Thinking the unthinkable

Katandra Reserve this morning.

After dropping my car off for a service in North Gosford this morning, I ran an easy 20km home via a route that maximised trail and minimised suburbia.  It was another beautiful morning for a run - mild and sunny with wisps of fog in some valleys.  Despite residual fatigue from Sunday's 37km road run, my legs are feeling stronger and I spent much of today's run pondering my running objectives for the next six months.

Clyde Road, this morning.

Incredibly, I'm getting to the point where the sub-3 hour marathon goal is again entering the fringes of my thinking.  I can't quite believe I'm even contemplating it, but assuming my heart problem at Christmas was just a blip, resolved by the Cardioversion, then why is a sub-3 less likely this year than last.  I fully accept it's a remote possibility, but it makes no sense to rule it out.  But maybe a change of approach is needed.  Since resuming running eleven weeks ago, I have been remarkably (for me) sensible in my training.  I haven't aggressively ramped up my mileage, I took a few days off for a minor injury, and I have mostly avoided back-to-back quality (fast or long) training days.  Although it has taken a bit longer than in the past, there has been steady improvement in my speed and endurance and that seems set to continue.

View from Clyde Road this morning.

My new thinking is that I should avoid focussing single-mindedly on the sub-3 hour goal.  Last year, I was trying to run as many kilometres a week as my ageing body could handle, and feeling pressure to improve my base speed.  However, when I look at how I'm running at the moment, and what training I was doing when at my best early last year, I was pretty much running for enjoyment, without sweating on kilometres or speed.

Kincumba Mt this morning.

Although a sub-3 hour marathon is not easy, there were times in my life when I could do it comfortably.  Maybe I need to fine-tune my approach to have fewer quality sessions (fast or long) and run those sessions fresher.  Maybe I also need to avoid targeting a particular marathon and, instead, when I think I'm ready, find one.

It seems to be worth trying, though it runs counter to the approach adopted most of my serious running career.  Counter-intuitively, it may require more self discipline for me than the high-mileage run-regardless regime of the past.

Tommy Hafey

In his 70s, Tommy Hafey was used to advertize Jeeps,
which were celebrating their 70th birthday.

Tommy Hafey wasn't a runner, he was an outstanding Australian Rules Football coach and former player.  And he didn't even play for my favourite team, but he was a role model for anybody interested in a healthy lifestyle and an exemplar of self-discipline.  He was ever-present in the news in my formative running years in Melbourne, and some of my regular runs passed by the Richmond Football Ground where he was a celebrated coach.  Although I have no specific recollection of ever meeting him, I have a vague feeling that our paths did cross once or twice.

This morning, I heard the sad news that Tommy had died yesterday at the age of 82.  It was a bit of a surprise, because I had heard him interviewed quite recently, and he was very articulate, upbeat, and still religious about his early morning run, swim, and push-up routine by Port Phillip Bay in Melbourne.

Tommy doing his early morning push-ups by Port
Phillip Bay in Melbourne.
(Picture: Andrew Tauber Source: Herald Sun)

I admired him because he espoused many of the ideas that are dear to my heart.  Most importantly, perhaps, was his dedication to physical fitness and self-discipline.  Not only did he lead by example through his personal exercise regime, and never smoked or drank alcohol, but he was a trail-blazer in developing fitness programs for his football teams, including employing the ideas of cutting edge runners/thinkers such as Percy Cerutty and Herb Elliott in the 1960s.

He was passionate about the value of exercise generally and was an evangelist for a healthy lifestyle, changing the lives of many people for the better along the way.  Apparently it took a malignant brain tumour to finish him off, and mercifully it appears to have been a short illness.  His passing has tinged my day with a little sadness.

My exercise for today comprised a slow 10km run on stiff and tired legs.  It was a grind early, but once I warmed up became a little more enjoyable.  The good news was that my right Achilles tendon was much less painful.

Hyde Park

Hyde Park, London.

In October 1987, I started a new job, the first day of which saw my family and I on a plane to London from Melbourne.  Temporarily, my new company rented accommodation in South Kensington where we lived for three months, our five-month old baby sleeping on a small mattress behind the sofa in the tiny apartment.

We were close to Hyde Park, and my morning run became a double circuit of the historic park.  It was an interesting time to arrive in England, just two weeks after the Great Storm of 1987, which felled an estimated 15 million trees across the country.  Hyde Park had suffered greatly and walking around the park the weekend after our arrival, was both awe-inspiring, to see what nature was capable of, and saddening, to see so many gracious old trees upended.

Broad Walk, Hyde Park.

Fortunately for my running, the main paths were soon cleared, especially since it was winter and my morning runs were in darkness.  There was some lighting in the park, but not very much, and generally I just had to trust that if I stayed in the middle of the path, I wouldn't encounter any obstacles.  Occasionally, I would meet a runner or walker coming the other way, and a couple of times last-second evasive action had to be taken.  It was in the era before headlamps, and I never carried lights, or worried about light-coloured clothing.

As you would expect in a London winter, there were plenty of cold, foggy and/or drizzly, mornings but strangely they are the ones for which I'm most nostalgic.  That weather, darkness, London, and running, are inextricably linked in my memory.

Hyde Park at night.

The 14km course was relatively flat, and at the time I was quite fit, so usually ran it in around one hour.  The run to the Park along the broad Exhibition Road, passed between the historic Natural History and Victoria & Albert Museums.  It was very gradually uphill, and that always helped me warm up.  By the time I got to Hyde Park, I was rolling and always worked hard on the gradual climb up Broad Walk to Kensington Palace, and then, after cruising along the northern side parallel to Bayswater Road to Speakers Corner, would stretch out down the eastern edge of the Park next to Park Lane.  Occasionally, I would see horse guards exercising on South Carriage Drive in the early light before turning out of the Park and heading home.  In later years, when I no longer lived in the UK, I would always try and get in one run around Hyde Park whenever visiting London for work.

After yesterday's exertion, I walked an easy 5km today.  My right Achilles tendon is still sore, but I'm hopeful it will have improved enough to run tomorrow.

No fun

Gosford waterfront is on the Round the Bay course.
(© BigRay)

Nearly three and a half hours of running and can't say I felt good for, or enjoyed, a single step......except for the last one.  That's sometimes the way with long runs.

If I'm honest with myself, it was a bit stupid to try and run the 36.5km Round the Bay course the day after running 14km quite hard with Terrigal Trotters.  I'm not fully fit, and it takes time to recover from hard runs.  It would have been better to try tomorrow and have an easy recovery day today, but I sort of trapped myself by booking my car in for a service on Wednesday.  That matters because the service centre is about 20km from home, and I planned to run home for training (and catch the bus back later to pick the car up).  If I did my really long run tomorrow, then there would be just one recovery day before the 20km run, which is also not really enough for me these days.

The course crosses the Rip Bridge
(© Rob N_!)

Anyway, unpleasant as it was, the long run is done with no apparent ill effects.  The reason it was so hard primarily relates to gait.  Having run hard yesterday, I was dealing with two issues.  Firstly, there was general fatigue and stiffness.  Yesterday, I was running around 4mins/km for some parts, my fastest for months.  I was striding out more and holding my centre of gravity higher and further forward.  That was pushing the envelope of my current fitness, engaging muscles and stretching ligaments more than has happened for some time.  It's not surprising that stiffness and fatigue follows.  But that's good, because as my body responds to these forgotten stresses, by building muscle and increasing the range of movement, I will become a better runner.  In the short-term, however, the fatigue and stiffness impacts my stride length and I run less efficiently.  The consequence of that is a slower pace, discomfort, and even more fatigue than usual.

The course passes along the Tascott waterfront.
(© John Ford)

Secondly, my chronic right Achilles tendon was quite sore after yesterday's run and still painful this morning.  Stretching hurts it more, so subconsciously my gait alters to lessen the pain.  Generally, this means a shorter stride and splaying my feet more.  The latter has, over the years, caused chronic problems with my right knee, so I'm very conscious these days of not splaying the foot too much.  The result is more Achilles pain, a shorter stride, and an inefficient gait.

On the positive side, I'm pretty sure I will start to feel the benefit of today's run by the end of the week.  Three and a half hours of repetitive pounding on hard flat surfaces was hard on the legs, but I know from experience my legs will grow stronger as a consequence.

Fitter...and more anxious

I recently found this old picture of
me running a length of the original
stadium at Olympia in Greece in 1975.

This week, I have really noticed an improvement in my fitness level and the proof was this morning's relatively strong run on the Terrigal Trotters "Pony Club Run" course.  I'm still not running with the leading bunch, but they were within sight for much of the first half of the 14km course and I felt I was moving comfortably at a faster pace for most of the run.

I should be feeling fitter.  I have run most days for the last eleven weeks and have averaged 100 kilometres a week for the past month, so it's nice to know that I'm getting a benefit.  However, with the fitness, and returning competitiveness, comes some anxiety.  Almost certainly, I have recovered full lung function after the Pulmonary Embolism four months ago.  And, my heart continues to beat regularly and strongly following the DC Cardioversion back in February to correct my debilitating Atrial Flutter.  But, constantly in my mind, is the worry that my heart will revert, maybe as a result of running hard.  When writing last night's blog, I mentioned a famous and extremely talented English ultra-distance runner, Cavin Woodward.  In 1975 he set a new world record for 100 Miles of 11hrs 38mins 54secs and en route also became the holder of World Best times for 50miles, 100km and 150km!  When I Googled him, I was saddened to see that he died in 2010 of a heart attack at age 62!  Then this morning, a friend was relating the story of an athlete competing in last weekend's Port Macquarie Ironman not long after he had been treated for a heart problem.  He finished the triathlon but was complaining of chest tightness.  He's only in his mid-30s.

On the hills in this morning's run, I could also feel some tightness in my chest at the base of my sternum.  I have been aware of it over the past month when running hard, but have not discerned any related problems.  Did I always have this tightness, but never paid attention in the past?  Is it breathing- rather than heart-related?  It feels more like an airway constriction.  I guess time will tell.  For the moment, it's a very satisfying feeling to be getting faster and I'm enjoying my running in a way I thought would never be possible again four months ago.

London to Brighton

Article from a local newspaper
about my first ultra.

I can reasonably claim to have done my first ultramarathon at the age of 15.  A year earlier, my family had moved to London where my father had a three-year posting, and I joined a unit of the Boys Brigade at our local church.  There, I learned of an annual charity walk from London to Brighton, a distance of 52 miles, and quickly volunteered along with a friend.  My recollection is that the event started in the evening and we walked through the night.  My friend stopped after 33 miles while I finished the journey in 18½ hours.  I don't remember too much about it, other than lying on my back with my legs up against a tree to ease the pain in my feet on multiple occasions in the last twenty miles, and being very short-tempered in the final stages.  Nevertheless, I finished and it reinforced my growing perception that I could do well in endurance events.

The London to Brighton race started beneath Big Ben
and across Westminster Bridge.

It also fostered my interest in the journey from London to Brighton which has an iconic place in English folklore dating back to the early 1800s when people first walked it.  Since then, there have been all kinds of events over the route involving pedestrians, cyclists and motor vehicles, but the one that first captured my interest in the early 1970s was the running race.  Although the amateur running race began in 1951, it wasn't really until the 1970s that some highly-credentialled marathon runners, amongst them Cavin Woodward and Don Ritchie, began racing and six minute mile average pace was beaten.  This was also the time I was starting to race marathons at better than six minute mile pace, and I imagined myself (very optimistically) mixing it with them.

The climb over Ditchling Beacon with seven miles to go.

In the mid-1970s I returned to live in the UK for a year or two, but didn't get to run the race for some reason (can't remember why).  It wasn't until 1991, when I was again living in the UK, that I finally ran the race, at the age of 40.  I was no longer training twice a day, had a young family, and was spending a large part of my life on planes.  Hopes of running six minute miles for the distance were gone, but that didn't stop me heading out at a good pace from beneath Big Ben at the 7:00am start.  It was a race of two distinct halves for me.

The race finishes on the Brighton promenade.

I reached the halfway mark, 27.5 miles (this was the first year of an altered, longer, course that finished over Ditchling Beacon for safety reasons), in almost exactly three hours and going strong.  After a cool start, it had become a clear and warm day, and I began to suffer soon after.  I remember making a very brief pit-stop at about 40 miles and being almost overcome by a desperate desire to lie down on the road and sleep.  I continued on, with the daunting climb over Ditchling Beacon constantly on my mind.  It was every bit as hard as I feared, but I kept running, despite being overtaken by the first woman (it still mattered to me in those days).  The last few kilometres, though mostly downhill, seemed to take forever and I was totally spent when I finally crossed the line in 7:20.  Disappointment at my performance over the latter half (it took 4:20), was quickly replaced with satisfaction at finally realising a long-term goal, and I still cherish the memory.

I ran an easy 5km for training today, feeling in reasonable shape and looking forward to tomorrow morning's run with Terrigal Trotters.

Fred Lester

Fred Lester in full flight.

I like to think that I'm a self-coached runner, but know that there are people I have encountered during my running career who have had a profound influence on me, even though I might not have acknowledged it at the time.  One such person is Fred Lester, who was coach of the YMCA Amateur Athletic Club when I first joined at the age of 19 in 1970, and who remained a respected friend for the rest of his life.  He died in 2010 at the age of 87.

Although I didn't know it at the time we first met, and didn't bother to ask, Fred had already had a very interesting life.  All I knew was that he was also Secretary of the Victorian Marathon Club, wore an Australian Army slouch hat, spoke with a strong German accent, and was always willing to provide coaching advice.  As young twenty-year-olds, with the world at our feet, we were often cruel to the resilient Fred.  We jibed him about which side he fought for in World War II, when in fact he was a German Jew who had escaped Germany just before the war as a boy and ultimately ended up enlisted in the Australian Army.  He wore panty-hose in winter to keep warm, long before similar running-specific clothing was sold, and encouraged us to do likewise.  None of us did, but we certainly gave him a hard time about it.  He often prescribed a track session when we turned up at the old Yarra Park grass track in Melbourne for evening training and we would studiously ignore his advice, and do our own thing.

Fred Lester with his hero Emil Zatopek.

In my mind, the Fred story that impressed me the most was that he needed to make a pit stop during a marathon in his younger years, and rather than seeking cover, apparently just squatted in the middle of the road, did what was necessary, and continued on.  He had been a proficient marathon runner in his day, always looked superbly fit during all the time I knew him, and had an enormous passion for athletics.

He was an excellent coach of younger athletes and always had a few coming up through the ranks, mostly via the Catholic School system.  He drove them and us to races in his van and we often wondered what their Catholic parents would think if they knew their children were under the tutelage of a proud card-carrying member of the Australian Communist Party.  To his absolute credit he kept his running and political lives totally separate, though was always quick to rail against authority and bureaucracy.  Fred didn't tolerate fools, and I can remember hearing him say "Christ, you took your bloody head out there, why didn't you use it?" on more than one occasion after I had messed up a race tactically.  Many runners from those years have other favourite Fred sayings.

Fred laying down the law to some junior
volunteers at a running event.

Apart from encouragement, Fred's greatest impact on me during those days was perhaps via the Victorian Marathon Club which provided a range of road, and occasionally track, races for runners to augment the official VAAA races of the time.  I loved those races, which gave me a chance to shine in smaller fields, especially as I became a better runner.  Winning the VMC's King of the Mountains and being first Australian home in several VMC Marathons, the latter leading to trips to New Zealand marathons at a critical stage of my career, were highlights still bright in my memory.

I now also realise that Fred, leading by example, probably sparked my interest in creating events for runners of all standards, something which provides me with great satisfaction to this day.  One event he created, the annual Emil Zatopek 10,000m track race in Melbourne, continues to attract the very best runners in Australia each December more than fifty years since its inception in 1961.

I haven't done justice to Fred's contributions to me and running in this brief blog post.  You can read an excellent article published in the Melbourne Age newspaper about Fred's very interesting life here.  It's worth the read.  The collected volumes of the Victorian Marathon Club Newsletter, available here, give some indication of how much work Fred put into the running scene over many years.

For my training today, I ran an easy 11km.  I was tired after yesterday's 21km, but I was pleased with the underlying strength I'm starting to feel in my legs and my average training pace is gradually improving.

Road running

An early part of today's run was along
Cullens Road which I enjoy so long as
traffic is light.

I'm getting fitter following my heart/lung problems at the end of last year and am continuing to contemplate running the Macleay River Marathon in four weeks time, just to see how I go.  One argument against running is that my legs still need some toughening up if I'm not to disgrace myself.

Although I enjoy running on trail more than road, my experience has been that if you want to race long distances on the road, you need to train over long distances on the road.  It is the hours of repetitive pounding on the road, with every step exactly replicating the preceding step's effect on the musculo-skeletal system, that builds the fitness necessary to cope with a marathon.  After training for long distances on the road, I have always been able to feel the growing strength in my legs, particularly the quadriceps.  Almost suddenly, I will feel stronger, fitter and faster, after a few long road runs.

Ward's Hill is steeper than it looks.

I know I need a couple of long road runs under my belt before tackling a marathon.  For my training today, I ran one of my favourite 21km courses from my home in Copa.  It has some long road stretches, some busy and some quiet, along with a few hills, including one really nasty one around halfway.  I felt good early, maybe the best this year, and was averaging 5 mins/km for the flat sections, but I could feel my legs getting very tired by the time I summited Ward's Hill.  By working harder, I maintained my momentum, but struggled on the last hill with three kilometres to go.

I finished comfortably, but am convinced I need to get in a couple of long road runs in the next two to three weeks if I want to reach an acceptable level of fitness for the marathon.  I haven't entered yet.

Capitol Reef

Capitol Reef National Park.

A place I would like to revisit for some longer trail runs is Capitol Reef National Park in Utah.  When we camped there in January, 1986, in the middle of winter, we had the place to ourselves.  It was so cold, the National Parks Service wasn't even bothering to collect fees.  We were running the Las Vegas Marathon a few days later, so were in the taper phase and I limited myself to a 10.5 mile circuit from the deserted campground.  It was, however, a memorable run to this day.

The view from the Frying Pan Trail.

I set out soon after 8am on a clear morning in sub-freezing temperatures, but soon warmed up on the Cohab Canyon Trail which zig-zagged up 100m in the first 500m, and then continued climbing to the Frying Pan Trail and the rocky heights at nearly 2000m altitude.  The views across the rocky, canyon-laced, plateau in the clear cold air were fantastic.  In many places I was more or less running cross country on rock slabs, soaking up the vistas, and savouring that feeling of being the only person on earth in this superb country.

The Grand Wash Trail.

After about 7km I joined the sandy Grand Wash Trail which followed a dry creek bed at the bottom of a sometimes narrow canyon, dominated by towering rocky walls.  Around 10km, I joined a park road in the Fremont River valley and followed that back to near the campground before rejoining the Cohab Canyon Trail for a short sharp climb over a knoll and back down to the campground.  It was only 10.5 miles, but because I was in the taper phase, I was feeling fresh and strong and that may explain why the run lives in my memory as such an enjoyable experience.

Cohab Canyon.

There are longer trails in Capitol Reef National Park and I look forward to returning there one day to check them out.

For today, I ran 10km, and although I laboured early until my Achilles tendon warmed up, I felt stronger than expected two days after a long trail run.  My time was quickish for this regular garbage run, despite getting struggling a bit on the climb up Avoca steps near the end, so I was happy.

A long but good day

Setting out from Congewai.

Yesterday's Terrigal Trotters run along a section of The Great North Walk explains a lot about why I enjoy trail running.  It was a day that highlighted all of the positive aspects.

Firstly, there were the ominous weather forecasts for cold wet and windy conditions for the 33km run from Congewai to Cedar Brush.  None of the thirty-five booked runners cancelled because of the adverse forecast and there was keen anticipation of battling the elements on the bus as we drove the ninety minutes to the Congewai trackhead.  However, the bad weather was clearing by the time we started running and we ended up enjoyed the best running conditions imaginable - cool, breezy on the higher ridges, low humidity, and sun-dappled tranquil rainforest glens.  It was a pleasure to be alive as we made our way southwards.

Running the forest trails.

The runners each ran their own run, with some choosing to see how fast they could go, others just cruising along with friends, and some taking it easy and stopping for photographs and views.  Trail-running, better than most sports, offers the chance to do your own thing, sharing the joys with others, but not having to do it the same way.

Adventures are almost guaranteed, whether it's missing a turn, taking a tumble, or encountering a snake, and we had all of those yesterday, some more dramatic than others, but all when least expected.  The adventure was compounded by the remoteness, and the lack of mobile phone coverage at the Cedar Brush trackhead meant we were left guessing about the fate of runners who failed to arrive as expected.  Anxiety was replaced with relief and mirth when the runners were found and their misadventures recounted.  The range of emotions experienced during trail running explains much of its appeal.

Traversing Watagan Creek
valley.

Finally, we all enjoyed the post-run camaraderie, lounging in the sun in a beautiful little valley, eating and drinking, analysing and discussing our respective adventures, and cheering each runner as they finished.  It may have been a long day, but it was a good day.

Post-run relaxation.

My own run went fine, not that much slower than last year's time on the same course, and very comfortable. My only real problems were the chronic right knee and Achilles tendon injuries that were giving me quite a lot of pain by the end.  I think trail running exacerbates these injuries, but I'm more than willing to accept the trade-off.

For today, I walked an easy 5km around Copa, and didn't feel too tired or stiff, apart from the tendon still being a little painful.  I'm already looking forward to our next Club trail run in three weeks time.

Fiji Run

Wambina fire-trail.

The Bureau of Meteorology had warned that this weekend would be the coldest for ten months, and it ominously started to drizzle while my fellow Terrigal Trotters club-mates checked in for this morning's 15km "Fiji Run", named for the palm grove passed through en route.  However, it wasn't that cold and most were wearing T-shirts as we set off at 6am in the red-tinged dawn twilight.

Part of the "Fiji Run" course.

As was the case last weekend, I may have over-committed running-wise, which is par for the course.  Tomorrow there is a Club 33km trail run, and running a tough 15km this morning was likely to make tomorrow even tougher.  Rather than test my limits, I hung back early and resolved to run the whole distance at a comfortable pace, with the goal of finishing with something left in the tank.  Despite my advanced years, I still struggle to contain my youthful enthusiasm and competitive nature, and as the run wore on, I gradually started reeling in some of those ahead of me.

Part of the "Fiji Run" course.

However, about half way, when we hit Wambina Nature Reserve and the steep climb up to the ridge, I was brought to my senses and tried to reach the top of each climb without straining and negotiated the steep technical and slippery descents carefully for fear of injury.  The last few kilometres along the road allowed me to stretch out again and I was pleasantly surprised later to find my Garmin had me averaging about 4:30 per kilometre, which is faster than I thought I was running.  I seemed to pull up OK, but tomorrow will tell the tale.

My club-mates seemed to enjoy the course, which I had cleared and marked two days ago.  It was a bit rough in parts, but the adventure of going somewhere new or rarely-visited appeals to most Trotters.

Annual gardening

The fire-trail through Wambina
Nature Reserve.

Those who know me, or have seen my house, know that gardening is not one of my passions.  There is, however, an annual piece of gardening that I don't mind doing - clearing and marking the trail for the Terrigal Trotters "Fiji Run" which is scheduled for tomorrow.

I originally suggested the course to capitalise on two little-used trails in the Terrigal area that are not part of our other runs.  The first trail section is short and passes through a grove of palm trees, hence the name "Fiji", and the second, longer, section climbs through Wambina Nature Reserve to a forested ridge which it then follows to its end before descending back to the suburbs.

I first encountered the ridge when some friends took me mountain-biking up that way eight or nine years ago, and have since observed the trail gradually deteriorate through lack of use and rampant lantana growth.  For the last three of four years, since the "Fiji Run" has been on the Trotters agenda, I have been in the habit of spending some time in the preceding week clearing and marking the trail.

Overgrown trail.

Yesterday, after going for my usual Thursday 11km morning run, I grabbed some breakfast in Terrigal and drove to the little-visited Wambina Nature Reserve.  I savoured the climb to the ridge through quiet forest along the leaf-covered firetrail.  It's always a wonder to me how you can find such lovely and peaceful pockets of undisturbed nature amidst the hubbub of the Central Coast.  Most area residents would have no idea it was even there.  After a few kilometres, and having negotiated a couple of locked gates, I reached the narrow foot-trail section and donned my gardening gloves and pulled out my long-shaft clippers.

For the next three hours I walked along the trail, hacking at the lantana and other over-hanging vegetation to make the trail more runnable.  In one short section, the trail had virtually disappeared into a huge lantana thicket and I spent nearly an hour hacking and bashing a usable trail.  When I finally reached the far end of the ridge, I turned and made my way back to the start, hanging flouro pink flagging tape from trees where the trail was more obscure.

Cleared trail.

Knowing it had rained recently, I wisely wore my high profile hiking boots for the expedition, but still scored a couple of leech bites on my calf which are itching as I write.  I was lucky to only have two, since I removed about ten leeches from my boots and thick socks when I returned to my car.  On the way home I needed to visit the supermarket, and padded along the aisles with blood dripping down my calf, hoping I wouldn't get ejected.  Being on Warfarin, leech bites coagulate even more slowly.

It takes a large part of the day to clear the trail, but I see it as a community service.  The local council doesn't seem to have any interest in keeping the trail open and I fear it will disappear without some attention.  I also enjoy taking my club-mates to places they may not know about, or normally wouldn't go.

This morning, I was quite stiff in the back from yesterday's exertions, but otherwise OK, and jogged a very slow early 5km before playing nine holes of golf.

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.

Runner's guilt

Circular Quay in Sydney this morning.

Almost every regular runner knows about runner's guilt - that feeling you have when you miss a scheduled run.  Thirty years ago, I felt runner's guilt if I did not run twice a day.  Once past my prime, the standard slipped to once a day, and in the last five or six years to six days a week as I have bowed to age and accepted that my body recovers better if I have a day off after a long run.  Each time I lowered the standard, I felt guilty for sometime, but eventually accepted the wisdom of the change.

Sydney Harbour Bridge this morning.

Yesterday, after Sunday's 47 km trail run, I walked 5km as planned.  Today, I should have run 10km.  I had an appointment in Sydney in mid-morning, which meant the run would have to be at 5:30am, but that's not a big deal.  I ran at that hour for decades of my working life.  As I went to bed, I got my gear out ready for the early start, but when setting the alarm decided that it would be better to get a good night's sleep and give the run a miss.

My rationale was that I still felt short of sleep after several days of early starts, and that my body still had some sore spots after Sunday's long run.  However, I know in my heart of hearts that you can always come up with a justification for any decision.  I suspect that I could have gone without the extra sleep, done the run, and be just fine.  Maybe even marginally fitter and lighter by the end of the week.  On the other hand, I also know that whether or not I ran 10km today will, in itself, make pretty much zero difference to how fit I am in a month or year's time.

Looking east up Sydney Harbour from the Opera House
this morning.

It's easy to say that runner's guilt is simply the manifestation of an obsession or addiction, and should be ignored.  However, this overlooks the positive aspects.  Firstly, the more days you run, the fitter you will get, so if you want to be a good runner then don't miss more days than necessary.  Secondly, the fewer days you do miss, the less likely you are to miss days in the future.  Guilt at spoiling a good record or failing to adhere to a plan will get you out running on days that you would otherwise miss.

It's not that you have to run every day, but you need a plan and then the dedication to stick to it.  My current plan is to run six days a week and to walk on the seventh, generally the day after a long run.  Today, I failed to adhere to the plan and just walked six kilometres around Sydney for exercise.  It was a beautiful sunny day, but I did feel a bit guilty.