Aaarghh. Dog owners!

I’m not one to rant. Really, I’m not.

But I have to get something off my chest. What is it with dog owners in this world of ours?

As a runner you spend a goodly amount of time outside so you come into contact with this most selfish of species on a regular basis and O to the M. to the flipping G does it open your eyes.

I was out for a nice run – a planned interval session in a beautifully maintained bridleway. It should have been idyllic, but as I turned a corner I heard a bark, a growl and then saw a black labrador hurtling towards me at top speed.

It’s owner haplessly begged her dog to ‘heel’ and ‘calm down’ but it was having none of it and snapped at my heels with its hackles raised. Having three children I can be fairly authoritative at times and bellowed “Hey. Stop that!”.

Not my best constructed sentence but I was jammin’ in a crisis situation. The dog paused in its fury and a few seconds later its owner managed to bring it under control.

No-one was hurt in the making of this rant. However, I suggested to the dog’s owner – who seemed perfectly pleasant and I am sure is kind to kittens, gives to charity and would never vote Brexit – that if she was unable to control her dog, perhaps she shouldn’t have it off the lead?

Her response? “He would never actually hurt anyone.”

I jogged on trying not to react as my heart rate slowed from hummingbird levels and my buttocks unclenched from their rock-like state.

But I have two questions:

1. Is that the point? Does it matter that I wasn’t injured, just scared witless for a measly 30 seconds? I would argue that no, it does not.
2. What if I had been with my children? I can guarantee that one of them would have tried to flee in terror, and how would the dog have reacted then?

I have been bitten twice by dogs while out running. On the first occasion the owner was deeply apologetic and no longer allowed their dog to roam free in their garden (it escaped as I ran past), on the second the owner said it ‘wasn’t really biting me but it didn’t have hands so how else was it going to hold on during its game’?

I have also been a journalist for 20 years – mostly in local newspapers and I have covered a fair few dog attacks. The owners’ responses always escalate in the same manner:

1.          He/she would never bite anyone
2.          I don’t know how that happened, he/she is not usually a biter
3.          He/she only bites when she/he’s scared
4.          I can usually control him/her
5.          I can’t believe my gorgeous Rex savaged that child.

Dogs are beautiful, loyal creatures. Dog owners need to accept that they are responsible for the dog’s behaviour at all times and not just make excuses when their pets threaten people.

Rant over. For now - you have been warned.

The danger of entering events in a state of drunken euphoria

It is with a growing sense of trepidation that I await the coming of a triathlon this weekend.

The Half X is Set in the glorious Lake District it features a 1.9km swim in Windermere, followed by a quad-burning 90km bike ascending 2,800m (9186 ft) over the big three Lakeland passes, Kirkstone via the 'Struggle', Wrynose and Hardnott, in both directions and concluded with a 21km run around the stunning Fairfield Horseshoe ascending over 800 m (2,600ft).

Organisers claim it to be the steepest and most gruelling 'Half Iron' Bike section anywhere in the world. 

I entered after a few glasses of wine following a half-decent performance at Abingdon Marathon last year. I was, in my mind, invincible having thought I had finally broken the cycle of being a lazy bloke claiming to be an athlete.

But now my trepidation is not around the horrific physical challenge of the event but the mental challenge in knowing that once again I have failed to live up to a promise I have made myself.

You see, I pulled out of the event two weeks ago. I finally accepted that I am probably not fit enough to complete the event, or if I do, will seriously putting my body through the mill.

I am not a good swimmer – cramp has laid me low for too many years – but I am also a very average cyclist even when comfortable on the flat roads of Oxfordshire. Some friends from Oxford Tri scoped the route and, despite being among the strongest cyclists in the club, came back with horrific reports of their struggle up The Struggle and its pals.

I'm a decent runner and the trot around the horseshoes was appealing but realistically, after completing that bike course, my quads are likely to be as useful as a chocolate fireguard.

So I bottled it. I realised six months ago I needed to put in some mega training with reps of Blowing Stone and maybe a trip over the Cleeve Hill in Gloucestershire. But, as is the norm with me, I didn’t follow through with my plan.

So my trepidation is that I must look myself in the mirror and face the reality that after 10 years of triathlon I have barely improved and failed to challenge myself significantly.

Where’s that wine….

Running: Changing body shape in the facial region

Had a lovely run in the sun this morning - it was just too good not to get out there and get off road for a while.

As I ran through a village near my home I ran past a woman I have seen regularly for the past two years. In 2014 she trudged along with pained grimace, last year she jogged with a determined frown, and this morning I saw her running with a smile wider than a Cheshire Cat.

It was as uplifting as I finished my run as the sun had been when I set off.

Great reminder that while running is great for changing body shapes, the most important physical change is the massive smile it can bring to your face.

Things I have learned about running from the London Marathon

1.    Optimism is great but reality will get you in the end
          No matter how much I tried to convince myself that a torn hamstring three weeks before the event need not prevent me from running fast, the reality was that it stopped me running fast for 26 miles.

2.       The crowds are special

I have done a lot of races of distances from 5km to marathon but nothing – no matter how much people told me – prepared me for the roar of noise and the overwhelming positivity from the VLM crowd.  Cheers, posters, high fives all helped get me round. My favourite was a sign held aloft in Embankment which read simply ‘Motivational Sign’.

3.       Water bottles are lethal

I was staggered by the number of numpties who chose to simply drop a water bottle at their feet, leaving it to trip a fellow runner. I was one of those fellow runners and it ended my hopes of a moderately fast run. I was even more staggered by those who thought the best alternative was to launch water bottles – some of which were 90 per cent full – over the heads of runners. Of course it meant they avoided tripping fellow marathoners but the bottles became vicious missiles to the crowds of spectators. 

4.       Egos should be left at the start line

Nothing will prepare you for being overtaken by a runner in a large fancy dress costume. It is a peculiar kind of damage to your self-image.

5.       Mental toughness isn’t everything

No matter how I willed myself to run faster, I couldn’t overcome the cramp in my hamstrings, the pain in my foot or the tightness in my leg. Taming the chimp is all very well but the body has a say too.

6.       Marathoner’s mirages are real

You can imagine the strangest things. As my mate Nathan  pulled away from me at mile 15 he looked like a young Haile Gebrselassie, gliding away like a gazelle. In fact Nathan more closely resembles the experimental progeny of The Thing and She-Hulk. It is a highly effective running style though and he gave me a proper spanking.

7.       Training pain soon forgotten

I swore off marathons forever in March, inspiring this breakup letter. Within seconds of finishing I had decided to claim my Good For Age spot in 2017 and break that 3hr mark.

London Marathon: A tough day but not a bad one

I feel chewed up and spat out after my first experience of the London Marathon.

I started off in 2015 aiming for a sub 3.15 marathon, injured my knee last year and had to defer my place for 12 months. Between then and now I managed a 3.08 marathon at Abingdon in October and, at London 2016, my aim had been to get under the magical 3hr mark.

But life isn’t straightforward. The training was tough this year. I was hampered by a tight glute all the way through, found the relentless pounding of 18 months marathon training unenjoyable and finally, with three weeks to go, I tore my hamstring.

After all that training it was something minor of course that caused the injury – ducking under a metal railing with a sack of footballs on my back. It was a very small tear and I had physio which really helped but it was essentially no running for three weeks beforehand.

It bothered me right up two days before and then started to ease. On the morning I could barely feel it and thought that maybe this was going to be my day. How wrong I was!

I set off at good pace and as I was at the front, tried to keep the 3hr pacer in sight as we fought the crowds in the first 5km. Then I found some open space and stretched my legs out but still couldn’t catch the pacer. I should have trusted my watch over him as it turned out because he was flying in the first 8 miles, setting the pace for a 2.55.

My left foot was sore – something was digging into the joint on my big toe. I carried on and every few hundred metres gave it a shake to relieve the discomfort.  

I was enjoying it – crowds were amazing and the pace I was maintaining felt great. But then at Tower Bridge my hamstring just started to complain and tighten. That continued for the next couple of miles so I shortened my stride and pushed on.

My pace was still good and I saw my family at halfway which felt great.

I was still going well but by mile 14 my shortened stride started to have an impact – different bits of me started hurting – hips, quads and the other parts of my body trying to compensate for the tight hammy.

At mile 15 a club mate, Nathan Blake, passed me. We had a brief chat and I tried to use him as motivation to keep my pace up but I didn’t have it any more. Sore foot, tight hamstring and burning hips are not conducive to fast running and he serenely glided way in his cheerful style.

I eased up a bit and the hips and hamstring hurt less. My foot however was now really painful and each step seemed to make worse. Finally, about mile 18 I got worried that I could be doing myself some permanent damage so I stopped, undid my laces, took my shoe off and sorted it out. 

I don’t know if I had tightened my laces differently but there was a crease in the shoe near the eyelet which was causing the damage. My foot was red and angry-looking (and is a lovely black and green today). I loosened the laces as much as I dared and gingerly put it back on. The act of putting the shoe on and off was incredible difficult after 18 miles of running and I could feel minor cramps all the way up and down my leg but the adjustment made the foot pain bearable again.

But then I was off. I walked for a while and took on a gel while I assessed the foot. I decided it was ok so broke out into a run – it was a great feeling and soon I was flowing along a nice jog of about 4.30 per km. 

I knew the sub 3 was long gone but now a Personal Best was still not out of the question. The enjoyment returned and I was loving it right up to the moment I was suddenly on the ground. 

I had stood on a discarded bottle, turned my ankle and down I went. I swore like a trooper and a few other runners stopped but I waved them on (mainly out of embarrassment). A kindly St John’s Ambulance lady came over to help and after a few tests I discovered that nothing was broken and that it could bear my weight.

Up I got and I set off at a tentative walk which became a purposeful walk and eventually a slow jog. I was back in the game!

At about mile 22 I saw my family and stopped for a quick hug and power boost – it was just what I needed and my pace picked right up again. For about five minutes I was back running but just couldn’t maintain it – my injured hamstring twitched and then cramped and I was back to walking.

After 100m I picked up into a slow jog and just set about finishing. A sub 3.15 was still on but with 1km to go the 3.15 pacer overtook and all I could do was watch as he pulled away into the distance.

I finished in 3.17. Not the time I wanted but after all that had happened I couldn’t be too upset. 

 

I'm disappointed not to have done better but with the challenges I had I have to be pretty pleased to finish. Plus my first experience of a city marathon was very positive. Say what you like about the overwhelming commercialism, they are enjoyable for tens of thousands of runners and hundreds of thousands of spectators and that is worth a lot. 

Am I done with marathons? Well, I have qualified for London next year as a good for age and that sub 3 itch won't scratch itself ...

A runner's break-up letter

Dear Marathon Training, 

This is one of the hardest letters I have ever had to write.

You and I have had a mutual attraction which spans decades, although it was a relationship which was consummated just five years ago. But, as hard as it may be to face the truth, we must accept that the spark is no longer so bright, if it flares at all.

The joy of those early morning long runs, accompanied only by the sounds of nature and a fanciful internal dialogue, has faded. The intense passion of the breathless interval runs has given way to mechanical repetition, and, as much is it pains my knees, the hurt I feel as I remember how it used to be is an ever sharper wound.

You see, I think I am falling for someone else – no-one new but someone from my past. Sure, nostalgia plays a part but it’s fast and easy and also intense and sociable. I don’t face the loneliness that I have when I’m with you and I feel more energised than I have in months.

We have just over one month together preparing for The Big One. I know that the temptation will be there to carry on but we must think back to this time. We must remember the darkness, the nagging doubts and insecurities, and the lower body aches which have plagued the winter months.

Let us not be sad and mourn for the past, let us be joyful in the gifts we have given each other. You have taught me much about commitment and made push myself more than I ever thought possible. You have given me a waistline that I thought lost in my teenage years.

No. We are adults you and I, and it is time to face the future. It will be a future of heady dashes around parks and fields, a future of the thunderous footfall at the start of a fast 10k, and a future without the endless exhaustion I have when we are together.

You will always have a special place in my heart and I will remember our time together with warmth.

Yours in gratitude,

Malcolm Bradbrook

Feeling the heat in a ‘lazy’ summer

Running and Summer. Two things that really should go together.

I did the hard miles in winter. I ran in snow, hard frost and torrential rain in January and February so the chance to run in a vest, with the sun on my shoulders should motivate me to get out there as much as I can.

But this summer is busy, busy, busy and making time for running has not been a priority. I have three children under 10 and straight after breaking up from school we headed for France.

We had three great days schlepping around the streets of Paris – climbing the Eiffel Tower, marvelling at the unique weirdness of the Pompidou Centre and Stravinsky Square and soaking up the classic beauty of Notre Dame Cathedral and the Sacre Couer. At the end of each day all I felt up to was collapsing with a well-earned beer at the our campsite in the Bois de Boulogne (that’s my wife and I, the children had Syrop).

Then we headed south to Monsegur near Bergerac for a week of sunshine. We had the most amazing, secluded gite and the weather constantly hovered between 28C and 33C.

I managed two runs – both in the blazing heat of midday. I know what they say about Mad Dogs and Englishmen but I was always required for morning pool fun with my boys or frog-spotting with my daughter and, to be honest, those activities were so much fun for all of us that I just didn’t want to stop.

So it was in blazing heat that I headed out and I loved it. The feel of raw, powerful sunshine beating down on my shoulders and arms was intoxicating and running past field after field of sunflowers a sight I will never forget.

Despite the heat (and the fact that we were in a hilly area), it wasn’t hard to keep up the speed. Perhaps hot weather on my aging joints and muscles helped or perhaps it was all psychological but I fair buzzed along for both one-hour runs.

We also spent a day at Pilat Dune – the largest sand dune in Europe. It was surprisingly stunning – a mountain of sand forcing its way between a forest and the ocean. I challenged my son to run up it and he managed a good effort of about half way before his six-year-old legs rebelled (for which I shall remain grateful because I too was suffering).

Running down the dune was something else. The freedom to take off the brakes and hurtle without real fear of injury was incredible.

When I got back I managed two of Oxford Triathlon Club’s regular Bike And Run Time Trials (Handicapped Duathlons) and competed in the Salty Sea Dog Triathlon in Boscombe while on a long weekend break with the family and friends. Plenty of speed in my running but not much substance.

And now I am in Stockholm. Not holiday this time but the World Water Week conference -  a global meeting of minds intent on addressing the water challenge in one way or another. If I’m lucky I’ll squeeze in a couple of early morning runs but doubt I’ll get about seven miles.

I have just eight weeks until Abingdon Marathon so I am starting to feel considerably undercooked. Good job I marked this up as a base for the main event of the London Marathon in 2016.