Category: Crazy thing to do!

Posted on

Research mode

photo (5)

I’m in research mode today, reading reports on strategy & change management in large and unionised organisations to help inform a potential project.  My mind needs space and time to digest the information, so I thought I would try an experiment.

Last year I met the guys from Armadillo Merino, who shared the merits of the merino wonder-material… aside from its lightness, wicking ability and natural odour resistance, what really appealed to me was the idea that I could compost it when it was finally of no use to me as clothing.

As an experiment I bought three t-shirts from Armadillo, giving one to my brother Nigel (kayaker), one to Kurt (runner), the owner of the brilliant running shop Run, and kept the third for myself (lazy oaf?).

Since then, aside from wearing formal shirts for work, I have worn either the Armadillo t-shirt, or another similar merino one, pretty much non-stop.  It really is an amazing material!  Reports from Nigel at Christmas were that, despite already being a merino fan with a large number of garments, he too had worn it a lot because it was so lightweight and comfortable.

Sitting, working barefoot in the sun this morning I became aware that my t-shirt was just starting to pong… I hasten to draw your attention to the ‘starting to’ preface to ‘pong’, lest you think that I’m a slob.

The proto-pong was no real surprise as I had been wearing the shirt on and off since Sunday morning.  Hence, in a break between articles, I quickly hand-washed it, loosely wrung it out and, being in an experimental mood, put it back on. Wet.

It’s certainly more comfortable when it’s dry, but it was no so uncomfortable in its wet state that I felt the need to take it off.

After about 15 minutes the sun went in, which meant that the temperature dropped, my socks and shoes went back on and my fleece too.  I was aware that the shirt was wet, but it wasn’t cold and I was able to carry on working.

In all it took about 45 minutes for the body to become dry with the remnants taking another 15 minutes or so.  Not bad!

While Armadillo’s core target market is service personnel (army, police etc) I can’t help feeling that this is actually a backpackers dream garment too!  And if I still ran an agency I would definitely specify merino for riggers, event managers etc.  Hey, but that’s a whole different experiment!

Posted on

The Stockholm Syndrome

There were a number of facets of my run last Sunday that were unusual.  It was dark, minus ten degrees and the ground was covered in packed snow with a layer of powder snow on top.  Oh, and I was in Stockholm.

My brilliant host Martin had persuaded me to take my running gear and he augmented this with an extra pair of running tights, a head-torch and a set of running spikes for the bottom of my trainers.

I was particularly glad of the latter.  My outside runners were covered in mud from the previous run so I had packed the pair I use on the running machine.  Only when I put them on did I realise how slippery the soles were: a combination of the rubber hardening with age and the silicone lube we use on the machine.

The road outside

It may have been minus ten, but it really didn’t feel that cold, which may have been due to low humidity.  We ran gently along one of Martin’s training routes, through his neighbourhood, around his local lake and up into the forest.  It was beautiful and I could certainly get used to this being my local run, snow and all.

All too quickly we were back at the house and I felt elated… 55 minutes had passed in a flash!  I’ve no idea how far we ran, but we were chatting constantly so probably about 5 miles.

Me & Martin

After work the following evening, Martin decided I should experience more of the local way of life.  We headed to a local recreation centre and I once again changed into my running gear… this time swapping the slippery-soled runners for a pair of long Swedish ice skates.

The last time I can easily remember being on ice skates was around 1995.  Whilst standing nonchalantly with my hands in my pockets I had slipped over and fractured a rib!  Not wishing to worry Martin, I withheld this information!

Not expecting to go far, we set off along the track… across the surface of the lake. You might think this sounds crazy, but the track would have been maintained by a tractor, so the ice is pretty thick.  Having driven on frozen lakes in the past it wasn’t the thing that was concerning me… I just didn’t want to make an idiot of myself by falling over!

Fortunately some basic elements of the technique (none of them glamorous, alas) came back to me and we completed the lake circuit… a whole 3km!

skating 1

That was the hors d’oeuvre.  We changed, showered and climbed into the the typically Swedish sauna… it was a mixed session and everyone was naked, though clearly no-one seemed to give a hoot.

Having been thoroughly heated, Martin led me outside, across the snow and down to a small jetty on the lake… still naked, of course.  Here there were a pair of stainless steel handrails and between them the treads of a ladder descending into the black water.

The water on the handrails was frozen, as was the surface of the jetty and only a submerged fan prevented the surface of the water freezing over like the rest of the lake that we had been skating on.

I thought a little trepidation was probably in order, but I didn’t want to show myself up as a weak-minded Brit so I grasped the icy handrails and started to step down until only my head and hands remained in the air.

It’s possible that my mind has blanked out the experience, but it didn’t seem that bad… probably because I had been recently super-heated .  I counted to five before I retraced my steps out of the water and then walked back across the snow.  We even sat outside for a few minutes chatting before returning to the sauna… with our feet lifted off the frozen ground!

Probably determined to get a girlie squeal out of me, my wonderful host then repeated the exercise… this time with a camera to capture the moment.  Two photos were taken though, despite the effects of the cold water, only one is publishable!

skinny dip 1

 

Worried about my place in the Brit-dip-list and also strangely enjoying this new experience, I returned for a third time to lower myself into the icy water.  I actually can recommend it… highly!

We showered & changed & headed out for food and a celebratory glass of beer!

Martin

 

I now understand why Stockholm Syndrome is so named… despite the generally chilly winter temperature, snowy weather and extended hours of darkness, it’s a beautiful and fun place populated by really warm-hearted people.  I can’t wait to return!

Posted on

Eye eye

For some reason my weekend seemed to blur into one long day… probably because I didn’t make it to bed on Saturday night.  In fact, with the exception of some short intermissions, I was awake for 36 hours straight.

The reason for this long day started  at 7.30pm on Saturday, after a circuit around the London Eye, when 15 of us started running along the Embankment in the direction of… well, the Brighton Eye.

I have been vehement in my absence at any such Ultra events that the other guys have been competing in over the years, but this one was conceived by Cliff and Andy so it seemed rude not to participate… though only after a considerable battle of willpower with myself!

We had two support cars which carried Andy’s spare shoes and most of his running wardrobe, though, to be fair, most of the others also had large kit bags.  This enabled the ensemble to run with micro-packs holding water and emergency supplies only.

Since I was avidly trying to avoid doing the run in the first place, I had not attended the planning sessions and so pitched up with all my gear in my running pack… which weighed about 7kg including 2 litres of water.  Dai tried to persuade me to decant some weight into the support cars but… well, I didn’t, choosing instead to lighten it slowly by consuming all the edibles!

The support cars met up with us at predetermined locations along the route and provided additional snacks, hot cups of tea and, for those that had them, fresh socks, shirts, trainers, legs etc.  This also meant that we could choose which sections we wanted to run, with some people running only a few sections and others running the whole way.

The general idea seemed to be to walk up any hills and run the rest of the time and I had hoped to complete the whole distance by going more slowly.  It quickly became apparent that this was not going to be possible since, in order to maximise the time spent off-road, the route was torturous.  Map-reading never having been my strong suite, I had to keep with the pace or get lost… although keeping up didn’t prevent the group from getting lost on a number of occasions!

As evening turned into night turned into morning, so the differential between my pace and the others’ slowly widened until I would catch up with them only when they stopped to figure out which way to go or at the next refreshment stop.

Eventually, on reaching the support cars at Weir Wood Reservoir at just after 7am , I decided to hang up my sodden shoes… everyone else  having already taken refreshments and continued on.  I had covered more than 43 miles in just under 12 hours.

My legs were tired and my shoulders ached from the pack but I could probably have continued further… but only at a much slower pace.  My mind was also tired though and the lure of an escape was too appealing so I joined the kit bags riding between check points.

The aim was that everybody would at least complete the first and last sections so I was fortunate to have more than six hours to recover until the last of the others had completed the next 18 miles.

I then rejoined the ensemble as we ran the final four miles into Brighton… though run is not the right word in my case and the others had to wait for me to catch up before we ran the final hundred metres together.

The event, which covered more than 65 miles in about 19.5 hours, was topped off by a ride on the Brighton Eye.

The gang of 16 (including Paula, our one permanent driver) were amazing throughout, though my Top Banana award has to go to Nikki who intended to do half but managed to complete the whole distance… and still managed to disappear off ahead of me in the final section!

I didn’t ask for sponsorship, but if anyone would like to donate a little money to charity in recognition of my efforts, then please go to my Just Giving site.  The charity, set up 20 years ago in memory of Big Man Daren’s brother Clive Packham, encourages Scouts to participate in adventurous activities by offsetting some of the costs of travel or training.  I particularly like it because they insist that the Scouts themselves present a formal case for the money they need and then make a final presentation of the event to the Trustees.

Even small donations will be very welcome!

Posted on

New mind games

Anyone who has a Kindle will know that there’s a lady who lives inside it who can read your book to you, should you be otherwise engaged or too lazy to do it yourself.  They too might have tried this feature and will have also probably have chosen to leave the lady to twiddle her thumbs, on account of her intonation.  Or rather, relative lack of it.

But this gave me an idea.

We don’t necessarily have to be fully focused listening to something for the sub-conscious to take the information in, so an automaton voice could be quite useful for its monotonous clarity, even if the audible structure of the sentences don’t always make sense.

And since what I had in mind was a boring tempo run, I wondered if it might be an interesting way to inculcate myself with the contents of the book… rather appropriately a book on the subconscious.

Unfortunately the volume would not go high enough for me to be able to hear the words over the rumble of the running machine so I had to don earphones.  Kim was delighted!

This in itself had two side-effects.  Firstly I had to wear a t-shirt to clip the lead on to.  Secondly I had to hold the lead to stop it jumping around and being caught by my hands as I ran… the result of which would presumably be bye-bye Kindle lady as she jumped off the running machine console to land under my feet.

After a few dry runs and thus entangled I started to run and to listen.

I know that as we try to maintain a faster speed, so any surplus conscious processing reduces, so I had the perfect excuse to run slowly and I started out at 6mph and although I tried to go faster, settled on 6.5mph.  Around the five mile mark I realised I was going too slowly to meet my internal goal so I increased first to 6.6, then 6.7 and eventually 6.8mph.  With half a mile to go I increased again to 7.5mph in order to neatly complete 10 miles a few seconds under 90 minutes.  Average 6.67mph.

I have no way of measuring the results of the experiment, but it was certainly more of a positive distraction than the radio station I used to listen to when I’ve done longer distances on the machine in the past.

Why the longer distance?  I may or may not be running a leg or two in the Dargonne overnight Eye to Eye run in a few weeks time… it’s a 64-mile question that I don’t yet have the answer to.  I’ve said I will run if Cliff bought me a ticket to ride (on the London and Brighton Eyes) but only he knows the answer to that at the moment.

But I thought it was worth getting ready just in case!

Of course, I suppose I could be persuaded to do more than a token amount of it if there were a few leveraged monetary pledges for my favourite charity to encourage me and I will take any comments below into consideration…. though hopefully no-one will read this far through the post to take me up on the offer!

Posted on

An uncomfortable mile

One of the problems with attending a wine tasting lunch with the inimitable Mark Johnson and a bunch of other business friends is the likelihood of excess inkaholism… and so it was.

The speaker was the brilliant Henry Butler from Butlers Wine Cellar in Brighton and of Winebox.tv fame.  Winebox.TV is WELL worth a look if you are interested in food and wine… Henry is hilarious!

After lunch we sat outside in the sun and continued to imbibe in a genial manner until gone 5.30pm.  Unfortunately, with only one direct train back home every hour it was the ‘gone’ part of 5.30pm that proved to be the problem.  I finally said my goodbyes and started towards the station with about 12 minutes to cover the exact one mile walk… which meant that I had to run.

A mile is not exactly a big deal, but lace-less shoes, a suit, the remnants of a month-long cold and a lower-than-normal proportion of blood in my veins were all factors which added to the difficulty… and the nearer I got to the station, the more determined I was to catch the train.

Runners: I cannot recommend this as a part of your training programme and although I did catch the train, which was a definite plus, I really didn’t enjoy the journey!

Of course this is a weak and obvious excuse for what comes next… once again I skipped my Sunday run and I instead spent the day working.

Oh well, there’s always next weekend… but remind me not to meet Mark for a drink on the leading edge of it!

Posted on

Nighty movers

Three of us ran off into the gathering darkness last night and re-emerged this morning, slightly damper and not so very refreshed from a questionable night’s sleep!

We gathered at Dai’s place in Patcham for a weigh-in last night with both Daren’s pack and mine showing 7.8kg.  Dai’s was 1kg lighter, but then he’s not in training for the TMB!

We ran along to the Ditchling Road, following paths that lay to the East of it to the top of the Downs and then on up to Ditchling Beacon.  Once the last glimmer of light disappeared from the sky there was little to see beyond the limit of the light from the head-torches, or night vision alone where the going was more regular.  We were aware of the hills around us, but the gradients seemed flatted out which made for relatively easy running.

Thus we made reasonable progress, despite the darkness and the weight, making it the 7 miles to Home Hill in about 90 minutes.  Here Dai had previously scoped out a place to bivouac, although it took a little time to find in the scrub.  With firewood collected and a neat fire burning, we rolled out our Gore-Tex bivvy bags and drank hot chocolate cooked on a tiny gas stove.

Then Dai disappeared into the scrub, reappearing minutes later with a bag containing French cheese, Ardennes Pate, Nairn crackers, chocolate and a bottle of red wine!  He had driven up earlier in the day to stash this surprise feast, along with a Basher sheet to make a small shelter.

We feasted merrily around a roaring little fire and agreed that this is about as good as life gets!

Up to this point there had been only random drops of rain in the mildness of the evening, but sometime after bedding down for the night the heavens opened with a vengeance!  In itself this might not have been a problem, but we were trying out three variants of bivouacking fully clothed but sans sleeping bags.

Dai had a sleeping mat and was dry beneath his makeshift shelter, but cold and uncomfortable nevertheless.  Daren had a new lightweight blow-up mat, but this turned out to be a problematic pneumatic as every time he blew it up, it gently let him down again.  Thus he was left cold, uncomfortable, wet when the rain came in through the opening in the bivvy bag… and deflated to boot.

Meanwhile I had borrowed a pre-used Blizzard bag from Pete, which is kind of like a couple of mummy-sized crisp packets inside each other.  It was initially too warm so I lay on top of it within the bivvy bag, but around 2am, with the rain coming down and the Gore-Tex wet to my cold touch, I climbed noisily inside.  It was certainly warmer and dryer, but sadly no less uncomfortable on the hard and bumpy ground and the rest of the night passed very slowly indeed!

When we finally decided to get up just before 6.00am, the rain was on pause and it was a close and misty morning.  In agreement about the extreme level of overnight discomfort, we breakfasted meagrely on tracker bars and more hot chocolate, packed wet gear into our rucsacs and ran off into the morning gloom.

The more direct route back took us past the Chantry memorial, looking beautiful in the mist, and on down to Dai’s place, the 3.3 miles taking us 38 minutes.

So a run over about 10.3 miles in 2.08 truncated by some night manoeuvres… I’m very glad to be back in the warm & dry and nursing my third quadspresso.

And please don’t be surprised if you walk past me today and find me asleep at my desk and with a smile on my face… I’ll be warm and comfortable and almost certainly dreaming about the sumptuous feast from last night.

Posted on

My goodness, you’ve put on some weight!

At the end of our run on Monday, there was a short exchange that has set some very particular wheels in motion. Well, legs really. Up until that exchange, Daren had been looking for someone mad enough to run the Tour d’Mont Blanc with. ‘Nuff said?

Bearing in mind that the TMB route is circa 120 miles long, with about 10,000m of height gain and height loss (greater than climbing Everest from sea level), it may seem strange that I wasn’t out on the Downs this morning doing some hill work.

Actually, part of the reason was that I had been edging grass verges yesterday (see England Garden Gang) and also felt as if I’d put on a little weight (more of that later). Rather than get injured in early training, I thought I’d stick to a flat route.

I set out at 8.25am to get the run over before it got too hot and made my way down the road route that I’ve run frequently… down to Wiveslfield Station, along to the London Road and then South towards Hassocks. It’s a good route for thinking about stuff and because I know where the mile markers are, I’m able to gauge my pace to a certain extent.

Despite not feeling as fleet of foot as normal, I made good time and was surprised how consistent my pace was at 9 minute miles. This is not the fastest I’ve run down here (which is an average 7.9 minutes per mile), but more recently I’ve struggled to run it this quickly.

I turned in Hassocks at the four mile marker and ran back to the outskirts of Burgess Hill, before returning to the Hassocks turn point a second time, now six miles. In late February when I first ran this route, the guys from Crawley Community Payback were busy doing the verge edges on the outskirts of Hassocks and it was still really clear the short stretch that they had completed. The balance of the way down the road, the path is getting narrower between the encroaching verge on one side, which is breaking up the pavement, and the encroaching hedge on the other. Bearing in mind this is both a footpath and a well-used cycle path, I think it deserves a little more care, not that people in the Council care what I think!

I retraced my steps back via Wivelsfield Station and up Junction Road making it to the end of the ten-mile run in a shade less than 1.30… 9 minutes per mile or 6.67mph. Despite being pretty red in the face compared to normal, it was a nice run and good timing to boot… rather than getting hotter, it was actually raining lightly as I charged up the road towards the end and within ten minutes of getting back the rain was coming down like stair rods.

But wait a minute… or rather, weight a minute. The reason I felt heavier this morning was because I was wearing a rucsac weighing 10lbs, or 4.5kg and I still ran faster than the last time I did this route! It’s likely that the TMB pack will be more than twice this weight, but I feel reassured… nay, as Phil Stupples would probably say, I feel GOOD, nah, na na, na naaa, I knew that I would now, la, la la, la laaa!

Posted on

Of Running Stitch

Strangely, despite the severity of the run today, the reference to running stich is not passing comment on our dubious fitness levels, but rather on our poor needlework skills.

After a typically lengthy absence, it was an honour today to run with The BIG Man, fresh from his travels and travails.

The BIG man’s plan was somewhat crazy, especially bearing in mind that he was sporting something of a hangover and I was suffering from sleep deprivation… having gone to bed around 2am and gotten up again at 6am, on a Sunday, I ask you. We were to run along the Downs, taking each consecutive path between the top and the bottom… my expectation was that we probably wouldn’t get too far!

In order to run up the Tank Tracks, we started by running down the hill from Jack & Jill to Clayton and along the road… nice start, especially as we arrived at a mutually agreeable pace that is generally referred to as Slow. The pace suited us well on the inevitable first climb and we managed admirably… just as well as we had a spectator watching us towards the top in the form of a friendly competitor of mine, Paul Hopwood. Not that we could stop to chat for fear of breaking our resolve.

In retrospect we could have gone straight back down the adjacent bostal from there, but instead we ran along the top to the more vertical path that drops down to the bottom of the Ditchling Beacon road. Cliff ran up and down this steep track countless times (I think to emulate the height of Everest) in order to gain the sponsorship money to go on Operation Raleigh all those years ago.

We ran along Underhill Lane and back up my favourite Beacon track which wends its way up slightly further down the hill from the climbing road. Two hills didn’t seem quite enough, so we ran down the next bostal to Westmeston and back up through the top of Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee V… I seem to vaguely recall that there had been plans to plant trees to form another letter next to it (R for Regina or A for Albert?), but she sadly died in the intervening period… although the validity of my source is forgotten so this may be totally spurious!

As every good needle-worker knows, what we had done to this point could be considered to be running-stitch and not the most stable of sewing styles. Bravado (or maybe memories of needlework class at Woodingdean Primary School) therefore made me suggest that we did cross-stitch, zagging our outbound zigs on the return leg and creating a much stronger, er… well, let’s not try to take the analogy too far, huh?

Thankfully the BIG man, he sayeth (words to the effect of) No, which let me off the hook from my rather stupid suggestion. Instead, we ran gently back along the top, via the trig point at Ditchling Beacon, to Jack and Jill again.

Back at the cars Daren made one tiny error, mentioning that we had completed 9.75 miles… too close for me not to want to complete the other quarter-mile. He gracefully agreed (quite frankly, this is blatant writer’s licence) and we ran back off up the hill, returning a few minutes later having completed the requisite distance… in some ways it was a neat knot to complete our needlework class.

So, ten pretty arduous miles in 2.10, an unsurprisingly slow 4.6mph, and one of the most enjoyable runs in ages… in between all our laughing and whooping, of course!

Posted on

Good & Early

I was due to help a neighbour move a concrete shower tray (double-size) at 8.40am this morning so I got out good and early for a short run.  I’ve not run for two weeks and I think that a combination of heat over that time and no exercise has been leading to a little unusual lethargy first thing in the morning… and also  to my eyes starting to shut around 9.30pm.

It was almost not a good start, as I managed to switch off my alarm without waking up and it was fortunate that Kim nudged me awake at 6.30am.  I sat and woke up with the usual quadspresso and the current book, which is about evolution and language… it’s not as dry as you might think and I was so engrossed that I almost ran out of time, only making it out the door at 7.20am.

I took my favourite little circuit (Royal Oak, Wivelsfield, West Wood, Magical Path) and it was a truly beautiful morning to be out and about, especially as it was still cool enough to run.  Nothing of any import occurred, although I did manage to get 47 minutes of good random thinking time over the 5.2 miles… not that I can now remember particularly what was going through my head, but it was very pleasant.

Having showered and helped move the (heavy!) tray, I set about putting a first coat of paint on the penultimate house wall… I had completed the previous wall on Saturday before we went out to a brilliant party in Hartfield.  With the wall drying, the brushes washed and the sun high and hot in the sky, I sat down to read in the tea-house… alas, not for long.

Somehow, Kim drew my attention to a blue trellis on the big final wall and I set about removing it with gusto… after which it was an easy step to get the paint back out.  I’ve no idea how long it took me to put the first coat on, but somewhere in the region of four hours and rather than a restful and relaxed afternoon I had planned, I spent it pumped up, basted and lightly grilled on gas mark 8.  Still, at least it’s a step closer to the end and it’s going to look great!