it took forever and day – up and downhills and into an unpleasant headwind(y) moist feeling – which attacked my already cooled down body. If you want my advice think carefully before you decide not to get the train home 🙂

And absolutely finally – my calf did hold up to the running but the cycle appears to have kicked off some relatively minor pain in a new place in my calf that I’m hoping will abate in a few days – keep your fingers crossed for me.

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