Mont Blanc Marathon

Just a Marketing Gimmick?

“Trails are like that: you’re floating along in a Shakespearean
Arden paradise and expect to see nymphs and fluteboys, then
suddenly you’re struggling in a hot broiling sun of
hell and dust and nettles and poison oak…just like life”
– Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums

As you will have noticed, I’ve not posted for a while. Alright, you probably haven’t, I’m not getting delusions of grandeur, at least not regularly.

After the race I took a training break, so apart from a run in Seattle (I only managed the one – the beer is too good there), and blacking-out in Sydenham while trying to run off a virus, not much has happened in the last few weeks.

I did do a sub-19 minute 5km race at the start of July (The Great City Race, again), which I should’ve been happy with, but as I missed out on a PB by 8 seconds, despite starting near the front, I’m still a bit annoyed about it.

I also won an entry into the Snowdonia Trail Marathon, and race gear from Scott (massive thanks to Scott and Climbers Shop in Cumbria), but annoyingly I forgot that I’d entered and couldn’t make the race, so gave the place to James and shared the kit with him. I did keep the free shoes though, mainly because they were called “Trail Rocket”, and from what I’ve seen so far this is a fair description. I wasn’t that sorry to miss the race, particularly because of the torrential rain (see picture of James below) and because James, as a former local, got a far better time than I ever could, which I’m claiming as a result for team Up & Down Runner, and therefore me.

To be honest though, the main reason for not writing is that I’ve not been feeling great recently; a combination of inevitable post-race comedown, not looking after myself properly and, well…if I knew exactly why then I wouldn’t need the drugs.

Talking of drugs, I was corralled by Camilla into seeing the psychiatrist again, because of my volatile moods, extreme forgetfulness (see above) and because I’ve developed a side-effect (whether of the meds or old age) of falling asleep at the slightest provocation. Great on long haul flights, not so good in meetings, or while driving…

The outcome of my session was more medication on top of the two that I’m already taking, which I think now means I’m officially on a “cocktail” of drugs. On the other hand, maybe I already was, as, after all, a martini, screwdriver and snakebite only have two ingredients. Perhaps the latter is stretching the definition of “cocktail” too far – can’t see Bond ordering it shaken or stirred, unless he was in a student bar Bristol in 2000, and it was my round (unless he fancied a Southern Comfort and Lemonade instead).

Sorry, got side-tracked. Actually, the most important thing that came from my session with the doctor was that he has, CONFESSION ALERT, never definitely diagnosed me with bipolar disorder.

Although many of my symptoms support the diagnosis, and I am on medication used to treat bipolar, which seem to be working on the whole, I am not quite bipolar enough for a certain decision.

This is the story of my life – got the basics right, work hard and show a lot of promise, but don’t quite have the flair to get to the top. As I said in my first post, if I do indeed have bipolar disorder, I am the most boring sufferer in history, unless my “Maserati moment”, as Dr. Craig calls it, is still to come.

The other issue, which is more general, and far more interesting, is that in many cases a definitive identification of a mental illness is very difficult, or even impossible. There’s no test or scan that you can do for depression, so doctors may only have the testimony of others, or evidence of the most unreliable witness possible, the sufferer, on which to base the diagnosis. It also seems, at least to a psych-idiot like me, that very little is known about the workings of the brain compared to every other part of the body. A good example of this is that two out of the three drugs that I’ve been prescribed are predominantly used to treat other ailments (epilepsy and psychosis, respectively), and although there is apparently lots of evidence to prove that they ease bipolar symptoms, it’s not yet been fully established why this is so.

Maybe this is also why it can make mental illness difficult to understand; at times there can be no sign that anything’s wrong, and even when there is it can just seem like an over-the-top, but not completely unwarranted, reaction to an everyday situation.

Do I need a label? It would certainly makes things easier, and I could pretend that I was a misunderstood creative genius, but it seems, at least medically, that it really only makes a difference in the drugs prescribed, and I’m fine with trying anything that works.

So, there you go, “Up & Down Runner” may be a complete fraud; a cheap marketing gimmick. Please forgive me, but “Up & Down, But Not Consistent with a Diagnosis of Bipolar Disorder, But Then Again Maybe It Is, Runner”, would not be quite as catchy, or fit on a t-shirt.

Right, I’m off to buy a Maserati.

NB: I know that the photo at the top does not really relate to the post, it’s just the best photo of me that I have…

MdMB Part III: The Race of My Life

“If you’re not pushing yourself beyond the comfort zone,
if you’re not demanding more from yourself – expanding
and learning as you go – you’re choosing a numb existence.
You’re denying yourself an extraordinary trip.”
– Dean Karnazes, Ultra-Marathon Man:
Confessions of an All Night Runner

Three weeks after completing Marathon du Mont Blanc, I’m still struggling to put the experience into words, but it’s about time that I gave it a go. To be honest, I’ve been struggling with a post-race downer, and I need to re-focus with Cappadocia only 12 weeks away. In fact, Alan has well and truly re-surfaced, although as I’m in Norwich this weekend (complete with incorrectly pedestrianised city centre, and giant Nazi-saluting copper “dogs”) that was inevitable.

In my last post (MdMB Part I) I described the festival atmosphere of the weekend, and some of the many reasons why I fell in love with Chamonix. What was surprising though was that my favourite part of the weekend wasn’t the build-up, watching the other races, or the post-race celebrations, but the race itself.

Just in case it isn’t already clear, I love running, and spend most of my life doing or talking about it. Mont Blanc is however the first race that I have enjoyed the whole way through. In every race before MdMB the negative side of my brain had at some point, no doubt egged on by my feet, legs, back and chest, ruined the fun for the rest of me. It always started with polite questioning – “Are you sure you’re ok?” “Aren’t your legs starting to hurt? Haven’t those gels made you feel a bit sick?”, but then developed into recriminations, histrionics and threats of strike or reprisals. These questions were never even asked during MdMB. In fact, when I finished I had exactly the same feeling as I did at the end of our wedding, that it ended too quickly and that I wanted to go back and do it all again.

The race started in the centre of Chamonix at 7am, just as the sun was rising above the mountains. The start area was packed with the 2000+ runners and their supporters, together with a surprising number of committed locals waking early on a Sunday to cheer on the runners. With only a limited amount of faffing, we were off heading through the narrow streets of the town. It felt great to start, after three days of watching other people run and 8 months of build-up.

I tried to make the most of the flat pavements, but we were soon onto the gently undulating fire tracks and out towards Argentiere. Although uphill, the first few miles were fairly gentle. Rather than stick to my original plan of taking it very easy, I took the advice of a MdMB veteran (more on which shortly) and tried to get as far forward as I could, to avoid the worst of the traffic when the course got narrower.

Actually, this was my only gripe of the weekend; there were just too many people on the course. It was very difficult to keep to your own pace, as you were either stuck in a bottleneck or getting jostled from behind. It actually became dangerous at a couple of points where you had people trying to overtake on single-track paths where one wrong step could end your race, or in some places, your life. Although it was great that there were so many people doing the race, in my humble opinion they have to start in waves next year, just as they did with the Vertical KM.

Apart from twisting my ankle on possibly the flattest section of the course, the first 11 miles flew by, and before I knew it I was at the aid station at the bottom of Aguillette des Posettes, faced with the 1km vertical climb that I had been dreading since I entered the race.

Thankfully, you could only see the start of it from the aid station, and because of the tree cover you did not at any point have to look from bottom to top. It was undoubtedly the toughest hour or so of my running life, and every time I thought I was at the top there was another slope in front of me. Bewilderingly though, I really enjoyed it. There was no question of being able to run up it, so it was simply a matter of putting hands on knees and slowly edging up and diverting my attention from my burning glutes, quads and calves.

As this was the slowest part of the course, I could chat to the other “runners”, which definitely passed the time. This was particularly the case with Charlotte, who I had met the day before at the Expo. As well as being a veteran of the race and Chamonix resident, she is also one half of the team behind Sky Lines (http://www.sky-lines.eu), who had the simple but ingenious idea of making temporary tattoos containing all of the details of the race (see above, modelled by my puny forearms), so she quite literally knew the course like the back of her hand.

Indeed, just as I was starting to struggle up the hill Charlotte pointed out to me that once we were at the top, we were on the home stretch. Seemed an odd thing to say with just under half of the race left, but with the hardest part over, it made sense at the time. If that wasn’t enough of a kick, the view at the top, massive cliché alert, made all of the effort worthwhile. The rolling green slopes, uninterrupted view of the Mont Blanc Massif, thin clear air, the snaking line of runners and the old man on top of a trailer playing an electric guitar is now the place I go to in my head when things start to get too much.

We then headed downhill, at the same steepness as we came up. It was absolutely petrifying, but also incredibly fun. It felt great to be travelling fast, and because I was concentrating on every step, it made the time pass even quicker.

With the most challenging part of the run over with, we headed back to civilisation and through Le Tours. It felt very odd (and not in a good way) to be back on tarmac, but it wasn’t long before we doubled-back on ourselves into the tree line and to the very welcome aid station at Tré Les Champs. The station was buzzing, and I would have quite happily stayed and chatted to the crowds, eaten cheese and saucisson and listened to the band playing Bob Marley.

But I had a race to finish. Next came a much shorter, but deceptively more technical peak than the first, with unstable rocks, twisted tree roots and other potential race-enders. Apparently, this section was included this year after previous complaints about the race not being technical enough. Thanks for that, last year’s runners.

With the tricky peak at Le Bechoz dispensed with, there was a long, slow climb to the final aid station at Le Flégére. This was the only part of the race that dragged. There was less to look at, it was baking hot with no shade, and I’d run out of water. But, near the top of the climb, I caught up with my cousin, mate, and Bear Grylls, James (he of the Rocky training regime), who I’d lost at mile 10. We made it to the final aid station together, and after a quick coke (cola, to be clear), sit down and jug of water over the head, we went out together for the final 6km to the finish.

In previous races, I have been accused of abandoning previously made plans to finish as a team in search of personal glory. But this time it really was by accident, honest. As James and I set out from the aid station we agreed that it would be brilliant to cross the line together. James, for different reasons, also had a horrendous 2014, and it was just as much of an achievement as it was for me to be on the start line.

After a little time to let the coke go down, I gave James an inclined nod to the front of us, being the universal sign for, “let’s push on”. I am pretty sure that James nodded back, so for the first time I took the lead and overtook a couple of people in front of us. I’d suddenly got a massive burst of energy, buoyed by the fact that we could now see and hear the finish line in the distance, so kept overtaking at every opportunity. I was concentrating on this so much, however, that I forgot to check behind me. By the time that we got to the final switchback up to the line at Planpraz, I realised that I couldn’t see James anywhere. The path was too narrow to stop, so I could do nothing else but push on.

Before the race, I’d warned Camilla that I’d be a mess, physically and mentally, when I crossed the line, and fully expected the last 18 months of awfulness to come flooding out. As is nearly always the case in life, it did not conform to expectations, and all I felt was elated, the only negative thought being a sense of disappointment that it was all over, 06:54:10 after it started.

Thankfully too, James crossed the line a couple of minutes later, so we were able to head into the recovery tent together, where some genius (in fact the geniuses at Micro Brasserie de Chamonix (http://www.mbchx.com)), put a beer tap at the end of the line of bottles of water and recovery drinks. It was hands down the best beer I have ever tasted, although disappointingly they refused to fill up James’s 500ml flask, or my hydration pack with the stuff.

Charlotte, my race companion/pacer/coach also came in just after us, so hit her target of sub-7 hours. Rev, the third member of the UDR trio, also had a great race and came in well below the time he was predicting, and loved the experience almost as much as I did.

I couldn’t find much about the race online, so here are the main questions that I had before the start:

Will road shoes do? NO. Even though it was dry this year there is no way that I would have stayed on my feet without my heavy duty Salomon Speedcross 3s.
What about poles? A controversial subject. I have never tried them, and coped absolutely fine without. I was pretty fed up by the end of the race at being jabbed in the leg by them though, or by people turning a dual-track path into a single-track by spreading their arms as much as possible. So if you get on with them, use them, but be prepared to be hated by the people that don’t (mainly at jealously during the uphills).
Should I do much hill training? As I’ve mentioned before, I only did one real mountain run before the race, so you can cope without, but the more you do, the more confident you will be on both the up and downhills.
What about the altitude? From our collective experience, it’s definitely a good idea to do some altitude training if you can. James really struggled, and actually had to stop at some point. As I was lucky enough to work next to, and be supported by, The Altitude Centre, it didn’t bother me at all.
How hard is it? Very, particularly the first climb, but if you can do a flat marathon, and get some practice on hills, it’s definitely doable.
Should I do it? If the answer is not obvious already, YES YES YES.

I’ll see you next year, although I may well be doing the 80km.

Next up – Cappadocia Trail 60k, T-12 weeks. It’s got a lot to live up to…

MdMB Part I: Ain’t No Mountain High Enough

“It is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves”
Sir Edmund Hillary

As a kid, I was obsessed with Christmas. I’d plan it for the family in February, invite Nan and Granddad in March, and then start my letter to FC by June at the latest. By November it was all I could talk about, but every year, without fail, I would get sick the week before. I normally spent the 22nd and 23rd in bed or throwing up, and the rest of the family would worry that I’d ruin Christmas.

I always made a miraculous recovery on the 24th, and by Christmas Day it was like I’d never been ill. I’d been so nervous and excited about the big day, that I made myself sick.

After all of that, you would think that 25 December would be the best day of the year for me. After the initial excitement it was actually when I was most miserable. I’d built it up so much that it was always going to be an anti-climax, and by the time lunch was finished, I was already mourning the fact that it was over, and that by the time next Christmas came along everything would be different.

As you will know if you have read any of my previous posts, my approach to the Mont Blanc Marathon was very similar, so both Camilla and I were worried that the event would not live up to expectations, and that the comedown would be sharp and severe, as it was after my first Ultra in 2013 (Falling Feels Like Flying).

Thankfully, it went better than I ever could have imagined, and was one of the best experiences of my life.

As soon as we got close to the Alps I understood what Lizzy Hawker had said to me a few weeks before (Training Weeks 8-10), as I instantly fell in love with the mountains, and the only negative thought I had was to question why the hell it had taken me so long to get here. I was completely mesmerised by Mont Blanc, and could have quite happily sat and watched it for the whole weekend, if I had not found myself in a running geek’s paradise.

Every other shop in Chamonix seemed to be a sports shop, and it’s the only place where I haven’t had funny looks for wandering around in quad guards, calf guards and long socks, particularly as so many people were here for one of the races. There was also a good chance of bumping into an ultra-running legend with Seb Chaigneau, Max King, Emelie Forsberg and Killian Jornet, among others, in action. I think I may have gone a little tweenager at a One Direction concert at one point, as Camilla threatened to make me an “I’d go gay for Killian Jornet” banner.

The events started at 4am on Friday with the 80km and the Vertical Kilometre in the afternoon. Saturday was the mini-cross (cutest race I have ever seen), 23km cross and the 10km, with the marathon finishing off the weekend on Sunday. Every race was impeccably organised and incredibly well supported, even for the pack of 80km finishers running through the town at 10:30pm, the 7-year olds on Saturday morning and the start of our race at 7am on Sunday.

The six of us that made team Up & Down Runner (I got them t-shirts so they had no choice), were involved every day, with Charlotte and Charlie doing the Vertical Kilometre on Friday and joining Camilla in the 10km on Saturday, and with me, James and Andy doing the marathon on Sunday. This helped my preparation greatly, as it not only kept me busy, but seeing the incredible support at each race and sharing the relief and elation of finishing made me even more excited, and less nervous about the challenge itself.

Admittedly I did let the nerves get the better of me on Saturday night, but when I woke up at 4.30 on Sunday to eat breakfast they had all gone. Aided by an unexpected and touching note from our host for the weekend (who also happens to be my boss), I succeeded, possibly for the first time in my life, to block out all of the negative thoughts; the panic that I had not done enough training, the likelihood of breaking an ankle or falling off a ledge and the inevitable post-race crash. Whatever had happened before, and whatever was going to happen during the day, was irrelevant, all I could do was start at the start, and keep going until I stopped, and try to enjoy myself while doing it.

I’m going to put a detailed race report in a separate post, as there is far too much to say here, but as many of you will know already, I completed the race in 6:54:10, a devilish 666th out of the 2012 finishers, and I enjoyed every single minute. Me, the person that had never been near a mountain before, runs like a chicken, hated running up hills, consistently found new and more stupid ways to injure himself (Injury), that is scared of “mushrooms and Moomins and hedgehogs”, at least according to Freddie* and that, less than 18 months ago, would have ended his life if he was not a prisoner in his own bed.

I hope that this doesn’t come across as a lame attempt at false modesty, as I only mention these things to show that you should never underestimate yourself – if I can do this, imagine what you can do.

Admittedly, I could not have done any of this without the right medication, therapy, and the support of friends, family, and indeed all of you that are reading the blog. But, on the start line and for those 7 hours, it was mainly just me against myself (or Alan, to be precise). Have I beaten him? No. But with each step I was winning, and all that matters now is that I keep focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

*He’s right about the Moomins. What the hell are they, why does Little My live with them and what is the big-eyed fisherman all about?

MdMB Part II: Photos

DCIM100GOPROG0040384. 11224453_10155767059740635_7518562822725862490_o 27350599 27350600

Training Weeks 8-10: The Final Push

“Begin at the beginning,” the King said, very gravely,
“and go on till you come to the end: then stop.”
– Alice in Wonderland – Lewis Carroll

Last week was my first break from posting since I started Up & Down Runner in April. I’m in my final training push for the Mont Blanc Marathon, which is now 14 days away, so every minute counts. After today it will all be rest, recovery and avoiding anyone that looks like they have even a little sniffle. Seriously, if you are going to come near me, make sure you’ve used some hand gel.

And what a final push it has been. I went over 20 miles for the first time in more than a year, met one the greatest ultra-runners in history, spent a lot of time in the Altitude Centre, and, dear readers, finally managed to run up and down a mountain.

As The King of Hearts suggests, I will begin at the beginning. Week 8 involved lots of road miles, and what I thought was a hilly long run up and down One Tree Hill and the roads around Forest Hill, followed by flatter sections around Dulwich and Brockwell Parks and Wandsworth and Clapham Common. It’s only by running that you realise how close everything really is in London, and how many beautiful open spaces there are. I have now also realised that London is not very hilly.

Week 9 was the big one. On Tuesday I went to an event held by Like the Wind Magazine (if you have not checked it out yet, do http://www.likethewindmagazine.com – It’s Not How To Run, It’s Why We Run); a talk by, and Q&A session with, Lizzy Hawker.

Lizzy Hawker is unquestionably one of the greatest ultra runners in history. Among many other achievements she is five time winner of the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc, current 24 hour road-running record holder, first female outright winner of the 153 mile Spartathlon and record holder for the 320km route from Everest Base Camp to Kathmandu. Her new book, called Runner – A Short Story About a Long Run, is an inspirational read, whether you are interested in running or not.

Among her many other talents (she has a PhD in oceanography from Cambridge), she is able to encapsulate why something as simple as putting one foot in front of the other means so much to so many, and, much like Frankl (Mind Control I: The Last Human Freedom), to show that most, if not all, people underestimate their capabilities and potential.

In the first chapter of Runner, Lizzy (we’re on first name terms now) explains how she whole-heartedly took the King’s advice for her first UTMB – she started running and just kept going until she stopped, which happened to be at the finish line, before any other woman. As you may have already noticed, particularly if you’ve met me, I have a tendency to over-think things and assume that any new challenge is beyond me.

As a case in point, before Tuesday I’d been very worked-up about the planned trip that weekend to Snowdonia, my first ever mountain run. After the talk, I asked Lizzy for a tip, and all she said was “enjoy the mountains”. So, for possibly the first time in my life, I ignored my natural instincts and just went with it.

And enjoy the mountains I did. I went with my friend, cousin and all-round Bear Grylls*, James, to Snowdonia National Park. Starting in Capel Curig, up 650m to the top of a very windy Moel Saibod, back down then up another 600m or so the top of Castell-Y-Gwynt, then a loop round back to Capel Curig. The toughest, but most fun 16.5 miles I have ever run. Much like my illness, the first up was tough but manageable, but the down was petrifying. Trying to keep up with a human mountain goat, look where I was going and avoid peat bogs, holes and sharp rocks was almost too much for me to cope with.

However, at the top of Castell-Y-Gwynt, after some sage advice from James, I remembered the words of Lizzy Hawker, and possibly the greatest philosopher of our times, Master Yoda – “Do. Or do not. There is no try”. So I cleared my mind and just did it. Not only was it so much easier, but I also bloody loved it. Granted I was still not able to keep up with James, but I did look more goat than Bambi.

Although maybe that was wishful thinking, particularly after a fell runner who ran past me said “thanks love” as I let him past. I may have been wearing tights and a headband, but I would have thought that the beard would have cleared up any ambiguity about my gender. There is an obvious joke here, but I have two beautiful friends from North Wales, so I won’t make it.

The start of week 10 mainly consisted of resting my poor quads and knees, but by the middle of the week I was feeling great, and have managed to get in some good miles. In her brilliant article in the equally brilliant Standard Issue Magazine (standardissuemagazine.com/living-with-bipolar/), my wife questioned whether I was just repeating all of the mistakes I made in the lead up to the Royal Parks Ultra in 2013 (more on which next week). However, rather than feeling scared and stressed, focusing on all of the training days that I have missed, I feel ready to stand on the start line. I don’t know whether I will make it to the finish line, but I no longer care, the fact that I have got to the beginning is enough. After that I will just keep on running until I stop.

*To be honest, anyone that has ever put up a tent is Bear Grylls compared to me.

DCIM100GOPROG0080329.

Keep Your Money in Your Shoes – Running Gear

“When you greet a stranger, look at his shoes, always keep your money in your shoes, put your trouble behind” – R.E.M. Good Advices

It’s been a fairly uneventful couple of weeks on the training front, except for a couple more comedy injuries; a bruised shin after tripping over a rowing machine in the gym, and strained neck from brushing my teeth. It has of course been a very eventful week in the UK generally, and it has all been very serious on the television, media and on Facebook and Twitter. So I thought that this week was the perfect time to put on my most superficial, trivial post of all, and in any case it was about time that I got down to some running geekery – my “essential” running gear.

I’m not sure whether this is the “advices” that Michael Stipe was intending to give, but there could not be a better summary of the approach to take to buying running kit.

Whether or not you are a fanatical “natural runner”, or believe that shoes should be “prescribed”, it is undeniable that the wrong pair of shoes can ruin a race, or even a season. My view, for what it’s worth, is that barefoot running is great if you have perfect running form or are biomechanically built for it, but for flat footed, awkward, heel striking hypochondriacs like me, support and cushioning is essential.

I have tried so many different brands and styles over the last 10 years, all of which have given me issues except for one: the Brooks Adrenaline GTS. I am now on my 7th pair, with the latest incarnation, the GTS 15 (http://bit.ly/1Et324V), being the best yet. Impossibly comfortable, supportive and stable, but still light and springy. For a running shoe, it also has pretty good green credentials, with its fully biodegradable BIOMOGO midsole.

Now I could, and some would say should, stop there. One of the best things about running is that it is accessible, uncomplicated and cheap, with the only mandatory kit being the right pair of shoes. This is true, but another great thing, at least for a fool that likes parting with his money like me (I blame the bipolar), is that there is an ever growing list of things that you can buy to be safer, faster, better looking and armed with more stats than you could ever use.

Below is a list of my running kit, roughly in descending order of importance:

socks: almost as important as the right shoes. I don’t need to tell you how painful blisters are, and how they can ruin, or even stop a run (or a night out). I can honestly say that since I started using specific running socks, I have never had a blister. My current favourites are X-Socks (http://bit.ly/1HIquO6) and Hilly (particularly their trail line http://bit.ly/1HIqNIW), and am no stranger to a knee-length compression sock;
“technical” t-shirt: i.e. one that wicks away sweat. Nothing worse than wearing a top that gets heavier the further you run, except perhaps chafed nipples (speaking of which, these are great http://bit.ly/1OY1abj). I tend to wear a lot of Nike tops (http://swoo.sh/1GwuVv9), which look good as well as being as technologically advanced as a t-shirt can get. Many people will scoff at the former, but I have always found that the more I look the part, the more I act it;
foam roller: (http://bit.ly/1J0y6sv) just buy one. “Foam rolling is huge. It’s a more powerful tool than stretching” – not my words Carol, the words of ~~Top Gear magazine~~* David McHenry, Nike Oregon Project physio;
GPS running gadget: If you have a smartphone, there are great apps like Strava, Runkeeper and Nike+ that you can download for free, although if you are a stats geek like me, you may want to go for a running watch like the Garmin Forerunner 620 (http://bit.ly/1OUwDWB), particularly if your cadence, vertical oscillation ground contact time are important to you;
tights: not only am I a big fan of lycra (which I admit only in the interests of complete honesty), but getting a good pair of running tights gives you less of an excuse not to go out in the cold, and although the medical evidence for compression wear is inconclusive, I find that the added support and extra warmth to the muscles helps with recovery. Also, in case you want to know where I stand on the age-old question, shorts go over the top of tights – the Ken doll look is not a good one for me;
MP3 player: not everyone likes running to music, but I find that it helps me relax, and running is about the only chance I get now to listen undisturbed. I just use my iPhone, as I can also use maps or the phone if I get lost or injured (a frequent occurrence, as you know by now);
headphones: until recently, I’ve been loyal to the Adidas/Sennheiser neckband headphones, as they are comfortable, reasonably priced and sound as good as most other “premium” cans I’ve listened to, but also because I’d never been able to find in-ear headphones that stayed in place. However, The neckband means that it is difficult to use them in the gym, and they can get in the way of sunglasses. A couple of months ago I discovered the Bose SoundSport (http://bit.ly/1H7slu9), which aren’t cheap, but sound great, are so light that they are barely there, and haven’t fallen out yet. The feature that they both share, which for me is absolutely necessary in running headphones, is that they are “open-backed” – running with noise cancelling headphones is the surest way to get run over; and
camera: unless you are writing a blog, this is probably the least important piece of kit, but also the coolest. I have just entered the world of the GoPro with a Hero4 Silver (http://gopro.com), it is flippin’ awesome.

As to where to buy all of this stuff from, I’m very lucky to have the two best running shops I’ve ever been to within 10 minutes of the office. Sweatshop (http://www.sweatshop.co.uk) deserves all of the awards it wins, and the Trump Street branch is the best of them all. The Running Works (http://www.therunningworks.net) is not just a running shop, but also a runners’ library, meeting place, club and yoga studio.

Right, I’d better start writing something serious for next week…

* Sorry, I can’t keep Alan at bay all of the time (http://bit.ly/1KHcZga)

Running, Hills and Bipolar

shutterstock_66661186

Welcome to Up & Down Runner, a blog about two of the three aspects of my life that have come to dominate all others, running and mental illness, and how I am learning to use the first to get control of the second, and indeed help me be better at the third, fatherhood.

After a disastrous 2014, I am determined to make the following years better, which for me means pushing myself to do things that I never believed myself to be capable of – running up mountains and writing honestly about my life.

The blog is part diary, part training log for my various running challenges, with the odd list, gear review, race report and rambling opinion piece.

NOTE: I do not profess to have any expertise in any of these two subjects, I am very much a middle of the road runner and bi-polar sufferer. Indeed, the only prize I am likely to win is an award for most boring person with bipolar – the sensible and constantly petrified side of my nature has so far kept me away from spectacularly public displays of mania, or any sparks of creative brilliance (I’m no Byron, Fry, Cobain or even Kerry Katona), but perhaps this blog is my way of addressing the latter.

Running

““Cowardice was undoubtedly one of the most terrible vices” – thus spoke Yeshua Ha-Nozri. “No philosopher, I disagree with you: it is the most terrible vice””

Conversation between Yeshua and Pontius Pilot. Master & the Margarita – Mikhail Bulgakov

I would love to say that running has always been part of my life, that I was a junior cross-country champion, or did my first marathon at 16, but actually that could not be further from the truth. I really only discovered running as a sporting activity in my 20th year, because, to be honest, it was the only sport that my supreme lack of co-ordination was not too much of an impediment to, although my action has been described as “chicken-like”. Even then, the first time I could honestly call myself “a runner” was when I was 29, after completing my second ever race, the 2009 Great North Run. In fact, I can even pinpoint the exact moment I became a runner. It was just under a mile from the gloriously sunny finish, after a laboured couple of miles, that I spotted him – a guy, no older than myself, watching the race with his little boy. I probably should have said earlier, but four weeks before race day I found out that I was going to be a father. It’s fair to say that to that point I had not handled the news very well, in that I did not speak at all for four days after I found out. It was not that I was disappointed or upset by the news, just that I could not see how I could ever look after another person. I would love to say that it was at this point that I realised that it was the best thing that could have happened to me, and that I sprinted to the finish as if on air, sure in the knowledge that I would make a great father. However, this could not be further from the truth. What actually happened was that I stopped, and did everything I could not to throw up on the course, and/or curl up in a ball and cry. When the worst of the nausea passed I started running again, and the further I went, the better I felt, so much so that when I got to the finish line, I felt the way I should have done when I first got the news. Except of course for the sweating. From that point I was hooked, and since then I have completed 8 half, 3 full and 1 ultra marathon, as well as a 20 mile race and numerous 5 and 10kms. This may not sound like a lot, but with a wedding, two children, two house moves, a breakdown and countless injuries (more on which later), it has certainly felt like a lot. When someone asks me why I run, I generally have a list of things that I love about the sport: the simplicity (although to be honest this isn’t that much of a driver for me as I have pretty much every running gadget there is); the way it lets me explore new places and improve my terrible sense of direction; the fact that if you stick at it you continue to make progress; being able to eat extra guilt-free calories; because it is the only time that I am left alone; to acquire Marukami’s runner’s void; the stats; the competition and the fact that I do not have to rely on Southern Rail to get into the office. But really, the main reason for me is that it allows me to run away from the person that I am, and towards the person I would rather be. As I mentioned above, and no doubt will do again, I have always been a cowardly person, shying away from confrontation and being paralysed by the fear of failure, and to an extent that is still the case. What running has taught me is that it is possible to fight my natural urges, ignore the dominant negative side of my personality, and that I am capable of doing things that I feel I am not built for. The quote at the start of this post is from one of my favourite books, but this exchange only properly clicked with me after I had read Murakami on running mantras (What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, one of the best books about the love of running). I tried out a few phrases, but the one that stuck, and the one that I now try to use every time I face something difficult, is “cowardice is the most terrible vice”. It has become so much of a part of my life, that I have had it tattooed on my arm, in Russian for extra pretentiousness. Mine is the slightly less puny of the arms pictured above, the other arm is my eldest son’s, who made mummy write a less poncy version on his arm (in felt tip, we have not given our four year old a tattoo), to be like daddy. Running CV:

First Race – Silverstone Half Marathon 2004 – not the most picturesque introduction to distance running, although I was able to amuse myself by making racing car noises when going round corners

Best Race – Royal Parks Ultra 2013 – my (gentle) introduction to the world of ultra running: beautiful course, my only perfectly paced race, coming face-to-face with a stag in Bushy Park and a surprisingly decent finish Runner-up – Shakespeare Marathon 2013 – well organised, well supported, pretty, flat 2 lap course and comfortably my marathon PB

Worst Race – Marathon du Paris 2012 – nothing to do with the race itself (although I could have done without the bananas in skins at the aid stations), but running my first marathon five days after having food poisoning, with a fractured ankle, was never going to be a good idea Runner-up – Great City Race 2012 – torrential rain and a partially caved-in road surface on the first corner made for a very slow 5km

Greatest Achievement – Great City Race 2013 – beating Paula Radcliffe by 15 minutes. She was leading a blind person around, but I am claiming it as a win. Runner-up – Marathon du Paris 2012 – getting to the finish (see above)

Like many addicts, I am now itching to try the hard stuff – mountain and ultra running, starting with the Mont Blanc Marathon at the end of June, and then to the Cappadocia Ultra Trail 60k in October.