Category: Videos

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Of wise men

One of the benefits of running on the machine is the amount of thinking that I do.  Towards the end of my run I started thinking about what made the archetypal ‘wise man’ wise?

On a Strawbs album when I was growing up there was a quote from the Buddha:

As a man of discernment, standing on a rocky eminence, boholdeth those who are below and in distress; so doth the sage, who by his wakefulness hath put to flight his ignorance, look down upon suffering mankind from the heights of wisdom that he hath attained.

It’s from memory, so it might not be strictly accurate, but the question remains: how did the sage put to flight his ignorance?

The curiosity to observe what was going on around him and the humility to do it without judgement?  The perception to see behind the obvious and the flexibility of thinking to embrace this new information.  The courage to challenge dogma and the resilience to keep going when this got hard work?

These are all relevant sterling qualities, but is there also some reason they often seemed to favour living in the wilderness… even if it was only for 40 days and 40 nights?

I think the reason has to do with the way that blue sky thinking comes to us.  To my mind the sky is on the inside, held as one of the millions of life-inputs captured within our subconscious.  It is within this entity that ideas happen and all that is required to access them is a quiet conscious mind.

You’ll have to forgive this slightly kookie subject… it’s the kind of thing that happens when I stare at a white wall for half an hour. Along with myriad ideas for how to easily suspend an iPad in front of the running machine to give me something to think about while I’m running.

I ran 5 miles in 42.40, an average of 7mph and I’d like to leave you with something else that has been running around in my mind… if you have time to watch it?

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Extempore

I’ve had a brilliant week!  One of the myriad challenging books that I’ve read recently suggested that there are just two critical measures that we employ when we are assessing how good something was (for examples my week or someone’s life): the high point and the ending.

So despite last week containing a sludge of stress and frustration, the duel high points of spending Thursday evening chatting with some really engaging Brighton Business School students and spending Friday working with the amazing Terbell PostGrad students, allied to the week-ending run I have just completed, make for a really positive memory overall.

The air temperature outside had an Arctic feel to it this morning as I ran off down the road and I quickly resolved to keep the route short.  Inevitably though, as with life, when we get interested in something and delve a little deeper it can draw us in and we suddenly find ourselves doing things that we could not have hoped for.

I ran down Ockley Lane and out through copious quantities of icy wet mud to Oldlands Mill, which had clearly turned its back to the low sun.

The view to the South was beguiling, but I still had in mind to follow a relatively short route.

Anticipating that I might not come back this way, I ran down Lodge Hill (I normally only run up it) and thus saw the village of Ditchling from a different angle for a change.

I felt a little guilty as I ran down the high street leaving a trail of watery mud on the neat pavement.  I could see it in my peripheral vision, flying through the air from my slowly whirling trainers.

Although it had not been my intention, I found myself on the path to the Beacon, ignoring the junctions which would have led me home more directly.  And then I was running up the Beacon itself.

A series of comments this week had been spinning around in my head and I suddenly decided to try an odd experiment.  Daren had mentioned that his tactics for getting up the Tank Tracks (a path which approaches the task of getting up the steep scarp slope by simply going straight up it) is to innocently ask me to explain something complex at the bottom and let me distract him with my reply until we reach the top.  With this in mind I turned on the video camera and extemporised for the duration of the hill.

The result is difficult to watch because of the fast moving scenery and also hard to understand through the heavy breathing, but I enclose it here for in case it’s of random interest.

And then I was on the top of the Downs chatting to a couple whose young children were occupying the highest point in Sussex… the top of the concrete trig point on the top of Ditchling Beacon.

Ahead of me I now had the task of running home, but I smiled as I enjoyed the initial down hill section.  My homeward route was going to be through the marvellous mud of the wonderful Weald… seemingly one part icy water to one part earth in places today… and this started before I had even reached Sporting Cars of Brighton at the bottom of the hill.

This route (especially at this time of year) is not for those who like to keep their shoes clean.  It has gloriously beautiful views…

… but the soundtrack is consistently splashy…

… and at times you have to have faith that your feet are still attached.

There was even one hill that looked to be a wide and curving lawn, but was in fact pockets of water disguised by tufts of grass, all the way to the top.

Eventually I returned via Ditchling Common and back home, my woollen Thurlo socks being the only thing that stood between my feet and frostbite.

Just over 10.6 miles in 1:57 is an average of 5.45mph… a glorious end to an excellent week!

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The Blighty Grouse Grind

Inspired by Daren’s recent ascent of the Grouse Grind in Vancouver, which rises 933m in a distance of 2.9km, I [stupidly] decided to replicate his feat right here in Blighty.

I scoured the map for likely candidates and the only hill that I could find with that gradient was Wolstonbury, which I stormed back in April (archive post). Remembering how treacherous it was descending the grassy north face, I looked for an alternative, settling on the tank tracks that lead to the top of the hill above Jack & Jill.

The track is 1km long and rises about 140m, so I figured that if I did the climb 7 times, I would have a vaguely comparable height gain to challenge Daren with… he claims to have finished the Grouse Grind in less than one hour… and was going back with his trainers to try to beat that… so I had my work cut out!

I parked at Jack & Jill and warmed up on the gentle hill, giving me an initial 60m tally.  At the top I found some radio masts and a bunch of cars and a sign warning of vehicles using the track.

I ran down ‘the hill’ encountering one of the vehicles coming slowly up the incline… the driver kindly informed me that it was the Mid Sussex Amateur Radio Society who were camped out for an annual worldwide competition to see who can reach the furthest distance.  Apparently they had been talking to someone in Trinidad & Tobago last night, which is pretty impressive.

His eyes widened when I said what I was planning to do.

I ran on down to the gate at the bottom and turned round and started grinding up the hill myself.  Ten minutes later, I knew Daren had beaten me… I would have needed to have beaten 9 minutes to stand a chance.  I thought I would do a second loop before I headed for home and off I went.

The second climb was way harder than the first, but I managed it in about the same time.  Unfortunately, the guys at the top were now rooting for me, which meant that I couldn’t really give up after only two climbs.  The third was really painful, but I thought I had better do four… for some reason that completely escapes me now.  The guys said they would have a cup of tea waiting for me.

I had passed some youngsters who were doing a dry run for their Duke of Edinburgh Silver award a couple of times up and down the hill and I chatted to them while I supped my mug of tea.  They were really impressed with what I was doing and so I felt I had to complete at least one more circuit… by which time they would be gone and I could head for home.

As I neared the top so the MSARS guys cheered me and said only two more to go and I then I knew I was going to have to finish it, somehow.  Coming up for the 6th time, I was barely moving in places, although I was still (I think) technically running.  Going down for the last time, I took this video to show you the view and the path.  Alas it is once again very jerky… and worse still, it looks flat!  WAAAAAAH!

May I just say… it is NOT FLAT!

And then I was on to my 7th climb and I rather think it took me about 15 minutes, so slow and painful was it.  I even had to stop momentarily, twice, on the final hill… just because.  There was a big cheer from the guys at the top and I would like to say a hearty thank you to them, as I wouldn’t have made it without them.  Although I wouldn’t have had to have finished it if they hadn’t been there!

I stretched out as best I could back down the gentle hill to the windmills, getting back to the car at 2 hours 33 minutes.  980m plus the 60m to the top from the car park gives 1040m in total height gain (WAY more than Daren, you’ll note) and 16.7km / 10.5miles… well the gradient doesn’t compare either!

I estimate that the downhills were completed at an average speed of 6.1mph, while I managed only 3mph on the uphills.  At an average speed of less than 4.1mph though, it would take me about 6 and a half hours to complete a marathon… furrgeddit!

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Circling

After the heat of the last few days, it was a little cooler sitting outside this morning with my espresso and my current book, Synchronicity, The Inner Path of Leadership by Joseph Jaworski.

The lower temperature drew me to do some more fartleks and so off to the Common I trotted.  It is such a lovely place and as I did the warm-up lap, I thought about how I could share this with you… so on the next loop I took a video, which you can see here.  It’s more than a little bumpy, so you may need to take a sea-sickness tablet before you start watching it, but I think that you’ll get the idea:  lovely path through the high grass during an earthquake, beautiful scenery zipping past in every direction, fresh air being drawn in noisily by the runner in the background etc.

It was so lovely that I put in an extra lap… no no NO, scrub that.  Actually I didn’t feel that I was trying hard enough, so I forced myself to run an additional lap before heading for home, so five laps in total.

So just over 5 miles in 46 minutes gives 6.6mph… slightly quicker than last week and a speed that would allow me to sneak in at under four hours… if I kept it up for the whole of the upcoming Brighton marathon.

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Crawling towards The Soul Katz

Managed to get back in the pool on Thursday night for 45 minutes and found that it’s easier to count in sets of four than singly.  Three breast-stroked and a length crawled.  At the end of the session I did an extra crawl, so out of 56 lengths I managed 15 crawlies.  Still pretty knacked at the end, but it’s all starting to hang together a little better than it was.

Having swum, we beat it back to base for a quick pit-stop before hurtling off to Bar Nun at the Priory in Haywards Heath for a gig.  Our good friend & neighbour Andrew has been playing in The Soul Katz for about 15 years (it was a Commitments-style tribute band), but they have apparently not played for a while.

Knowing how good a player he is I was not at all surprised to find the venue pretty much splitting at the seams… the place was rammed!  The band comprises eleven excellent musicians (and one sound guy) and they played BRILLIANTLY.  What DID amaze us was how long they played for… they must have started just after half eight and aside from a short break, they ran right through until a quarter to twelve!

I took a video http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aO3ChBLgGuQ of one of the numbers which gives a sense of what they play and how good Andrew is on the harmonica, although my camera does NO justice to the sound, alas!

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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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All mud and no running

Would it surprise anyone if I said that I spent yesterday crawling around in the thick Chiltern mud?  I don’t suppose so as any regular readers will know that I’m always up to my knees in the stuff.

But the main aim of yesterday was not to get too muddy, but rather bump and splosh around at an elegant ride height at least a couple of feet above the ground.  Courtesy of the Land Rover Experience.  The function of this truly excellent centre is to demonstrate to potential buyers the ability of this most English of Chelsea Tractor.  In extremis. 

I can tell you first hand that the streets of Kensington & Chelsea are cared for in a way that puts other councils to shame, with perfectly paved, level sidewalks, motorway standard tarmacking and regularly cleaned gutters.  Outside of the garden squares and patio pots, mud does not feature widely. 

This centre, by comparison, has an awful lot of the stuff.  Deep, slippery ruts and complex cross-cuts, tracks submerged in watery mud, teflon-coated muddy grass, steep muddy inclines and dizzying drops, tree-lined forest tracks with mud mixed with roots… you name it, they have it! 

I know from ice-driving in Sweden how much difference tyres make to safety so I was stunned to find out what kind they proposed to use to cope with this dictionary of muddiness: standard road tyres on all but one fairly old, green Defender.  Moreover, all but the aforementioned were completely standard vehicles in every aspect.

During the day I got to drive the green Defender through the very worst of the mud and deep water, a Range Rover down through the forest trail (avoiding all but three of the myriad tennis balls suspended strategically from the trees), a new silver Defender round a typical time trial section with awkward gates, tricky changes in camber and surface and the very worst of the ruts and cross-cuts (Penny and Pete will know what I mean) and a Range Rover Sport out on the road. 

To prove how truly amazing these vehicles are, we persuaded the team to let us drive the final vehicle, an £80k Range Rover Vogue TDSE, not out on the road as planned, but over some extreme bumps and at some fairly radical angles both sideways and endways.  I’m pretty comfortable driving most anything, but we were at such an angle sideways at one point that I thought I was going to fall out of my seat!

I was so enthralled that I completely forgot to take any pictures, but late in the day I caught a short video.  Watch the horizon very carefully to get a sense of what we were doing in a perfectly controlled way, in beautifully appointed comfort.  the-drop.mp4

All-in-all a totally mud-tastic day!

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Up memory hill

It was a good run for thinking today.  I didn’t get out in the week so I rose early, had my quadspresso, read another chapter of Richard Askwith’s The Lost Village and then set out around 7.50am into the quiet morning.  I headed down the road and within five minutes, keen to experiment, had chosen my destination.  I would see if I could run to the beacon a more direct route than normal.

So it was out onto Folders Lane, round the muddy footpath past the vineyards and across the road to Ditchling, then down through all the chicken farms to Ditchling itself.  The ground had definitely dried out, but there were still pockets of slurry here and there, which is why my runners are currently soaking in a bucket of water, outside in the sun.

Ditchling is such a beautiful village and my route took me a new way through between the hidden houses and their idyllic gardens.  Thrust back out from this bygone age near the crossroads, I decided to run along the beacon road, since there were still not many people out and about driving.  With Richard Askwith’s prose still humming around my head, I looked afresh at  houses that I normally pass in the car, imagining them newly built when the road was a track and a coach and four was a highlight.

image011.jpg

At the base of the beacon, I took the path to the right and instantly the last twenty or so years fell away back to the first time I remember walking up it.  My friend Cliff had decided to do this completely mad thing of joining the Raleigh expedition and needed to raise a fair amount of money through sponsorship.  As far as I remember, he decided to climb the height of Everest by going up Ditchling Beacon; I forget how many times, but quite a number.

With a gang of supporters taking it in turns to keep him company and making sure he was kept fed and watered, he had almost finished by the time I arrived so I thought I would walk up once with him.  It was a really tough climb, as the path goes more or less straight up the scarp slope, but I was so exhilarated on reaching the top that I continued and did the final four or five laps with him.

That day was baking hot, the ground firm and the legs young, but today the steepness of the slope and a thin layer of mud meant that anything other than a walk was out of the question.  Mist covered the top and standing, munching, by the side of the trig point was a white cow… I’m not sure who was more startled!

I was a touch disappointed, as it had still taken me an hour to get there despite seemingly going a faster route, so I determined to try to make up time on the way back.  I only discovered the main bridle-path down the Beacon last year and it’s still a thrill to run down, although today it was slippery enough for me to recall passages from Richard Askwith’s earlier book, Feet in the Clouds about the completely balmy sport of fell running.  This video downthebeacon.mp4 shows my progress although you don’t get a sense of how steep or slippery it is!  And by the sounds of it, the fell runners would call me a wuss for not throwing caution to the wind!

It was round about here that I had a revelation and Richard, if you happen to read this, expect a call from me shortly!  Others, whose interest might be piqued, please wait patiently to see whether it turns into an interesting project.

image012.jpg

I took a different path at the base of the beacon and thus ended up running back to Ditchling crossroads, where I turned left, circled around the back of the beautiful church and village pond and headed up a single track road.  At the top of the hill, having seen a property that I would happily aspire to (no, it wasn’t just because of the Aston parked in the drive) I reached the mill that Nick and I passed last weekend.  But rather than repeating our mistake, I took the footpath that headed north which eventually brought me out a good way up the keymer road towards home.

Which was a very good thing because I was already knackered!  I felt like I hobbled my way back past the old houses lining the route home and eventually found myself leaning, panting, against my front door-frame.  The 45 minute return journey reflecting not my speed, but the fact that I’d finally discovered a more direct route. 

Or so I thought.  Actually, the distance each way was almost exactly the same at 5.1 miles, which actually makes me wonder if I was so knackered on returning that I misread my watch by ten minutes.  Otherwise the return leg was at 6.8mph, which it certainly didn’t feel like at the time, even if it does right now!