Quick Sunday run

My neighbour told me it was going to be minus 7 last night (Saturday night) and walking outside at midnight to see the pure clarity of the sky, with its bright stars and sparkling moon, I can well believe her.

But by the time I woke up this morning, the sun had worked its magic and it was only zero in the shade and much, much hotter inside my goretex jacket in the blazing sun.

Having not run for a few weeks I didn’t try to achieve too much, but had a lovely run on some paths I’ve not used for a while.  Even the mud underfoot was satisfying, with the slightly melted top surface crunching down gratifyingly giving me the feeling that I had levelled some of the ruts!

Overall I was out for 40 minutes and covered 4.9 miles at a speed of about 7.3mph.  I reckon I would have been quicker still if I’d have gone running when we got back from skiing, but hey ho!

Dessert

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After all the serious fun… there was a day of ice-karting!

Last year I won the ice-karting and could have written loads of stuff about it. 

This year I came third so I’ve not much to say for myself. 

Except that I didn’t start using the brakes until we were messing around after the final.  That’s when I started to remember how to go quickly!  DUH!

Tracks in the UK would be unfamiliar with the concept of letting the punters carry on driving, round and round, until they actually get tired of driving.  Or it gets dark.  Which in our case happened around the same time!  In fact, at one point Benny even re-started us in the other direction so that it would be more challenging!

The casualty of the day was my boot, which now has a radically remodelled sole… on account of me trying to warm my feet up by putting them too close to the fire!  It actually took an hour in the jacuzzi and ten minutes in the sauna for me to feel my toes again at the end of the day.  And a large G&T, a terrific bottle of wine and another evening of hilarious conversation to stop smarting about losing!

I must work on that!

Was Dai lost?

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I’m really sorry Dai… if I’d realised it was you I would have offered you a lift mate!  You must have been perishin’!

And knackered by the time you got home!

Nice ‘n icy

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A couple of busy days later, I finally find time to upload a couple or three photos of the lake at Alvdalen.  But it’s time for bed so I’ll have to fill in the details later!

 And here are the details.

After another four-thirty alarm, I drove to Stansted in the pouring rain, left my car with a delighted parking attendant and checked in.  And all before coffee, which I find remarkable.  My traveling companions were Mark and Mike, both IT consultants and David, a dentist: all easily identifiable as fanatics by the stack of car mags in their bags.

We flew in to Skavsta, which is to the south-west of Stockholm and picked up our hire car: a Saab 95 2.0t estate, which by the way, is an excellent car with a whole lot of space.  With four trained drivers, the journey north to Alvdalen was very pleasant, but contrary to previous years, the roads were largely tarmac coloured.  I managed to get the graveyard shift at the end, which although only 45 minutes out of an almost six hour trip, was had by far the most interesting conditions.  Here the roads were white and it was now dark, but the car was capable and we made good progress to the hotel.

At the hotel were the other three members of our group, Simon, Richard and Victoria, but also the previous group of friends which made for an excellent evening full of discursive conversation.  Also present were our host and trainers from Volvo: Bert, Jerry and Tomas basically think we’re weird as, despite meeting a large number of highly committed drivers and test-drivers every year, we are apparently the only group that can spend the evenings discussing steering methods or the optimal order in which to train novice drivers in advanced driving techniques.

Out on the ice the next day, they were also surprised.  They expect a very high standard of driving from this group, but despite having four ‘ice wirgins’, they didn’t have to pull a single car out of the bank in the whole day. 

I should explain: we are on both a test track and a lake (with a frozen surface about half a metre thick),  which are to all intents and purposes, low grip.  Not slippery enough that you have to fight for balance (although Victoria did slip over a couple of times) but enough that you will stand stock still with your wheels spinning beneath you if you are too boisterous with the gas on take-off.  The tracks are created at the beginning of the season by compacting the snow and they are then lovingly cleared, groomed and tended-to by Benny each night, much like a piste, so that all the car makers, tyre manufacturers and test drivers using the track have optimal conditions.

The exercises we were doing were designed to challenge our control over the cars, pushing us to experience cornering, braking and avoiding obstacles at relatively high speeds.  The winter tyres that the Swedes use are studded in the main, which is a very good thing: the reason that the UK grinds to a halt in an inch of snow is because we drive on summer tyres – in northern European terms, these are the prevalent conditions that we face. 

With summer tyres, a corner that might be comfortable on studs at 40mph would only be possible at 10mph without a loss of control.  I know from experience that in very low grip conditions (on Mira wet-grip test-track) I can drive my car neatly round a corner at 10mph or slide it sideways under control at 12-15mph, but I am totally out of control at 17mph… the window is a really small one!  The problems really start to pile up for someone driving in UK snow when they think that sufficient grip extends beyond about 10mph… or beyond an almost horizontal gradient!

During the course we get to drive a mixture of front-wheel’, rear-wheel’ and four-wheel drive cars and learn how to drive each to its strengths.  The biggest grin factor for me has changed over the last couple of years.  It was always the rear-wheel drive cars that gave me the greatest satisfaction and though it was a real hoot guiding the limousine around our little track sideways (it has such a long wheelbase that everything happens really slowly, making for some really graceful arcs), this year the four-wheel drive cars got me hooked. 

Volvo’s new V70 and especially XC70 are absolutely marvellous cars and very quick with it!

But there’s a common misperception, which is that because four-wheel drive cars accelerate more quickly in low-grip conditions, they also brake more quickly and corner at higher speeds.  Alas, it’s the same old rubber at each corner whether you have the latest 4×4 or a… pedal car.  Same old limit of grip to expend on either cornering or braking, or some lessened combination of the two.  Sure, in the safety of our one-way track, we can slide the car sideways into each corner and neatly power out.  But this surface is much more forgiving than even wet tarmac… and in the dry the speed at which the car can bite back, if you get it wrong, increases significantly!

Which brings us back to steering techniques, although I don’t begin to have enough space here to even start that discussion again!

Sheet!

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Okay okay OKAY!  I go away occasionally… and occasionally I go away again!  But I’m back now, so I’ll be running again very soon! 

In the meantime, I thought you may be interested in my latest annual Swedish pilgrimage to worship at the alter named VCDA: The Volvo Cars Driving Academy. (I hope you can read Swedish!)

I’ll write more about it later, but I just saw this photo from the route home and thought I’d whet your appetite. 

It was an interesting morning, conditions-wise with roads so slippery that at one point when I tested the brakes in a safe place, the wheels locked and we shot along like a bobsleigh.  It was so slippery that the anti-lock brakes were fooled into thinking we were stationery and didn’t kick in until we had almost slowed to a halt under our own weight.  Although we were in our Saab hire car, to be fair!

You might notice that in the photo above, Mark seems to be standing gingerly and holding on to the car… yes, it really was that slippery!  You can actually see his reflection in the road!

So I particularly wanted to thank Jerry who, on an earlier course, insisted on teaching us how to power-turn a front-wheel drive car.  At the time he described the situation we had found ourselves in perfectly: having finally run out of traction on a narrow hill.  Steering on full lock, engage reverse, let out the clutch and blip the throttle; then straighten the wheels as the car finishes a graceful pivot around its rear wheels.

Watching the highlights of that day’s Swedish Rally, it was reassuring to know that we weren’t the only ones finding the conditions challenging!

A sign of the times

I just read the following in a paper given to me by a cherished client:

‘The children now love luxury.  They have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise.’

My mother has a favourite quote (mine too!) that comments similarly on our experience at work:

‘We trained hard, but it seemed that every time we were beginning to form up into teams we would be re-organised.  I was to learn later in life that we tend to meet any new situation by re-organising.  A wonderful method it can be for creating the illusion of progress, while producing confusion, inefficiency and demoralisation.’

Both quotes are true of our times but the latter is courtesy of Caius Petronius, a Roman general, in A.D. sixty-six, whilst the former is a comment not on the rise of the virtual child, but on the fall of Athens over two thousand years ago, being penned by Plato in B.C.392.

Above anything else I think it speaks volumes about standards and priorities in education at the time and here Dai might agree with me, that the Ancient Greeks and Romans showed such foresight to teach their loyal subjects such perfect written English.

Ski legs

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WAKE UP DAVID!  Time to SKI!!

We’ve stayed with Ray & Yvonne quite a few times in different chalets and what keeps us going back is them… they are truly excellent hosts!  And I guess great friends now too! 

Their current chalet is in Chandon, just below Meribel, which makes it a quieter, more comfortable choice and less tempting on the shopping wallet, which is useful at the moment!

The weather was crisp and sunny, the snow in great condition and Yvonne wasted little time in dragging me off piste in search of my old ski legs.  To no avail, alas, as four or five connections to earth attested.  Ray tried again the next morning and over lunch pointed out where I might find them and the afternoon saw my skis working more in line with the instruction manual, but not totally.  Day three heralded the arrival of the unpaid debt collector in search of candle-wax that had been overdue for a couple of weeks: I lay comatose on the sofa for most of the day with only Kim’s twisted knee and our skiing buddies one-year-old grandson for company.

Our skiing buddies are Tim & Anna, whose family company Nursey is the real deal when it comes to leather & sheepskin products, having been manufacturing since 1790!  That’s not to say that they are quite that old, of course… tee hee!  The rest of the party comprised their son Adam, his wife Sandra and aforementioned grandson Thomas; Property developer Martin and his super-cool, ace-boarder son James (a budding Richard Branson if ever I met one!); Sue, Keith, Phil and romper-suited Nick.

After my day of rest, it was the forth day before I finally discovered the ability I think I must have left behind when I was taken out head-on (spun round length-ways in the air and left to hobble home with a broken collarbone) four years ago. 

The first couple of runs felt like I was turning a credit card on a glass table but then it suddenly came back… you know, that roll of the knees into the turn as the shoulders push downhill.  The edges were biting hard again and though I’m sure I’ve been more graceful, I no longer felt like a cookie.  I spent the rest of the day gently pushing the boundaries and rediscovering the joys of carving.

Day five was more of the same but that night Ray went out with James’ can of spray cream and pasted all the slopes with about a foot of extra white stuff.  So day six was a tricky day, with even Ray confessing it was heavy going. 

I went out and pushed myself to do lots of difficult things.  There are only so many jump turns that you can do with rubbish ski fitness but I had a jolly good go.  In fact the steep pistes and off piste sections were easier on the core muscles than trying to ski across the lumpy bumpy flat bits.  Once it gets too flat for a rhythm of regular turns, you have to pretend you’re sprinting whilst dribbling a ball through the England defenders, knees wobbling from side to side like jelly… or your back gets jarred on every lump!

And since I reckon to learn something every time I do it wrong, I had a really great day!

So now we’re home and the ski gear is all packed away for another trip.   I hope I get a chance to use those ski legs before I forget where I’ve put them again!

The smell of candles burning at both ends

I thought that I’d better check in lest you’d all think I’d been abducted by aliens, which would of course be most unfair on them: They made me very welcome and I was free to leave at any time.

Apart from a modicum of proper thinking work, most of the hours from my last post until 10pm on Saturday 26th were spent finishing Kim’s flat.  With a lot of help from some friends… thank you Cliff and Nick!  As of yesterday I understand that it had it’s first tenants and having met them a couple of times in the lead-up to finishing, I hope that our effort translates directly into their comfort.

Slightly after 10pm then, two totally wired people arrived home with a car-load of tools & stuff, hungry from not having eaten since breakfast and with one or two things to do before bed.  The tools got dumped unceremoniously in the garage and the door closed firmly behind them.  The leftovers from the previous night’s takeaway were microwaved and scoffed to the soundtrack of Kim saying ‘slow down!’  The sweat and tears from the day were showered off with the paint & dust and only then did we started packing.

My head hit the pillow at 2am, with Kim’s head about half an hour behind that and the alarm another two hours behind that.  Nasty alarm!  The driver of the car that collected us at 5am did his best to chat his way past my glazed expression and more or less the next time I woke up we were in Meribel.  Which can only mean one thing…

Hasty post

It’s been a long day (I’ve just called a halt to work now!) but I feel duty bound to report on this morning’s run before I collapse into bed!  I have to apologise because it was 16 hours ago and my memory never was that great, but I’ll do my best! 

It was a morning where a pair of shorts and a t-shirt would have been appropriate and seeing as how we both had tights and jackets on, running was a little warm.  My jacket quickly got rolled up and tied around my waist.  It was not dry underfoot though, by any means. 

I had received a sharp comment when Nick arrived about the state of my runners… basically they were still caked in mud from, er, every run I’ve done in the last six weeks.  It was a delight then to see his pristine white laundered trainers refusing (like a horse) at each new puddle of mud. 

And more of a delight still to see them sploshing in when he’d not seen one coming!  He must have been confident of taking a still-immaculate pair home with him too as he had to ask for a plastic bag for his bedraggled steeds.  Still, there must be hours of pleasure to be gained from laundering them again for next time!

It was hard going for me this morning, despite the above.  I kept having to pause, although for a few seconds at a time, to catch my breath.

I’ve realised that I’m now spouting un-adulte-rated (rated for one adult?) drivel so I’m just going to drop in the results (6.4 hard miles in one hour 3 mins: average speed 6.1mph), apologise for not writing / running last week (busy with work) or Sunday (busy with flat) and wish you a jolly good night’s sleep!  Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Splish splash splosh

I ran earlier.  Much earlier.  Before eating Kim’s delicious chili.  Before spending the day tiling the bathroom at the flat and working out what still needs doing in the kitchen.  Before hand-washing my mudden (my new technical term suggesting muddy AND sodden) running gear and showering me off too.

Eight ate handsomely at Grant & Karen’s last night and we were treated to a riot of flavours along with some of Grant’s friends that we’d not previously met.  Grant, a chef of some renown, was in a Moroccan mood and whilst I can’t begin to remember what any of the dishes were called, they were certainly very tasty!

After such great food and a late night (and after a heavy day working at the flat), the alarm went off too early this morning and I took the tiny window of opportunity to get up, otherwise I would have fallen back to deep sleep!  The espresso machine dished up the goods and I sat supping it until I was at least half awake.  Then I was out the door!

I quite fancied a long run, but I really didn’t feel up to it, so I started with a short run instead, thinking I would see where it got me.  It had to be the wettest morning underfoot so far this year… thank goodness for Kurt’s woolen Thurlo’s, otherwise my poor little toes would have been washed away in all the cold water.  If you’re precious about how your trainers look, running in the countryside at this time of year is probably not for you.

I ran South towards Ditchling, thinking I would then track East as far as the tunnel under the railway line and then come back via the Common, but when I emerged onto Spatham Lane with a choice to head North or South, I had only been out for 25 minutes so it seemed churlish to head for home so soon.  So I headed South again towards Westmeston at the foot of the Downs.

After trying one or two paths that didn’t take me in the right direction (a habit of mine), I eventually found myself running up the scarp slope of the Downs and arrived at the top between Blackcap and the Beacon.  There’s more to say about the climb, of course.  It was muddy, very muddy and I reckon that Dai’s new shoes would have been a real boon!  As it was, I had to stop running several times on account of nearly falling flat on my face, each foot sliding out behind me quicker that I could replace it!

I ran towards the Beacon, but was pretty knackered so took the path down before I got there.  Having overtaken a couple of horse-riders, I then slithered down the muddy track using skiing techniques as much as running ones!  The track returned me to Westmeston and from there I paddled down to Ditchling… I kid you not, the path was sub aqua much of the way.  Splish splash splosh!

Energy levels really were on LOW by then, so I took a rare decision and took the roadhome.  I’m not a great fan  of running along the side of the road, but there was not much traffic and whatever getupandgo I had remaining was at least applied with good traction, so the going was faster than it would have been… shortening the agony.

By the time I’d nearly got to our road, my legs felt like they did at the end of the Barns Green half marathon… pretty much lifeless!  But I kept the machine running right up until the end and was pleased to see two hours and seven minutes on my watch. 

Having stretched and peeled of my mudden kit, I sat down with the map and a couple of slices of toast & peanut butter to find that I had run 20km, or 12.5 miles.  Despite the sodden going, the muddy climb and run home on empty, I had averaged 5.9mph.