How not to deliver running as a sport.

10 Monday Aug 2020

Posted by Roy McCarthy in Running, Writing

Are readers of this blog still connected with their alma mater, the school you attended before going on to tertiary education? Certainly I’ve paid my subscription to the Old Philipians’ Association these last 50 years, and I follow, with mild interest, their Facebook group. Recently a conversation on the Facebook group caught my eye. It concerned cross-country running. During the winter us boys used to be sent off on a designated course around the streets of west Birmingham, or perhaps on several laps of the school’s playing field. No coaching, no advice, just do it. Meanwhile the masters in charge would sit and chat, drink tea.

This was OK by me. I enjoyed any sports we were made to do, though I never excelled at any. But it’s only now I realise how much outdoor sports in general, cross-country in particular, was hated by so many. They would try to avoid running with every excuse under the sun. Unable to avoid it they’d drag their feet, share a fag, risking the approbation of the sports masters.

The result? The vast majority left school with no intention of continuing to run, either in competition or to keep fit. What was the mindset of those trained sports teachers who used running as some type of punishment? Surely their role was to teach sport, not to inflict it. Those of us who continued with sport in later years did so in the form of team sports – soccer, rugby, cricket with your mates.

A common sight, back in the day. Some would claim it built character. I beg to disagree. Credit Andy Brown for the pic.

This wasn’t just my school. It was all boys’ schools. And after a miserable couple of hours in the mud and rain it was compulsory communal showers, excruciatingly embarrassing for many boys, especially with the odd creepy master peering in to make sure no one was dodging.

And the girls’ schools? I don’t know. They were the mysterious St Paul’s girls up the road in their neat grey uniforms, noses in the air, chaperoned by scowling nuns. But I do know from anecdotal evidence that many girls equally hated sports as delivered by their schools. We see so many women, now in middle age, taking up running for the first time and amazing themselves by enjoying the experience.

I’d love to speak to those old sports teachers about their approach back in those days (1960s) and I’d also like to know how that approach compares to today. Surely our schools are teaching children sport, starting with first principles and developing skills on a programmed basis. Aren’t they?

My First Marathon Finish

17 Friday Apr 2020

Posted by Roy McCarthy in Ireland, Running, Writing

≈ 6 Comments

NB: Long post, no pictures, a bit of self-indulgence.

Something just led me to look up my August 2008 blog on this matter and, guess what? There wasn’t a blog post at all. It seems like there was a nine-month hiatus in my blogging after I moved to Ireland in early 2008. So, almost 12 years later, here’s what I recall of my very first marathon finish.

You’ll note it wasn’t actually my first marathon, or even my second. Just the first I finished. So I’ll deal with those bad ones first. In 2006 or 2007 I entered my first full marathon, in Cork. I ran badly, didn’t get much beyond half way. I was puzzled and disappointed, but put it down to inexperience. Then, in June 2008, I entered Cork again. This time I’d trained like a demon with training runs up to 20 miles and beyond. Inexplicably I failed again, worse than the previous occasion. There seemed to be no reason for this abject failure – I’d run plenty of half-marathons at this stage so to not get beyond 13 – 14 miles was inexplicable.

What was I to do? I couldn’t just give up on marathons. What I did was enter another one, seven or eight weeks later, at Longford in the Irish Midlands. Instead of training even harder I cut back my mileage and added in a bit of gym work – resistance, lifting, rowing machine. I headed down to Longford on the evening before the race. A good start to race weekend – the hotel couldn’t find my booking so I had to head out miles into the countryside to find a room. However, the next morning, it was cool, breezy and damp. Just the conditions I like. Off we went.

Even at the outset I felt better, more confident that this was to be my day. I took it steady as we headed out of town, into the country. I passed a couple of chaps with ‘100 Marathon Club’ on their vests and started to feel even more confident.

Then, suddenly the half-marathoners who had started at the same time split off to the right and the race took on a different complexion. Into the lovely Longford lanes we went, not many of us. At times it seemed that I was running alone. There were very few marshals and only the occasional sign to assure me I was still on course. And then, a bit of fun with a wheelchair competitor. I’d trot by him on the little climbs as he toiled, pushing his wheels around. Then a little later, on the downs, he’d come flying by me, ‘Wheee!’

17, 18 miles, way further than I’d managed in Cork, and feeling relatively comfortable. 20 miles, and I found what they say is true. The last six miles is where a marathon starts. Out now on the hard shoulder of the N5, the Longford bypass. Remember those two ‘100 Club’ runners? They trotted by me, still chatting away together. When your resources are gone, your body has nothing left to give, you have to find ways and means of continuing. Unlike in Cork though I could sniff the finish – so much of endurance running is mental. I tried a trick – for each of those last six miles, concentrate on a person special to you and they’ll get you home. Whether or not it was that, I somehow found myself on the outskirts of Longford Town, still virtually alone. And then, like a vision, the finishing line on Main Street. Sunday lunchtime and a couple of dear old ladies kindly clapped me over the line. Someone handed me a medal.

Happily the nearby Longford Arms had made room for me on this Sunday evening and I tottered up to my room, collapsed on the bed, legs and everything quivering and cramping. I finally found the strength to get to the shower…it wasn’t working. The hotel agreed to change my room to one with a working shower, but this was further pain. Finally I showered and managed a somewhat tortured rest.

But by 7pm I was right as rain. Medal around my neck I headed off on a pub crawl, gleefully downing a pint at each and moving on to the next on that quiet Sunday evening. After about seven pubs and seven pints, waving my medal at disinterested bar staff at each one, I happily weaved my way back to my hotel.

I won’t forget that day anyway, but now it’s recorded here. Thank you for reading.

The Last Time?

06 Friday Mar 2020

Posted by Roy McCarthy in Running, Writing

≈ 14 Comments

Somewhere in space floats a piece I wrote many years ago. It mused away upon the subject of knowing when one has attained his/her peak. My best example was the Cuban high-jumper Javier Sotomayor. In 1993, in Salamanca, Spain, Sotomayor broke the world high-jump record, setting a new mark of 2.45m (8ft ½in for you ‘Muricans). Here he is, 27 years ago.

That record still stands. No one has seriously threatened it.

My question is, as the bar wobbled and settled, the crowd erupting, did Sotomayor know, in his heart, that he had reached the limit of his powers? Or did he believe that the next day, or the next week, he would break the record again?

Sir Roger Bannister ran 3:59.4 for the mile in 1954, breaking the mythical 4-minute mile barrier. A few months later he ran even faster, then decided to retire to concentrate on medicine. I’m sure he knew he could never again equal those times.

And so, after running a lousy 58.34 for 10k last Sunday, should I do a Bannister and pack in the running? Or at least the racing? Having just turned 67, and with a dodgy knee, I’m not going to improve by much. Another marathon is way out of my reach, and I’m beginning to think a half-marathon might be as well.

Arm action needs attention

I’ve had a good 16 years at it, having started aged 50. I was never a natural runner but I like to think I at least attained ‘respectability’ as regards race times. Three marathon finishes, maybe 20 half-marathons, innumerable shorter races. I’ve loved race days, pinning on a number, chatting with like-minded souls before, during and after races.
Taking up running certainly saved me from sliding into an unhealthy, overweight mid-life. Time to pack it in though. Just go out for enjoyable little spins with the Jersey Joggers. Forget racing. new shoes

Nope. I’m not finishing on a lousy 58.34. These new babies, £120 worth, will soon have me flying again 👍 😃

My Running in 2018 – a review with pics

31 Monday Dec 2018

Posted by Roy McCarthy in Running, Writing

≈ 20 Comments

It’s been a funny old running year. For much of it I just couldn’t get going. It was a struggle. On two successive Sundays I bailed out of my long runs and got the bus back home. I felt sluggish.

Our glorious west coast

Everything hurt. Although I continued to lead groups on Saturday morning, and Wednesday evenings during the summer I stopped enjoying it so much. I didn’t feel up to entering races. In fact I entered four half-marathons (Southampton, Winchester, two in Jersey) but didn’t make the starting line in any of them.

Stirling Castle

Rozel Harbour

I started wondering if it was time to pack it in altogether.

Fishermen’s Church, La Rocque

At Radier Farm

At which time I considered my diet again. Not for the first time in my life. I dusted off the juicer, hit the fruit and vegetable shelves, started following my own preaching about avoiding processed foods.

At Queen’s Valley Reservoir

South-western rockscape

And what a difference it made, almost immediately. My body reacted joyously, I felt loose again, less achy, a spring in my legs. The enjoyment came back.

Once more I started to look forward to running. Early morning runs before work became a habit. The miles built up. I happily ran in the last few races of the year, the highlight being a 52-minute Autumn 10k, the age-equivalent of my best time set eight years ago. I hit my 1,000 mile target which, at one time, was looking hopeless.

Petit Port

Overlooking sand dunes

Harbour, St Brelade’s Bay

Neolithic passage chamber, St Ouen

Bouley Bay

Misty evening on the dunes

Super Slow run, St Lawrence

View up to Portelet Common from Ouaisné

Old Smugglers Inn

Railway bridge, St Clement

Site of former Mont Mado quarry

St Martin’s Churchyard

St Catherine’s Woods

Windmill, St Mary

Dappled sunlight, Grantez

L’Etacq

A break from jogging the trails at Grantez

One more of our west coast

So looking towards a good 2019 with renewed enthusiasm.

Winchester Sunday morning run

16 Sunday Sep 2018

Posted by Roy McCarthy in England, Running, Writing

≈ 18 Comments

I treated myself to a day off writing – my WIP will reach its conclusion in the next couple of days. Instead I pulled on my (now slightly smelly) running gear and headed off on a sunny morning.

City Bridge

To date I’ve been happy enough to do circuits of the neighbouring facilities briefly described in my last post, but this morning I headed to the southern edge of the compact city centre to reacquaint myself with the water meadows. The trails out that way are tailor-made for pedestrians. DSCN0410 Bikes not so much though they are well catered for further out. Past Wolvesey Castle (970), the Hospital of St Cross (1132) and Winchester College (1382), this part of the country would be easily recognisable to those medieval folk if they were to pop back today for a visit.

The River Itchen splits into two branches and winds its way gently, reluctantly, towards the sea at Southampton. DSCN0412

Leaving the water meadows one joins the cycle network. One curiosity is Five Bridges Road, running straight across the meadows, but which seems to have been extinguished as a highway, leaving it free of traffic. This was possibly at the same time as the controversial M3 works back in the 1990s.

Five Bridges Road, open for runners 🙂

Hockley railway viaduct was abandoned as part of the Beeching cuts in 1963. It has particular links to D-Day with huge amounts of hardware and troops using the route to the south coast in the preceding 12 months. Happily it has been recently restored and made available to the cycle network.

Hockley Viaduct

Finally, a bit of hill training up St Catherine’s Hill, an ancient hill fort, which gives great views of Winchester and the surrounding land.

St Catherine’s Hill – it’s gotta be done…

…just for the view.

(No Winchester Cathedral yet – that will be my final stop before flying home.)

St Ouen, Jersey, on the run

24 Sunday Jun 2018

Posted by Roy McCarthy in Jersey, Running, Writing

≈ 24 Comments

It’s been a while since I did one of these Smilebox things. There’s nothing quite like heading out into Jersey’s lanes on a summer morning, but before it gets too warm.

Here I manage a gentle 11 miles or so, stopping frequently for a photo op, or a chat with friends. St Ouen is a country parish in the north-west of Jersey. There’s an old joke that you need a passport to cross the parish border. Certainly St Ouen marches to the beat of a slower drum.

So join me for a few minutes on a virtual run.

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Running Up That Hill.

11 Monday Dec 2017

Posted by Roy McCarthy in Jersey local history, Running

≈ 27 Comments

I’ve peppered this post with a selection of Jersey pics taken during 2017. I hope you like them. Hover for caption.

Well the road racing is just about done for another year here in Jersey, C.I. I previewed the year from a personal viewpoint last New Year’s Eve. How has it turned out? Maybe I’ll be generous and give myself 7 out of 10.

Plemont – Greve de Lecq cliffpath, other Channel Islands in the distance

Farmyard, no renovations here.

I’ve run regularly, both with my social group the Jersey Joggers and solo. And I’ve taken part in most of the races Jersey’s limited running scene has to offer. This mixture of easy jogging and harder work is, I think, the best way when you’re in your 60s. Run hard all the time and injuries will transpire. Jog slowly everywhere and you’ll only ever be any good at…jogging slowly.

Ancient dolmen, any excuse to stop running.

Corbiere Station renovation – like it? (I do.)

So, my first tangible achievement is that I’m on course to complete 1,000 miles for the year, albeit that’s only likely to be reached in the last few days of December. It will be only the fifth time I’ll have reached that goal after 2008, 2009, 2010 and 2015.

Corbiere Station, much as seen by train passengers 1885 – 1935

St Ouen’s Bay

So how have I done in the races? 12 months ago I said that I was going to have a crack at challenging my PBs. On that measure, not so good. Appallingly I haven’t broken 25 minutes for 5k all year (my PB remains 22.51). In my defence these 5k club races are held in the evenings and my energy levels are definitely low at that time of day. But that 25min mark is out of step with my other timed distances.

St John’s Church

North coast scene, taken from Sorel Point

A couple of good 10ks, both under 52mins. A couple of ‘ok’ Half Marathons – just outside two hours though I ought to be nearer 1.55.

South coast looking towards Corbiere (ignore amateurish shadows)

In the early part of the year my body let me down badly for six weeks or so. (I’ve encountered similar issues several times over the years and they remain unexplained.) Sadly, my only off-Island race, the Southampton Half-Marathon was one of those bad ones. I just couldn’t get going, my race was going from bad to worse, and I stepped off the course at the four-mile mark. At least it was a nice day for a walk back to town. A few weeks later I struggled to complete the tough 8.1 mile Durrell Challenge. But gradually I snapped out of that bad period.

In the woods, St Peter.

Fairy house

My break in Cork, Ireland kick-started my running year with some great long morning runs around the Lee estuary area. I really started to enjoy running and racing again. I love race day, being part of the running community. And doing the races is the one occasion where you test your body to its limits.

Our lovely Jerseys

Watch out for the farmer

And the challenge of staying ahead of newer, mostly younger runners, and one or two long-time friendly rivals is a great incentive to stick at it for as long as I can.

Grouville meadow

Water pump, Grouville

An off-road track? Just made for exploring.

And 2018 will see me step into a new age band where I’ll be one of the youngest again! I’m not finished with this malarkey just yet.

Do Not Go Gentle

13 Monday Mar 2017

Posted by Roy McCarthy in Jersey, Channel Islands, Running, Writing

≈ 30 Comments

We meet most Sunday mornings. She is much older than me but I don’t care. Funny how she always seems surprised as I gasp ‘Good morning’, as if she’d never seen me before. ‘Good morning’, she answers back. Then we are apart again.

Shuffling along with her stick, skirting Grouville Common, set on a destination unbeknown to me. To her daughter’s house maybe. A cup of tea and a chat. Looks forward to seeing her grandchildren.

She certainly has a past, a long one too. What stories could she tell if I were to fall into conversation with her? Of her Jersey childhood, the village school, visits to the nearby beach, a weekly visit to the town of St Helier. Then the arrival of the Germans and the five long years of hardship before the Liberation. Love, marriage, a family. Maybe none of the above. I know nothing about her. 100_0870

Perhaps she was a champion swimmer as a young lady. She wishes someone would ask her about her medals. Now she walks to keep fit, unbelieving that her body could ever let her down.

And does she know, or care, that this puffing stranger is also raging against the dying of the light? One day, sooner or later, we’ll meet no more.

I wonder who will let the other down?

Take The Next Step – Jersey Marathon 2015

08 Thursday Oct 2015

Posted by Roy McCarthy in Jersey, Running

≈ 59 Comments

After Longford 2008 and Cork 2010 (drawing a veil over two previous ignominious DNFs) I declared ‘never again!’ Two miles from the end of Jersey 2015 I fervently wished I had stuck to that. That two miles could have been two hundred as far as I was concerned.

I’ve done OK these last 16 months. I’ve totally reappraised my eating and drinking habits, lost a bunch of weight, have trained and raced well. In fact in my 63rd year I’ve set a new PB (PR in the US) for 5k and have come close to doing likewise for 10k. So, deciding that life’s too short for regrets I put my name down for the 10th running of the present incarnation of the Jersey Marathon.

Now, it must be said I’m no runner. I only started 13 years ago to regain a bit of fitness and grew to enjoy it without ever getting beyond the ‘respectable’ mark. Still I had hopes of getting inside my previous best mark of 4:27, a rate of 10-minute miling.

Jonathan Edwards started the race – pic Matt Porteous

So, four miles in and averaging 9.21m/m. In fact, with the exception of a sharp uphill section in Mile 5 I didn’t slip into 10-minute miling until the second half of the race. A mistake? Possibly. But sometimes you just go with your gut feeling. It was a perfect day for running, mercifully the cloud cover remained keeping the temperature down and I was enjoying the great race experience. As well as the individual marathon there is a team relay. The result is that it’s a dynamic experience for runners and spectators. The support throughout from the Jersey public was awesome, the best I’ve experienced.

The eventual winner Aleskey (Russia) – pic Matt Porteous

They say – and how true it is – that the second half of a marathon starts at 20 miles. From Mile 15 I had to start to dig deep and from Mile 20 it was becoming a serious challenge. Never a thought of quitting though – you find ways and means from that point. Thankfully there’s a downhill section bringing the runners down to St Aubin with three and a half to go. Another painful mile and my legs done packed up on me. For the first time in a marathon I was reduced to alternate walking and running. The mainly younger, fitter relay runners streamed by together with a number of marathoners. Many had words of encouragement to me and others as they did so.

The leaders in Waterworks Valley having dropped me – pic Matt Porteous

There are many examples of battling through the pain barrier. Today once again it was Anthony Lewis a local journalist who suffered a catastrophic stroke several years back. It is an achievement for him to manage one painful step. Today he pushed his body to a half-marathon in six hours.

The ‘central governor’ theory propounded by Tim Noakes is interesting. It holds that the mind protects us from over-exertion by programming our muscles accordingly. The trick is to over-ride the theory. Thus, with the finish at last only a few hundred yards away all the pain slipped away and I was striding like a champion down Conway Street, Commercial Street and Wharf Street lined with fantastic support to finally make the finish line at the Weighbridge in a chip time of 4:34.31 and 15th M60.

No longer running tall, relaxed, smiling

And I’m happy to say, slow or not, I still beat my beautiful and very fit daughter Emma (26) who finished her very first marathon.

Yes I’m pleased I gave it a shot but – never again. My mile splits which tell a tale were
9.17
8.48
9.34
9.45
10.37
9.38
9.37
9.30
9.40
9.32
10.06
9.54
9.38
10.00
10.00
10.26
10.26
10.05
10.50
10.35
10.57
11.07
11.10
14.13
14.30
12.26

Jersey Jogging

22 Saturday Aug 2015

Posted by Roy McCarthy in Jersey, Running

≈ 27 Comments

My blogger friend Jean over at Social Bridges calls it ‘Phunning’. At my speed it’s more like ‘Phogging’. Join me in the gentlest of four-milers on a sunny Saturday morning. Click on the first image to open the gallery.