Author: FosterRuns

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Reunion (the rest of the explanation)

Last weekend was the 5th anniversary of my graduation from London Business School and a good number of SEMBA2003 returned to London to attend lectures and catch up with old friends… along with many other people from programs that graduated in 2003, 1998, 1993, 1988, 1983, 1978, 1973 and 1968.  It was an amazing opportunity to network and hear what is happening in industries right across the world.

I stayed there for the whole weekend and in the process had to shamefully miss Daren’s 40th birthday party (for which he flew in from the States for the day!) and the birth of Dai & Kath’s new baby girl, in favour of attending a dinner party for 50 in Primrose Hill.

Great fun though… looking forward to the ten-year reunion already!

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Surprise! (a partial explanation of my recent absence)

Kim & I dashed out to Seattle the week before last to Surprise my brother Nigel and more particularly Kristin, who was 50. Raaaa raaaa!

Our very good friends Carolyn & Scott had agreed to put up with us for the week and really were the perfect hosts, to such an extent that they invited Kristin & Nigel and their two house guests Claudia & Russell (who runs Sweetwater Kayaks in Florida) to dinner.  SURPRISE!

It was just great being in Seattle again where the folk are so friendly and the scenery so magnificent.  Look one way up N&K’s street to see Mount Rainier & the Cascades and the other way to see the Olympic Mountains.

I can’t begin to do the trip justice in full here, but the highlights included the Sebring convertible hire car (thankyou Amex!), buying & preparing salad with Scott (a story in itself), the surprise dinner (food and company), the brilliant party (though I’m really sorry to all those folk whose names I forgot or mixed up… not my memory’s finest hour!), the waterfalls in the Cascades, paddling the Whisky 16 (Nigel’s latest kayak design) with Nigel & Russell, playing (a lot of) guitar with Russell, Nigel and John Marshall, burgers in the 74th Street Ale House, grown up food at Ray’s Boathouse, seeing the Kri-Kri studio again, the Olympic Sculpture Park at the Seattle Art Museum (SAM), being re-aquainted with Alice & Richard’s amazing contemporary art collection, and the upgrade to flat-bed class on the return flight (thankyou NWA, whose Economy Class has way more room than the equivalent BA Cattle Class anyway!).

All in all, a fantastic trip, with special thanks again to Carolyn & Scott who made it all possible!

 Nigel & Kristin

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Wind at Mark two

This morning dawned windy and Kim decided that she would run/walk along the top of the Downs to break in her new shoes… and start to get back into the swing of things since hurting her knee skiing earlier in the year.  Despite new shoes, I wasn’t really in the mood, but she kicked me out into the ferocious wind at Jack and Jill anyway and off I ran.

The first thing to report about the new shoes is that they feel pretty much like the last ones… which is a good thing.  They really are extra light and super comfortable bearing in mind the range of nasty surfaces I run on.  My right shoe grazed my left heel a few times and I started to think the soles were spread more than before, until I realised it was the southerly wind blowing my foot across… it really was blowy up there.  I had fortunately opted for my Gore jacket this morning and iQ beanie and I really needed both!

I reached Ditchling Beacon in 15 minutes (I’m sure that we used to take 20) and continued east at a good pace.  The rain was sporadic at first, but every drop was supercharged by the wind and really stung my bare legs.  There was some kind of Horse event on, but it must have been organised by the queen from Alice in Wonderland as they were all going in different directions.

Having reached the Beacon so quickly, my plan was to head for Blackcap so that I could see just how much I had improved… progress certainly felt good.  I was busily tromping along, thinking that my pace was now strong enough that I should call Mark Johnson to arrange a long-overdue second run… when there he was, running towards me.  SO bizarre!

Deciding that Blackcap could wait for another day, I turned round and headed back towards the Beacon with Mark.  We passed Kim on the way, who was still heading out towards Blackcap, and the conversation helped to lessen the impact of the rain, which was starting to increase… or it might have been that Mark was running on the windward side of me!  We parted at the Beacon, agreeing to organise another run.

From here I ran down the track underneath the road and despite the stony conditions and exposed roots, I let the brakes off.  My normal speed is around 6 or 7mph, but the average for that one kilometer section was 9.375mph… I reckon some of my more intrepid peers could have run down quicker still, but not without being on the raggedy edge!

I dropped into Ditchling and climbed back out up to Oldlands Windmill.  I feel really sorry for these guys.  They had an open day a couple of months back but it was a glorious day without a hint of wind to turn the sails.  The people attending the one today were all huddled in the marquee out of the rain and wind… too much wind to allow the sails to turn!

Heading back towards home, I had to pass a dog-walker with her hood up… I was hoping that she or the dog would notice me approaching from behind as I didn’t want to just run past her in such a narrow space.  As it was, neither did and my spoken warning caused her to jump… visibly!  Very sorry ‘n all Miss!

The rest of the route home was as uneventful as it was windy and wet, but I finished at an acceptable pace and quickly jumped into the shower before I got cold.  The morning’s exertions had netted me 10.5 miles in one hour 35 minutes and had elegantly taken the shine of the new runners, shown below with Kim’s colour co-ordinated and equally wet & mud-splattered pair.

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New splodge

I still have some old posts to catch up on, but I thought that I’d get some new ones down while they are fresh in my ailing memory!  Yesterday was a red letter day, as, after threatening for some time, we finally made it down to the Run Shop.  It was a great choice of day to go as both Kurt and Fred were in there.

I spend a lot of time talking to my clients about good strategy and I’m going to write a short piece on my other site about this place, as it’s such a great example.

Suffice to say that the range, though not vast, is carefully selected from the perspective of runners and the guys engage with each customer to find out what they really need… and quite simply help them buy it.  No pressure sales here, just good old fashioned, quality service!

Kim’s shoes, though not high mileage, were getting on a bit, having seen life before the Berlin marathon in 2004.  My runners, though only bought last October, have been used extensively right through the winter mud, have probably clocked up over 600 miles and have not been kept in pristine condition (especially in comparison to the Bok’s shoes) and have thus deteriorated… that’s my finger sticking through the webbing above and the other shoe has the same damage.

So, after five short runs around the block in different pairs of shoes we came away with some lovely Run shopping bags.

Imagine my surprise however, when I looked at what I had bought.

Okay, so I bought two pairs… and the other pair has an orange right shoe, before you start to worry.

The white ones are the updated version of the Saucony shoe I’ve been wearing since October (in fact, my last three pairs have been Saucony) and they are very light and yet sufficiently splodgy for the off-road terrain I favour.

The orange ones are going to sit and wait for the return of the autumn mud and a quick glance at the soles will explain why!

If you recall, yesterday was a beautiful day and I wondered idly how long it would take me to take the shine off the new purchases.  I guess that I needn’t have worried.

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Hair piece

Those of you who have seen me in the last few weeks, either in Seattle or at London Business School, might have wondered whether I was deliberately flaunting a rather full (and still completely naturally dark) head of hair.  It’s been fun, trying to pass myself off as a Beatle, but the real reason was not having visited the maestro, Patrick Swan, for some considerable time.

And then, as you can see above from earlier today, I did! 

What was left over was probably sufficient to make a decent hairpiece for one of the current trend of re-forming boy-bands.  Maybe I should start paying into a hair bank in advance of the inevitable grey day. 

Even Gordon Brown might find the interest in that difficult to tax.

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Post-rationalisation

If like me, you find creative stimulation in the random juxtaposition of different ideas, then I’m sure you appreciate the FOSTER concept of post-rationalisation.  I guess that it could be taken to mean the hard times that inevitably follow when companies are nationalised, or even sending a letter detailing the ratio of n to a dog called Alice (think about it?).

But here I am simply using it as a proxy for catching up of two weeks of missed posts.  However, whilst I guess that strictly speaking the term suggests a certain correctness of chronological order, I make no apology for their randomness of time.

So it was that yesterday, after, what, two weeks off, I turned up at Bok Park and donned my runners.

You may remember that last time I ran here, the Bok got us hopelessly lost and I vowed that I would not return until he bought a map.  This he had done, and he had also mentally prepared a route for us of about the one hour mark.

Some early banter involved, once again, his old trainers… having bought new ones (pictured above) the last time he was in the States, he has so far only wafted them across in front of my eyes and as this morning threatened a vague shower of rain so they were once again left firmly tucked up in their shoebox.

If I ever see them in action, I think it would be rude of me not to christen them with whatever mud I can find… although I suspect that might involve my blood being spilt in the process!

Anyway, back to reality.

I have no idea which route we took other than there seemed to be some vacillation of our being on and off of the intended course.  Off-course was worrying, as I still have tender (as in sore) memories of last time around, but the discovery (make that discoveries, as it happened several times) that we were in fact on route (read: in a place he recognised?), were moments of jubilation.

Would I be giving the outcome away if I said that the title of this post was going to be ‘that’s another fine mess you’ve gotten me into’?  Hmmm.

After thirty minutes we had covered 5km on the super-watch-me-satellite-tracker and had, I think, turned for home, but as the hour passed, the end was not nigh.  Worse, at various points we were breaking the sort of new ground that explorers would have used a machete to get through.  I kid you not!

And I always worry more when the ‘firing in progress’ signs are absent from the signposts, in case they forgot to put them out, or check for trespassing runners, before they started practicing.  Even if, in this case, they were only Sea Cadets.

Eventually, having passed a surprised David Bellamy a couple of times in the thicket, we reached a tall fence which was clearly meant to be very effective at keeping people like us out.  Or maybe in.  That wasn’t clear.

Fortunately, after a little searching, we found the local wildlife had managed to excavate a route underneath and the adrenalin made it easy to slip through.  Into what?  A deep, but (fortunately) dry gully.  In retrospect I am reminded of a computer game, where successfully overcoming each obstacle leads to a new set of challenges.  The satellite watch suggested we needed to cross the VERY big and slightly strange field, rather than slink around the edge… so off we set.

Who was more surprised I’m not sure: Nick or the guy with the 4×4 and all the pumping equipment?  Whoever it was, it was not me… right then pretty much nothing would have surprised me.  Except when I landed from the top the next fence and whilst trying not to end up in the stingers I’d noticed in free-fall, I felt the muscles in my undercarriage soak up the impact!

No matter. the man who was testing the nature of the gas & liquid output from this old landfill site (now a slightly odd looking, very large and surprisingly pretty field) had been very helpful.  And most specific with his directions, which encouraged me to ignore the Bok’s renewed sense of direction.  The way didn’t look right, but it was perfect and we exited through the one gate onto a road that didn’t entail any further adventures.  Unfortunately the road was nowhere near… well anywhere really!

At least the Bok knew the way back and only two things of note stood between us and a very welcome and tasty cup of coffee.  First, Mrs Bok phoned me on my mobile to ask a) if we were lost and b) if we needed to be picked up from somewhere.  This was said as if it were a regular occurrence.  Second, having said that we were very nearly almost back, we got lost in a housing estate!

Just over eleven miles were covered in a pedestrian one hour 54 minutes… what, 5.5mph or so.  Actually, bearing in mind how much lost we did, I think that’s pretty amazing!

Does anyone know a good teacher of map-reading to prevent Stanley getting me into yet another fine mess?

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Quickie

It’s a rushing around sort of day today so I will stick to the facts of the matter.

Nick arrived late and changed out of his (still unused?) sparkling clean runners in favour of his old and battered yet still sparkling pair as it looked like it might rain.  There’s a word for people like that, but I can’t think of it right at this moment!

We pretty much duplicated our route from last week except that the first mile or so was interrupted by Nick shaking his watch, exclaiming frustration and making general sounds of disbelief.  I agreed that our moderate pace did not feel like a five minute mile pace and eventually the issue was cleared up.  The watch had decided, of its own accord, to have a kilometer day!  There’s a name for that kind of behaviour!

The rest of the route was pretty uneventful (apart from when Nick tried to kiss a bull… it quite sensibly ran off) and we ended by sprinting down the road to keep the time sub-one-hour.

59 minutes then, covering 6.64 miles.  No rain.  The only mud was on my trainers (how does he do that?).  Good fun had by all!

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Nettled!

I knew it was a mistake to tell Clive about the recent article I had read, which said that being stung by stinging nettles cures hayfever.

Anyway, it is fair to say that after the late night before, there was a groggy start to the morning after.  Still, despite the forecast of rain for the weekend, it was a beautiful & sunny day, so after the usual banana and quadruple espresso, I donned my ailing runners and got with it.

Aware that it was the day of the London to Brighton Bike Ride, I had devised a rough route that would enable me to enjoy the day, see the cyclists and get back without any real drama.  Thus I headed out to Oldlands Mill and down towards Ditchling, hooking a right before I got there and dropping down to Keymer.  From there I went straight across the fields to Clayton, arriving by a different path and thus discovering a new way up to the windmills.

Having run up the hill the whole way without stopping, I allowed myself a break to walk through the car park, before resuming my run up the track towards the Beacon.  There were lots of walkers, but it was so far just another Sunday. I reached the Beacon in about one hour fifteen and the view was so beautiful that I stopped to take this video.

 beacon-view

The London to Brighton Bike Ride crew had set up camp in the car park so I availed myself of the facilities before standing to watch the cyclists mount the last rise.  I have a video of this too, but I can’t upload it.

I then set off down the track that I normally come up.  An unusual noise alerted me to a cyclist coming down fast behind me and I stood out of the way to let him pass (he wouldn’t have been able to stop at the speed he was going!) and then I loosed off the brakes myself and hammered down.  Suprisingly I caught him at the bottom where he had paused momentarily and we had a drag race up the road – I think we were both surprised how hearty my challenge was, although he kept accelerating when I had reached ‘sprint’.

Then it was down to Sporting Cars of Brighton, up East End Lane and north along the Sussex Border Path… where the conversation with Clive came back to haunt me.  Waist high stinging nettles mixed with slippery mud and tricky styles soon had whatever hayfever I had left on the run… my legs are still itchy, but it’s not so bad really Clive.  You should try it again!

I should mention that last night he recounted a tale of being flung, wearing only shorts, into a large nettle patch when he was young… ugh!

The Border Path is a really tiresome stretch, with its myriad gates and styles and as the two-hour marker passed my energy suddenly waned, like a light going out.  I found myself thinking about not peanut butter on toast, but peanut butter and jam sandwiches… serious sugar craving!

I walked, then ran, walked then ran, walked then ran, each time getting nearer to home.  I crossed the stream of cyclists again, feeling pretty sorry for these folk who had several miles to go before they even reached the bottom of the killer Beacon hill!

Then I was across the Common and crashing through the front door snarling for food!  Not a spectacular time, but the distance was a whiff over a half marathon and out of the two hours 25 minutes, I had spent at least some time looking at the view and watching the cyclists.

The run did take its toll though.  Having eaten and quenched my thirst, I fell asleep in a chair for a couple of hours and now, having washed the car (the only other thing I’ve managed to do all day), I’m ready for an early night.

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An Adams Family Gathering

Kim, Cliff and I squeezed into the car and hotfooted it down to Southampton last night for Nicky’s 40th celebration (well, one of them, anyway).  We quickly realised that Andy had omitted to tell us it was a hat party, but that was probably a good thing!

Clive and Nat, on the other hand, arrived in their excellent hats to a dark & empty house, A&N having moved from it some five or six years ago!  That may not have been such an issue had they not walked there from the hotel at the bottom of the road that the party was in…  Nat was in an evil mood, as you can clearly see.

Kim & Nat sat under the patio heater all night as the party goers ebbed and flowed to them, while the boys took up residence in the kitchen doing much the same, albeit much nearer to the pavlova, strawberry cheesecake and chocolate tart.

An excellent evening had by all, rounded off by a post-midnight drive back along the coast… with Cliff trumping that by driving onwards from our place at about 2am!

Thanks Andy & Nicky!

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A Bok day

This morning dawned bright and slightly cool, but for once I had no problem getting started.  Unlike Nick’s car which was suffering from a garmin-esque loss of battery power.  Not a man to let such a small detail stand in his way, he duly arrived and we set out at a slow pace down the road.

The Bok didn’t get his name for no reason and whilst I have occasionally managed to develop tactics to slow him down to my pace, or unsettle him, he usually figures out what I’m up to.  Alas. 

Except that he’s been tres busy, and the easy way to catch up with his news was to chat during a run.  Why don’t you bring me up to speed, Nick?

Whilst he talked, we headed out to the Royal Oak and up through Hundred Acre Wood where, despite the rain that we’ve had recently, the going was not too muddy.  Not that this was a problem as he was wearing his old trainers again… although he did tease me by showing me his sparkling new ones in his gym bag before we left!

Shame really, because I’m sure that I could have found a lot more mud if he’d been wearing them!

Deep into the wood, it finally dawned on him that he was puffing away between words while I was coasting along uttering ‘uh-huh’ in the appropriate places.  He zipped up and I zipped off ahead for a few minutes before eventually having to stop for, er… a drink of water. 

And some oxygen.

We crossed the Common chased by a herd of bullocks (sorry, that’s a load of bo’ks actually, but it did make him look round sharpish for a moment) and then on through to Wellhouse Lane. 

It was odd that someone had stolen almost all the puddles along the track and had also filled in some of the resulting empty hollows with road aggregate.  As we ran, I tried to figure out whether travellers had done this in preparation for some neat summer quarters, or that the owners had got fed up with someone stealing their puddles.  Either might help to explain the car that was jammed up against the gate, sideways, designed presumably to block all but the most intrepid of entrances.

The front runner changed a couple of times in the valley past the water tower, with the Bok streaming ahead into the dip and me overtaking him up the other side… the real moment of glory (for me) was not that I reached the top first, but that his heart-rate monitor finally cracked under the pressure and emitted a solitary beep-beep-beep-beep, before he gagged it with a deft right-hander.

Despite his heart-rate maxxing out, I am sad to report that it was I who then had to pause for air while the Bok continued ahead.

He graciously paused for me to catch up and I then stayed with him for the sprint up past the station, but he stretched ahead once again for most of the way down the hill the other side. 

Alas for the Bok, my coup-de-grace was the application of some differentiated strategic planning.  We always stop on the same corner, which is what he did.  But I unilaterally decided to move the goalposts right up to the house and by the time he’d twigged that I’d sprinted on past, it was too late and victory (pyrrhic, of course) was mine!

We covered a satisfying 6.7 miles in 59 minutes and celebrated by eating toast with espresso in the garden.