Human encounters

Brixton.

There are a number of posts in this blog about alarming and interesting encounters I have had with animals while out running, but only a few about human encounters.  Before going any further, however, I have to acknowledge that male runners face far fewer human threats than female runners. A number of females I know personally have been harassed and chased by men when out running, and we have all read stories about women runners assaulted and even killed.  I have always felt fortunate to be able to run almost anywhere I like without fearing human interference, and those few bad encounters I have had don't amount to much.

A few scary incidents have already been mentioned in this blog including being stopped by abusive Russian police while out running near Smolensk (see ‘No Visa’), being chased by two guys in a car and on foot while leading a half marathon (see ‘Unexpected Hazards’), and being followed by a guy whose car I had banged when he cut me off at a corner (see ‘A road rage story’).

Bucharest, Romania.

In the London suburb of Brixton, I sometimes felt quite intimidated by milling groups of black youths blocking the footpath during my evening running commute in the mid-1970s.  They never showed any inclination to move aside as I approached, and I always had to slow down and gently work my way through the group.  One time I received a good-natured whack across the butt with a cricket bat as I passed, but that was the worst that ever happened.

On another occasion in the mid-1970s, I was returning to our campsite from an evening run through the suburbs of Bucharest in Romania, when I met a group of loud young men and women walking towards me, line abreast, along a path.  They showed no sign of letting me pass.  I moved to the very left-hand side, where there just room to squeeze through, but as I passed one of the guys pushed the girl on the end of the line into my path.  I just had time to drop my shoulder to absorb the impact and knocked the girl heavily to the ground.  Pandemonium broke out and I didn't hang around to see if the girl was OK, instead accelerating off into the gloom.

Swan Street Bridge, Melbourne.

The only other physical encounter I can recall occurred when running across Swan Street Bridge in Melbourne one warm summer evening.  As I passed an intoxicated young guy coming the other way, he suddenly and unexpectedly swung his fist hard into my stomach.  Although briefly winded, I recovered and angrily approached him demanding to know why he had hit me.  Putting his bag down, he struck a defensive pose.  Rather than fight, I quickly grabbed his bag and ran further across the bridge.  A small crowd gathered as I hung the bag over the railing, threatening to drop it into the Yarra River below.  In the end, I cooled down, threw his bag back to him, and continued my run.

I have heard of runners being hit by objects thrown from cars, but that has never happened to me, although I did once cop a milkshake while out riding my bike.

Elwood coastline with Melbourne skyline
in the background.

Perhaps the most interesting human encounter I ever had was in the early 1980s during my regular Wednesday evening 20 mile run which incorporated a long stretch on paths along the coast of Port Phillip Bay in Melbourne’s inner suburbs.  One very warm summer evening, on a more remote stretch of the path in Elwood, two young women were walking towards me along the path wearing towelling robes, apparently having been swimming or sunbathing.  I saw them exchange words and then just before I reached them, they said ‘Ta Dah!’ and both flung open their robes to reveal nothing was being worn underneath.  I must have looked shocked (and I was), and heard them laughing loudly behind me as I continued on my way.

I ran a slow and lethargic 15km this morning on the roads with a few hills.  My legs still felt heavy and stiff from Sunday's long run, although I was moving more freely by the end.  When breathing harder on the hills, I'm still occasionally getting a feeling of pressure in my chest at the base of the sternum, but there's no other evidence of a problem and I'm inclined to pass it off as just the result of breathing harder.  My resting pulse rate is now back below 40, where it was before I had the heart and lung problems late last year.

Frosty Fairways

The frosty fairways of the West Herts Golf Club

For a year or so in the late 1980s, I was living near Colchester in the UK and commuting most days to a business park near Watford, a little north of London.  My route, along the A12 and the M25, London's orbital motorway, became very busy during peak hour and I developed the habit of leaving home around 5:30am and driving to our small office, before setting out on my morning run shortly before 7:00am.

Whippendell Woods

I soon found a 10km circuit that remains one of my favourite morning runs, and I still love to run it whenever I get back to the UK these days.  I christened it "Frosty Fairways" because there were many clear crisp winter mornings on which I would leave my footprints, the first of the day, on the frost-covered fairways of the West Herts Golf Club that formed part of the route.

Bluebells in Merlin's Wood

The run started within the exceptionally mundane precincts of the stereotypical Croxley Green Business Park, but after a kilometre or so, entered woods on the western edge of the magnificent Cassiobury Park.  From there it followed a narrow tarred path northwards through woods and beside the gentle and shallow Gade River before crossing the narrow Grand Union Canal and climbing onto the elevated fairways of the golf course.  By this time I would be warmed up and often enjoyed bounding along the mown grass, up and down small rises, skirting bunkers and greens.

Across the wheatfield

Then came a totally different experience as I entered the often gloomy, and sometimes misty, ancient Whippendell Wood, running along undulating foot and bridle trails past atmospheric oak, beech and ash trees for several kilometres before crossing a lane and traversing Merlin's Wood whose floor would be carpeted with bluebells in the spring.  Exiting the Wood, my route crossed a wheat field on a public right-of-way, before rejoining the fairways of the golf course after a short steep lung-busting climb.

The Grand Union Canal

From the other side of the golf course I used a narrow country lane to reach the Grand Union Canal and then turned southwards along the towpath past quaint cottages, moored long-boats and a small marina back to the Business Park.  If I was feeling good, I would often fly along this section and particularly enjoyed passing under a main road invariably clogged with commuters.  I did not envy them one bit.

My exercise today consisted of a 6km walk from Terrigal while my fellow Trotters ran the Muzza's Run course, another of my favourites.  I did envy them.

Ron Clarke

Ron Clarke

Way back in the mid-1960s, I was living in London where my father had been posted for three years.  Like many young teenagers, I played several different sports and still believed, that one day, I could be world class in one of them.  Sadly, reality gradually dawned on the tennis court, cricket ground and rugby field as I recognised a lacked of the physique and ball skills to ever be a champion.

Like many expatriates I was proud when homeland heroes did well on the international stage and Ron Clarke toured Europe at just the right time to get my attention.  Just a few months after my family settled in the UK in 1965, Ron toured the US and Europe, breaking 12 track world records, including becoming the first man ever to run 3 miles in less than 13 minutes, 6 miles in less than 27 minutes and 10,000m in less than 28 minutes.  The times themselves didn't mean much to me, but Ron's style of running did.  Although he seemed to lack the finishing kick to win tactical major Games titles, he was a machine when it came to world record attempts.  He generally ran from the front and gradually burned off his competitors, often breaking world records by prodigious amounts.  Ron was indisputably the best distance runner in the world during the mid-60s.  Possessing the characteristics of toughness, discipline and excellence that I admired and aspired to, he was a worthy hero.  I don't want to overplay it, but he certainly got me thinking that running might be my sport.

Ron Clarke wins bronze in the 10,000m at the 1964 Tokyo
Olympics behind Billy Mills (USA) and Mohammed
Gammoudi (Tunisia)

After returning to Australia and getting more serious about my running, I became even more appreciative of Ron's talents and record.  I probably saw him at Victorian running events during this time, but have no specific memory.  However, when I began to reach my marathon prime in the late 70s and did well in some bigger races we had some brief interactions and he got to know who I was.  I remember being very proud when I won a small fun run in Melbourne's north-eastern suburbs and Ron, who was presenting the prizes, referred to me as one of Australia's up-and-coming distance runners.  I can also remember him giving me a toot on his car horn near the Tan as I ran to work during the morning commute.  His acknowledgement seemed to give my running efforts credibility in my own mind, and that was important to me.

Ron Clarke tracks Michel Jazy (France) during a
1965 two mile race in France in which Jazy
broke the world record

The sad thing about Ron's career was that it was brought to a premature end by a heart problem he believes developed during the high altitude Mexico City Olympics in 1968.  He faded quickly in the last few laps of the 10,000m final after being in contention with two laps to go, collapsed unconscious after crossing the line and was given oxygen.  A few years later he was diagnosed with a heart defect and in 1983, after suffering fibrillation during a run, had successful surgery to replace a faulty valve.  You can read an excellent summary of Ron's career here.

No fibrillation or flutter for me today as I walked a flat 7km for exercise.  I felt fine, but remain despondent that this is all the exercise I am allowed for the next six weeks.  It's very tempting to see if I can jog around my usual Copa 5km course at an easy pace, but I guess I'll follow the doctor's orders.

Isle of Dogs

The Greenwich Foot Tunnel

For a couple of years in the late 1980s, I had begun working for a new employer in London while still living at Chappel in Essex, a little over an hour's drive north east of London.  My new employer had two offices in London where I needed to spend time, one at Watford in north London, and the other in Docklands, a new development on the Isle of Dogs.  The giant Canary Wharf project in Docklands was in financial trouble and the whole development had pretty much stalled at the time.  My memory of the place at the time was of bleak isolated business parks, wintry rain squalls, the wide brown Thames River, empty blocks and vast wastelands.

The old Royal Naval College at Greenwich with Greenwich
Park including the Royal Observatory in the background

Because it was a long commute and prone to traffic chaos in peak hour, I developed the habit of leaving home soon after 5:00am and driving to the office in Docklands from where I would go for my morning run.  Although it was an apparently forbidding place for a run, my regular 10.5km run was full of interest and contrasts that remain clear in my memory.

The early kilometres were across the Isle of Dogs through narrow streets that were a mixture of poorer residential and businesses until I reached a large wasteland that has since been developed into Mudchute Park.  Here I ran along dirt and grass trails across the vast wasteland to reach the new Islands Garden railway station and the Greenwich Foot Tunnel and joined the foot commuters crossing under the Thames.  The Tunnel was a highlight of the run, with a spiral staircase at either end of about 100 steps and the tunnel itself nearly 400 metres long.  I can remember striding out along the tunnel, dodging round pedestrians, and then running up the staircase at the end, taking the steps two at a time and trying to maintain my momentum.

The modern day Isle of Dogs

At the Greenwich end of the Tunnel it was like entering a new world, or maybe old world, characterised by the stately buildings of the old Royal Naval College and Museums, wide pedestrian walkways and the famous Cutty Sark tea clipper dating from 1869.  My route passed by these scenic highlights and entered the famous Greenwich Park, home of the historic Greenwich Observatory.  I ran a lap along the paths inside of the park, which included a significant hill from which there were views north across the Thames, and then returned to the Tunnel and retraced my steps to the office.  There I would quickly have a shower, some toast for breakfast and start my day's work.  Unfortunately, in those days there was only one road route into out of the Isle of Dogs, so to avoid traffic jams I often stayed late at the office, occasionally wondering whether I should just sleep in there overnight to save the commute.

I visited the Isle of Dogs in 2012 while attending the London Olympics, and the place has been completely transformed into a vibrant business centre.

My right knee is still proving difficult to flex quickly and awkward to walk on, so I decided to have another day off training.  I will try walking a few kilometres tomorrow to gauge how much it has improved.

Commuting

I had a few chores to do in the area today, and after dropping my car off for a service, was walking to the bus station when I saw a runner with a familiar style approaching me.  It was Terrigal Trotters club-mate, Kev, on his way to work.  Coincidentally, last night when I was driving into the Thursday evening track session, I saw him running home from work.



Melbourne's Tan Track

If you can manage it, this is the best way for someone with a full-time job and other commitments, to fit in their training.  Of course, you generally need to have a shower at work, although one of my more notorious former club-mates, another Kev, was famous for running to work and then just applying talcum powder to selected spots, before putting on his working clothes.  He was in sales!

You also generally need to live close enough to run both ways, although some other former club-mates ran part of the way and then caught a train for the rest, often climbing into packed commuter carriages sweating profusely in their running gear.

Some of my favourite running memories are of running to and from work when I was a serious athlete.  Whilst living in London in the mid-1970s, I frequently ran to or from work (and occasionally both ways), a distance of about 10 miles.  My route took me from south-east London through Brixton, which in those days was a bit of a ghetto, then across the Thames past Victoria Station and the back of Buckingham Palace before a last glorious section through Hyde Park to my workplace near Bond Street.  Forty years later, I still have vivid memories of that regular run.



Melbourne's Yarra Bike Path

Later, I ran to and from work for many years in Melbourne, and was lucky enough to have regular routes that followed the Yarra River, crossed inner-city parklands, circumnavigated the famous Tan track, and passed by the iconic Melbourne Cricket Ground.  I well remember bounding past and through queues of jammed commuting cars, getting the occasional wave or toot from someone I knew (most memorably a few times from my hero, Ron Clarke).  For a number of those years I frequently met up with another club-mate, Geoff, for part of the journey home and I know we still both savour the memory of those days.  We were in our athletic prime, and used to "fly" home along the Yarra bike track on balmy evenings, finished with the day's work, discussing running, world affairs and our plans for the weekend.  It was a great way to fit training into our busy lives.  (Incidentally, Geoff nearly missed the birth of his only child when he forgot the time and how far it was back to the hospital on the critical evening.)

Training-wise, out of necessity, I did more walking today than for the past few.  My right arch is sensitive, but I wouldn't call it painful.  Still a few more quiet days to go before I resume any running.  It's very frustrating.

A road rage story

No training today, just an easy 4-5km walk favouring my right arch.  So long as I walk on the outside of the foot, there is not significant pain.  The sore right arch does feel a bit better, so the plan not to run, but walk, for the rest of the week still seems viable.

Since there's not much running to discuss today, I thought I would relate another anecdote from my long running career.  It relates to road rage, and if there's any moral to the tale, it's probably to avoid it if possible.

Back in the 70s, I sometimes did my long runs with a friend from the running club I will call Harry.  I can't remember what Harry's best marathon time was, but I think it was around 2:40.  He was small and stocky, and not really built for running, but he trained hard and was quite obsessive about sport, running in particular.



Bridge Road, Richmond, these days.  Not much
changed in 40 years.

We both worked around the Melbourne CBD and commuted by running to and from our offices.  Occasionally, after work, we met up for a run of about 32km, finishing at my house.  I would then drive Harry home.  One twilight, we were about 25km into our run, travelling on the left-hand footpath of a main road, when a car travelling in the same direction turned left into a minor street right in front of us, causing us to pull up sharply.  Road law said that, when turning left or right, a driver had to give way to pedestrians.  I tended to get annoyed when drivers cut me off in this fashion and had adopted the custom, learned from another running friend, of giving the offending vehicle's boot (trunk) a bang with my palm as it passed in front of me.  This didn't cause any damage, but sounded very loud inside the vehicle.

That's what I did on this occasion, before Harry and I continued on.  However, the unhappy driver made a U-turn and followed us for the next 5km, stopping periodically to remonstrate with us.  He didn't try to physically stop or harm us, and each time we encountered him we just gave him a wide berth and continued on.  Harry was enormously impressed with the impact of my action on the driver, and filed the technique away for future use.

About a year later, he was running home along Bridge Road through the Richmond shopping strip when a tradesman's vehicle exiting a narrow side street from the left blocked his path.  Harry banged a panel on the side of the vehicle and began running round its rear.  Unexpectedly, the tradesman quickly jumped out of his vehicle, ran around the front, grabbed hold of Harry, and began roughing him up.

Suddenly, yells were heard from shoppers and the tradesman turned to see his vehicle rolling slowly across busy Bridge Road.  In his haste, he had not applied the hand brake.  He released Harry and raced back to his vehicle but was unable to stop it from mounting the opposite kerb and rolling into the front of a florists shop.

Harry seized his opportunity to escape at speed up Bridge Road and never again ran home via that route.

Fitting a run in

Friday, 31 May 2013

If I have no other commitments and any of my friends – Dave, Bruce or Mike – are available, Friday is golf day, weather permitting.  We’re pretty much just “hackers”, and only play nine holes, but we start early and generally have the course to ourselves up at Peats Ridge, a pretty course about 40 minutes drive away.  Afterwards, we buy a late breakfast at a local café.  Because of the early start, it can be a challenge to fit in a training run.



Early morning at The Springs, Peats Ridge

For a few years, I went for a run after the golf, but it was always a chore.  I didn’t want to miss the post-golf breakfast, so I ended up running on a full stomach, rarely a pleasant experience.  So, I have adapted my schedule to make Fridays a very easy training day and now get up early and go for a slow 5km before showering and heading off to golf.  It means I break my rule about not running too soon after waking, but I always start slow.

Getting out for regular training runs becomes a challenge for everybody at some time, especially if you're working full-time.  When I was a serious athlete, training twice a day, I found it easiest to run to and from work, usually going in on the weekend to leave a week's clothes and lunches.  Depending on my program, I might run home via Olympic Park for a track session or meet friends for a tempo run, or tour the Melbourne suburbs for a long run.  Later in my working life, when I was a less serious runner, had children, and lived overseas with a job involving a great deal of travel, my routine evolved.  I developed the habit of getting up at 5am or earlier every workday morning, regardless of jet lag or the time I went to bed, and running 10-12km with longer runs, and maybe races, on the weekends.  Although running after work might have been more attractive, I quickly learnt that a tough day at the office, or unexpected events, could make an evening run difficult or impossible.

After yesterday’s longer run, I was stiff and sore in the quads all day, and my right Achilles and knee were painful.  I was dreading this morning's early jog and it lived up to my expectations.  I was shuffling particularly slowly and trying not to put too much strain on the damaged Achilles.  Miraculously, but not unexpectedly, I felt much better by the time I finished.  My time was slow – 30 minutes compared to the usual 25 minutes for this course – but the run had the desired effect.  It’s amazing how 30 minutes of running transforms your outlook and loosens the body.  I still have a long way to go before I feel like a runner again, but another day has passed and I feel I am still on track.