MOK Run

The Mull of Kintyre half marathon took place on Sunday 27th May. Ozzie wasn’t up to this, but we’re very happy that he did the Omagh 4 mile and the Titanic 10k. I reckon 10k is enough for any small dog. So it was left to my running partner Rabea to do the 10k, which he finished in a creditable 59 minutes, and me to do the half marathon.

Well Bloody Hell. What an experience. Over two hours of mind-numbing, foot-pounding, inner-self-exploring hard exercise. Insanity.

I got off to my usual slow start (I always was a slow starter), running the first ½ mile with Rabea until he disappeared off with the other 10k-ers, down towards the harbour. Once the 10k and fun runners turned off, I was left as the back marker in the half marathon for the long slog out of town and uphill for two miles north out of Campbeltown. A two mile hill isn’t what the virgin half marathoner relishes, but I wasn’t too daunted, as my aim was just to finish, rather than get a particular time. I know my average pace over 10k is around 10.5 minutes per mile, and I was therefore just trying to keep myself the right side of 11 minutes per mile throughout. I figured this was the right approach, as I ended up overtaking two of my fellow back-markers before we got to the top of that hill.

We then turned left and…continued uphill for another 2 miles before being confronted with two miles of cross-country and beach running. During the continued climb I knocked off another 2 or 3 competitors, and then on the return cross country leg found my er, legs, as it were, and started leaping, gazelle like, up and down the dunes and stoney tracks heading for the road. I was taking runners out by the handful (well, I think I probably overhauled another 3), and bagged another two once back on tarmac. By mile 7 I was clawing my way up the field and feeling pretty damned good. Having passed the half way mark and with the prospect of an imminent downhill section, I reckoned I’d have to be careful not to overtake everyone and win the race.

Sadly, once we turned off towards town, we were confronted with another uphill section which just seemed to defy gravity (or geography, anyway). And this went on for the 5 bloody miles. By the time I was approaching mile 12, although I had crawled past another two runners (one of whom was reduced to walking), I knew the game was up. My increase in pace over the cross-country and beach section had left me thinking that death would be a welcome release, and when I heard footsteps behind me I thought he’d heard me. But it transpired to be some woman who had obviously found her second wind. Should I let her pass? Could I stop her? Um, “yes” and “no”. I was still struggling on uphill when an ambulance passed me and a wee woman hung out of the window and said “are ye feelin’ a’right?” “Yeah – fine!” I said cheerily. What I wanted to say in answer this, patently ridiculous, question, I just didn’t have sufficient breath for. And when the downhill section finally arrived I wasn’t in any fit state to take advantage of it, although I did consider lying down and rolling to the finish.

The short downhill section soon peters out and as you arrive at the seafront the best that can be said about it is it’s flat (most seafronts are). The final mental hurdle was turning the corner at the bottom of Main Street and seeing the finish line still about a quarter of a mile away. Eurgh. As I staggered towards it, I knew I had reached my limit, and when I got over the line to be greeted by Naice and Rabea (and Ozzie, of course) all I wanted was a drink, a bar of chocolate and a seat.

All worthwhile, of course, as the sponsorship total has now reached £500. Thanks to all my sponsors!

Satellite, schmatellite.

I’m still chugging away at this running lark. Today my superduper Garmin running GPS insisted that I had run my fastest ever 3 miles, at an average pace of 9 minutes 17 seconds per mile. Given that my normal pace is nearer 11 minutes 30, and I had to stop to let Ozzie have a crap, I’m treating this with some suspicion (although I’m quietly hopeful I’ve broken through some weird barrier and will soon be doing sub 5-minute miles and winning lots of marathons).

Total mileage this week: 19

“I had to run to catch the train…”

Running partner Rabea and I had a good run from Crawfordsburn to Holywood recently. This was a total of 6 miles, but only after we’d run up and down the high street a bit to make it up from an intial total of around 5.6 miles. The time was 1hr 9 mins, which isn’t exactly stunning, but it’s in keeping with our (well my) normal rate of 11 mins+ per mile.

Although initially we thought the locals had come out to cheer us, it transpired we had arrived in the middle of some event or other (well it was the May bank holiday), and the roads were all closed. It was a bit odd dodging through the assembled hordes (several times, to make up the mileage), but I think we got away with it. Then after grabbing a drink and a bar of chocolate at the local Mace, we ran down to the station and got there just in time to catch the train back to Bangor. Timing, or what?

Following this success, we’ve agreed to try Bangor to Holywood on Monday 14th May, which we reckon is around 8.5 miles, making it the longest run we will have done to date. Exciting stuff, huh?

My wee feet are still knackered, and my right knee’s giving me jip, but the end is in sight – only 2 more weeks ‘til the Mull of Kintyre half marathon!

Fame at last

Thought I'd post the entire text of the BT newspaper story. It's also (currently - April 2007) available here, although unfortunately they haven't put the photos on the website. I'll get these if I can.


Fun run entrant number 78 is a dog called Ozzie

Monday, April 16, 2007
By Ashleigh Wallace

A Bangor man who participated in this weekend's Titanic Quarter 10k run in Belfast has revealed how he has been upstaged - by his pet dog Ozzie!

Clive Maguire (48) registered his four-year old mini schnauzer in yesterday's race and was even given a special dog-sized entrant's number which was tucked into Ozzie's collar.

The pair completed the course, which began and ended at the Odyssey, in an hour and nine minutes - with Ozzie over the finish line just ahead of his owner.

Clive said: "I did the Omagh fun run while my wife was away and I didn't know what to do with Ozzie so I decided to take him with me.

"When we crossed the finishing line nobody gave a stuff about me, all they were interested in was the dog. They even gave him my medal!

"I do the runs in aid of Clic Sargent which raises money for children with cancer so I thought that if people were interested in Ozzie, it might help raise more funds."

Before competing in yesterday's race, Clive took Ozzie to the vet where he was given a clean bill of health.
He has accompanied Clive on his training sessions along Bangor's coastal paths. To stave off doggie dehydration, Clive has a collapsible bowl which he fills up with water at the half way stage for his four-legged friend.

He added: "When I emailed the Northern Ireland Athletics Federation about entering Ozzie in the run, they gave me a small number for him, number 78, which I tucked into his collar."

"Our first race"

A lot has happened since the last post.

I waited like mad for the ribs to heal and was able to re-start the training towards the end of March, and before we knew where we were, we were at the Omagh starting line on a gloriously sunny Saturday. And since Ozzie (pictured) had done some training with me, I figured I'd take him too.

Well the Omagh Fun Run - all 4 miles of it - was great. Ozzie behaved himself tolerably well, Rabea charged on ahead and finished in a perfectly respectable 42 minutes, and Ozzie and I crossed the line in just over 44 minutes.

Of course at the finish line no-one was much interested in me, and insisted on giving my medal to Ozzie - bloody cheek. Here we are after the event, with Ozzie proudly displaying his first medal.

We gave ourselves a few days off after this, before continuing the training. Unfortunately then Rabea injured himself (being most indignant that in spite of the pain, it was diagnosed as "muscle spasm" - not even a decent-sounding, latin-named injury) and was unable to train for two weeks. In the meantime Ozzie and I got in as much as we could, culminating in a run from Bangor to Donaghadee, which went rather well I thought.

Then on 15th April, came the Titanic Quarter 10k run in Belfast. Rabea was still not able to run, so Ozzie and I girded our loins and went alone. A couple of days before the event, the organisers had agreed to enter Ozzie as an independent runner with his own number, even providing him with a doggie-sized number card! Not only that but the Belfast Telegraph decided to do a little write-up on us, and Ozzie had a one hour photo shoot the day before the race.

The day of the 10k arrived and the sun was splitting the heavens. Temperatures were pretty high for April at around 18 degrees or so, and we set off at 2:00pm. Bloody Hell - it was horrendous. I knew by the time we got to the 2k mark that it was going to be a struggle, but it just got worse and worse. I guess it was mostly the heat that made it so hard, but I think the course didn't help. It was a 2-loop route - out along the Sydenham Road and back to the starting point (6k), and then out along another road and back again for the remaining 4k. I think I'd prefer a circuit any day - much more interesting and a lot less daunting. Ozzie was also a bit of a liability, partly because of having to stop for a poo or a piss, but also because I was genuinely concerned that he was over-heating, so we stopped fairly frequently (6 times) so he could have some water.

Anyway, by the time we got to the last kilometre, the wind had picked up and the sun had got a bit hazier. This had a somewhat miraculous effect on Ozzie - one minute he was lagging behind, looking like he would keel over at any moment from heatstroke; next minute he was dragging me along behind him like a limp rag. I can only assume the wind must have dramatically improved his ability to perspire (through nose and mouth), and resulted in a rapid recovery. Whatever the reason, we stormed across the line in just over 69 minutes.

Not last, but not far off it. No matter - everyone was very pleased for us, and our able supporters Naice and Rabea gave us a good welcome.

The article appeared in the paper as promised on Monday 16th, with a really nice write up and a couple of excellent photos. We also got a couple for ourselves (below). All in all, a success, but a damned uncomfortable one - I can only hope conditions for the half-marathon include a nice cold wind...!

I was doing so well...

...I was too! The last decent run Rabea and I did was 4.3 miles around Bangor on March 2nd, atking us about 51 minutes, which isn't totally embarassing. But then I decided that I wanted to do a Krav Maga course in Dublin (see here, if you're interested in what it is), so off I went.

The first day was great. I even went for a run at lunchtime to warm myself up for the afternoon's activities. The second day was just 6 or 7 hours of knocking the crap out of eachother (which I thoroughly enjoyed, I must say), and then I went back to Belfast on the train. Apart from a slightly black eye, a cut to the forehead and some ancillary bruising, I thought I'd got away with it OK. But then come the middle of the week, after the pain of the bruising and muscle use had diminished, a pain in my ribs just kept getting worse and worse. OK, so you've guessed - a broken rib. Not only that, but my plantar fibromatosis was acting up rightly too.

Anyway, I had my first session with the physiotherapist on 12th March and she told me that my left foot was badly inflamed, so no more running at least until my next session. I agreed to this, even though it would mean I would be missing my running from 5th March - 21st March (2.5 weeks - eek!) I went home after this and diligently rested and iced as instructed. Then on Saturday 17th I decided (she had agreed this was OK) to have a go on the cross-trainer. Ouch - my feet have been sore ever since (2 days). However the pain from the ribs is much more bearable now, and I suppose the plantar fibromatosis itself isn't significantly worse.

So, in short, I've been doing naff all training since 5th March. It's now 19th March and we have our first run (Omagh 4 miles) on 31st March. And now my feet are sore from 30 minutes on a cross trainer - what the Hell use is that?? What am I going to do..?

MOK Run

I have conned my mate Rabea into joining me in a half-marathon on 27th May. Not just any old half marathon of course - this is the Mull of Kintyre half marathon. Last year someone voted it the most picturesque run in the UK, so I thought it would be better than pounding through the streets of some smelly old city (I've often wondered about the wisdom of training your lungs so that they can more efficiently collect all the carbon monoxide and other crap from running, say, the London Marathon. I mean, have you seen what your snot looks like after a day spent in the "big smoke"?

So we'll be running our first (possibly last) proper race across the sands of Kintyre and around the leafy byways of Campbeltown. Makes sense to me, although getting there from Ireland is a bit of an odyssey.

Meantime, the training is going OK. We're up to running 7 minutes non-stop now, and a total of 23 minutes running altogether. We've found a pretty good venue too - the Lagan Valley towpath, which runs from Belfast to Lisburn. So far we've explored as far as Shaw's Bridge (about 5 miles there and back), but I can see us doing the 12 miles to Lisburn yet (although I'm not running back again!)

The knees are holding up OK, but the left foot is getting worse (it's the plantar fibromatosis thing). Anyway, I'm interspersing cycling with running (no impact, and it helps the knees), and will just have to make do with this for the moment.

Onwards and upwards.

The Supreme Athlete awakes

3 years ago, having stopped smoking for several days, and approaching the age of 45, and being generally a lazy sonofabitch, I decided I must do a marathon. Being also an impatient and impetuous old so-and-so, I decided I must do it immediately. Two wrecked knees later, I stopped running and started smoking again.

Now it's different. Now it's personal: it's me or these knees. So I've stopped smoking again, bought a book on how to run (!?), strapped on two knee supports, and I'm off again!

This blog will chart the progress from my current state (one slightly sore right knee, 3 months of walk-running with a maximum constant run time of 25 minutes, and a newly serviced bicycle) to half-marathon fitness in May 2007 (well, we'll have to see about that I suppose).

One slightly problematic development is the, er, development, of a disease called Plantar Fibromatosis in my left foot. But it could be worse, and I'm damned if it's going to get in my way. In fact it's now doubly personal, I suppose - it's now me or these-knees-and-the-plantar-fibromatosis.

So we'll see!