Scenes from a long run #3

Plenty of water around today. On my favourite nine mile route the road crosses many little streams and rivers. At this time of year they gush off the hills with musical enthusiasm.

The water is in such a hurry to get to lower ground.

How ancient is this stone bridge I wonder? This is a drovers' route and I imagine they needed this little bridge to cross this stream before the road was built.

Scenes from a long run day #2

Today's route is my absolute favourite - over the cattle grid and along the feet of the Preselis. The pictures are taken with my mobile phone, so excuse the quality. Today's conditions were grey and windy but there was good visibility right along the hill range.

Carn Bica with a lone walker (one third down on the right. I could see him/her anyway!)

No sheep for company today. I've chased hundreds along here in the past. They always run on ahead assuming I'm rounding them up.

On the main road, once I've run through a corner of Mynachlogddu. These signs are sprouting at the end of farm lanes. I need one too. The scrap dealers call and ask for "the boss" meaning a man. They ask for scrap while surveying your farmyard with greedy eyes. If you're not in they help themselves if they think they can get away with it. Parasites.

The humiliation of the school PE lesson

There's an interesting article on the BBC website today by Dr Andrew Franklin-Miller about the 'Missed Olympic opportunity' to get children exercising.

Dr Franklin-Miller, an expert in sport and exercise medicine says: "Teachers and parents need support with training and a curriculum that builds on the lessons learnt in athlete development, and sport talent identification, not to build potential superstars but to change a lifestyle."

Children are fat and don't exercise enough, we are constantly told, and the finger of blame is variously pointed at parents, schools, junk food manufacturers, the government and computer games.

I'm not sure who is to blame (probably all of the above and more) but I agree with Dr Franklin-Miller that PE is not properly taught at schools. The focus seems to be on achievement of certain skills, not how to be fit. Where are the lessons, at the beginning of term, that suss out who is fit enough to run a cross country race and who needs a bit of training first? Just telling a class of kids to run a mile long cross country course serves only to establish who is already fit and put right off those who are not. Everyone is different - some can sprint, others better at endurance. (Just because a girl is tall doesn't mean she can throw a shot putt or discus Mrs Richards, she might prefer - and be better at - running.)

I would hope PE has changed since I was at school. I remember being terrified of my first cross country run. There had been talk about people fainting and coughing up blood (you know how dramatic kids can be!) There was no training in how to do it nor any preparation like running shorter bits first. There seemed to be the basic assumption that children were fit and able to do it and had been born with the knowledge of how to do it. No wonder so many people grow up hating running, particularly of the cross country variety. (Although I loved cross country running there was no way I would have admitted it at school. I wasn't considered a 'runner' then and I wouldn't have put myself forward for the school team. I just have the satisfaction of knowing that the last time I ran cross country at school I came back first.)

Perhaps schools should take a look at the resurgence of running among women in their 40s and older. This has been encouraged by the Race for Life series, non-competitive 5k runs raising money for Cancer Research. I and so many other women like me started off that way. We read Running made easy by Susie Whalley and Lisa Jackson and followed their six week plan to go from walking to running for 20 minutes. (This is probably the most inspirational book I had read - the fact I have now run three half marathons is testament to its efficacy!) It breaks training down into achievable bite-sized chunks, makes it fun and tops it with a liberal sprinkling of motivation and inspiration. At the end (presuming you do the 5k Race for Life) you get a goodie bag and a medal. It's fun, it's addictive and its contagious.

Back to school days though and the weekly popularity contest of netball or hockey team selection (chosen in order from prettiest to fattest and lamest) and the humiliation of the changing rooms and showers. Why was it vital for a fully clothed female teacher to stand in front of the showers and take a register of who was showering and who was not? If you couldn't shower you had to shout across the changing rooms that you had your period. That was in addition to the naked scrutiny of your peers. Who wants to be unclothed in front of bitches and bullies? You had to have a thick skin and a lot of body confidence to survive that unscathed.

I look at my own children and wonder if they are to be put off sport at school as I was. Not yet, but then they are at primary school in Wales where sport is the second religion. I suspect the rot might set in at of secondary school so I plan to teach them what I have learned about being fit first. They are both rather envious of my running medals and have ambitions to get their own. That, funnily enough, has been the plan all along.

Long run day

I always have my mobile phone with me on my runs and I thought I'd share some of the things I see as I'm plodding around the roads.

Today's run was just six and a half miles. This is an easy week in my Smartcoach running plan designed, I think, to give tired muscles a rest.

I took these at the top of the long straight upward slope, past Elizabeth Haines' gallery, before I turned right to continue my clockwise circuit past the forestry. There's nothing but sheep and fields between this road and the top of the Preselis and it has lovely sweeping views of the hills on a clear day. Today though, the hills had stayed in bed.

Who's pinched Foel Cwmcerwyn then?

I'm sure the road must have gone straight on here in days gone by (before tarmac). My mobile isn't so good at showing it but this gate has a twin along a pretty much straight green lane. It's a footpath and theoretically goes up on to the hill but I've never walked it.

Cardiff Half Marathon

Running hurts. Have I mentioned that before? Sometimes I can't think why I do it but, like any true addict, I can't stop. Some days you feel you could run everywhere at high speed. Why walk? It's so slow! Other days running feels impossible. Too much effort! Too painful! When you get out of bed and pull on your trainers you never know what sort of a day it is. Yesterday was one of those 'running is hard' days which was a shame as it was also Cardiff Half Marathon.

The Doctor wasn't in.

My running legs didn't turn up for this year's race. At some points I felt I was running on the spot as people streamed past me. At mile seven, plodding along a four mile section of scorching dual carriageway, I was going so slowly I was able to dig out my phone and send Brian a text saying "too hot!". What I actually wanted to text was "HELP!!!!!!" or "call me a taxi!"

But I'm no quitter so I abandoned my plans for a PB of around two hours and 15 minutes and aimed just to complete. I had a low moment when the 2:15 pacer just ran away leaving me running on the spot (at least that's what it felt like!) but then Brian, H9 and R7 were there on the side cheering and yelling "only 500 metres to go!" and I managed to resist asking for a piggy back to the finish line.

My time was two hours, 25 minutes and ten seconds. It's easy to lose ten minutes on a half marathon looking at the view, eating jelly babies, drinking water and stepping over those who had collapsed, fainted, vomited or pulled something (so many this year). It wasn't my fastest ever time, but not my slowest either and I'll be back next year to have another go at the 2:15 mark.

Mrs Relievedtohavefinished wearing medal and hideously unflattering huge t-shirt.

Afterwards I was virtually immobile, tearful and in quite a bit of pain. Running half marathons HURTS! Next year (yes, of course I'm doing it again next year) I plan to start my training earlier (you see I really wasn't going to do it this year so I'd got a bit lazy in my running). Having discovered what to do to avoid back pain I find I now need to find what to do to avoid ankle pain.

I ran this year to also raise money for Birmingham Hospice who cared for Ann (who was like an aunt, but was my cousin-in-law) until her death in August. Ann was one of life's truly lovely people, always there at family weddings and christenings with a big hat and even bigger smile. It was a privilege and and honour to run in the hospice's running vest in memory of Ann. As a member of her wider family there was little we could do when she was so ill but raising money for the hospice was something I could do.

There's still time to sponsor me so anyone who would still like to do so can click the button on the right hand side of this page. Enormous thanks to everyone who has sponsored me so far and helped towards my total of £175 - but I have had other monies pledged so I expect to reach £200. THANK YOU!

New shoes

My knees always let me know when it is time for a new pair of running shoes. I also track how many miles I do in each pair and I know that as they approach the 500 mile mark, they are nearing the end of their days.

Old shoes; new shoes

The poor old things at the back have done 464.8 miles now and carried me to a PB at Cardiff Half Marathon last year. They're supremely comfortable - admittedly a bit smelly now and tread bare - and they've taken my feet through mud, snow, ice, rain and flood.

Together we have seen the seasons change four times, we've chased a baby bunny, watched somersaulting red kites, soaring buzzards and sly foxes. We've seen the sun rise and set. We've seen rainbows. We've avoided stepping on toads and slugs, we've seen little voles scuttle out of the way and we've heard the first cuckoo together.

We've dodged cars and lorries, jumped puddles, skidded on gravel and accidentally squelched into a smelly ditch. We've trodden in cow and horse poo, tripped over rocks and stepped carefully over cattle grids. We've jogged slowly, run flat out and charged along, high on endorphins feeling like a train.

All that at a cost of 13p per mile.

Now it's time to let them go. A new pair of ASICS Cumulus have arrived, this time in a sprightly turquoise. I've already been out for a four mile run in them and boy, these guys are fast.

More adventures await.

I'm not Usain Bolt!

Brian upholding the family pride at school sports day.

I'm over at Ready for Ten today talking about the parents' races at school sports day. I know I blog occasionally about running, but it's not sprinting. I'm not Usain Bolt or any relation to Linford Christie (despite the surname). You'll note the picture is of the family sprinter (who has medals to prove it) not me (who has medals to prove I can run 10ks and half marathons, just not terribly quickly). Please pop over to Ready for Ten and come and say hello.

Thoughts on a nine mile run

Mile one: Blimey it's icy. Perhaps I'll just do the 6.5 mile route today. Whoops! Didn't see that bit of ice. Maybe only four miles, possibly 2.5, just to be safe. Body check: I'm quite tired actually and my back hurts. Why does the first mile always feel like torture? Consider abandoning running and taking up tiddlywinks.

Mile two: Sun's out. What a lovely day. Cold but sunny. Road ahead sparkles with frost. Pretty but lethal. Body check: Core muscles? Feeling strong. Back pain? Insignificant. Feet? What feet? Fingers? Toasty warm in new Ronhill mittens.

Mile three: Not icy here. Too much sun. God I'm boiling. I need to unzip my top and roll up my sleeves. Body check: Some SPD pain. Hmmm. Core? Okay. Legs, feet, hands? Okay but a bit hot. Ears toasty warm in new ears warmer. Reckon steam is rising from the top of my head.

Mile four: What a lovely straight bit of road. Bit steep at the end by the T-junction but I'll let it off. Decision time. Turn left and do 6.5 miles and home for a coffee and a passion fruit curd marbled muffin or turn right for a nine mile run followed by coffee, muffin AND pudding? Yay! Pudding! Body check: Tummy is looking forward to muffin AND pudding.

Best bit of this run.

Mile five: Wheeeeeee! Endorphins. Going to sell the car and run EVERYWHERE. It's so easy. Hello grumpy woman and lovely Bernese Mountain dog. Hello cattle grid. Oops you look slippery today. I'll use the gate. Hello bearded man without dog. Body check: Choo choo choo, I'm a train.

Bedd Arthur

Mile six: The hills look lovely in the sun. Strangely deserted without the sheep. Too cold for them over the winter. Nice flat bit of road this. There's Mynachlogddu in the distance. Body check: SPD pain. Memo to self: Get Brian to stand on pelvis when I get home. Have a sweet? Don't mind if I do. Choo choo choo.

Mynachlogddu in the distance.

Mile seven: Hello Preseli bluestones. Hello Waldo memorial. Hello second slippery cattle grid. Hello smiling lady runner being pulled along by excitable collie. Memo to self: Get excitable collie to pull self along on run. Smile and wave. Long joyous downhill stretch. Goes on forever. Wheeee. Body check: Running out of the feel-good stuff. Legs starting to feel tired.

Pretty river at the bottom of the big hill.

Mile eight: What goes down must go back up again. Bugger this hill is steep. And relentless. And covered in black ice. Keep slipping. Must stop thinking how hard it is. Why are the ups always uppier and steeper and longer than the downs? Come up behind woman with bounding spaniel. Fortunately she turns round and sees me before I have the chance to scare her to death. Overtake them easily. Spaniel bounds along with me for a few strides. Body check: Legs aching. Glutes aching. Calves aching. SPD aching. Pain, pain, pain. Which bloody idiot thought a nine mile run was a good idea?

Steep hill getting steeper on and on...

Mile nine: Still going uphill. When I get back I'm going to fill the bath with coffee and eat ALL the muffins. Body check: Legs seem to be made of wood joined together with loose string. Core? Wibbly wobbly jelly. Find shoulders tensed up around ears. Lower shoulders, lift knees. Immediately make faster progress but conscious I'm running like Spotty Dog from The Woodentops. Conscious I'm old enough to remember The Woodentops. On the plus side I can see Home where the muffins are. Remember I must get back before husband and kids eat all the muffins and speed up a bit.

Spotty Dog

Home: Drink litres of water. Fall gratefully into bucket-sized mug of coffee. Eat two muffins (which are the most delicious things in the world). Legs feel like fizzy lemonade. Climb into lovely warm shower. Ahhhhhh. Feel smug for the rest of the day.

Things I have learned about running

A few things I have learned about running:

• Like Muttley you will be motivated by the promise of medals.
• Running does not make you thin. Actually it might make you thin, it does not make me thin. That's because I am Mrs Greedyguts. It has made me drop two dress sizes but far I'm from Paula Radcliffe proportions (except in height). I'd rather be a slightly - ahem - well covered runner and eat cake.
• The smaller the dog, the more it wants to bite you. The wraith that nipped you on the soft part of the back of the knee and then disappeared was a collie. The fiend hanging from your arse by its canines is a Jack Russell terrier. Labradors will bounce on you in the manner of the Dambusters but that's okay, they are "just playing".
• If you run in torrential rain and gale force wind well meaning people will try to rescue you. They will stop their cars, look concerned, offer you a lift and ask "ask you sure" when you decline. They will then watch horrified from their cosy dry cars while you take off your waterproof jacket because you are too hot.
• One day you will set off on a nine mile run in the full knowledge that you would rather stay at home sticking pins in your eyes. After mile seven you will suddenly feel like a running machine, nay a gazelle, and you will fling yourself along wondering why the whole world doesn't run, like, everywhere man. You will feel peace and goodwill to all men (and women) and even smile at dogs.
• The next run you do will be hell and you will consider throwing your trainers in the dustbin and taking up the sport of tiddlywinks.
• Never breathe in as you are passed by a diesel car or a smoker or (worst of all) a smoker driving a diesel car.
• In the most beautiful, remote and isolated point of your run you will find a used condom.
• Horses will behave as if you are making towards them down the road with the sole intention of causing their early death. If you run up silently behind them they will run away and their riders will hate you. Riders who have never encountered you running before will think they can out trot you. They are wrong. You will catch them up and piss them off.
• Those same horses will snore quietly in their fields without batting an eyelid as you run past them. With no rider there's no point in making the effort to act scared.
• When the sun is out it's too hot to run. Snow and ice is impossible to run in. Rain is a pain because you get wet both inside and out in a waterproof jacket. On two days of the year conditions will be perfect. Those are the days on which you will have dental appointments.
• You will see masses of wildlife. Most of it squashed flat on the road.
• Running is the answer to most of life's problems unless your problem is a broken leg and then it isn't.

Running smells...

Running smells unpleasant sometimes. One hill I run up is regularly visited by a dog for purposes of defecation. These poos (and the dog must be HUGE because its turds are monstrous) are lined up the road like a hideous canine olfactory alternative to cats eyes. What I really need is a heavy downpour or a road sweeper. We get the former regularly, but the latter only about once a year and I'm pathetically grateful when it does come.

The other thing I notice as I'm bounding along like a gazelle (really?) is the bubble of cigarette smoke when cars pass containing smokers, and the funny stale fridge smell when the air conditioning is on. At the moment the roads smell of hot tarmac and horse dung, which isn't so very bad, and freshly mown grass mingled with diesel, because everyone is furiously making silage.

I have been traumatised this week by rats. We have hundreds again, partly because the resident population of feral cats cleared all the rats and then moved on to solve someone else's problem. Now the rats are back and all our movements in the garden are accompanied by sinister rustlings in the hedges. I see them pitter pattering from the chicken coop to the bird feeders and I was out quietly weeding the other day and looked up to see this lot:

So Granny in the Annexe ordered three new farm cats from the local cat rescue centre. They arrived on Wedneday, three identical black neutered toms. They have to live in large cages for a fortnight and all we see of them at the moment are belligerent yellow staring eyes. They'll get used to us, we are told.

More rat trauma occurred today while I was in the polytunnel pottering. Just outside the door, lying on a pallet is the last bag of Fertile Fibre potting compost. As I was tying in the cucumbers I watched, idly, as the bag moved. Then I realised the bag had a tail.

Being a country girl, I immediately whacked the bag and its wriggling contents with the nearest thing I had to hand, which happened to be a border fork. Then I came over a little squeamish and fetched Brian. He surveyed the situation and fetched The Dog. Now The Dog (aka Mido) is half Labrador, half terrier. Unfortunately he has a Labrador's instinct for killing rats (i.e. Hey! Let's play!) and a terrier's instinct for being a gun dog (Ooh look! Rabbit hole! Dig! Disappear!) He thought the idea of a rat in a bag was a jolly wheeze and then bounded off to bark at the hens.

Brian whacked the compost bag with the handle of a mattock and left it to one side, presumably to allow the rat, should it merely have a headache, rather than something more terminal, to come to and stagger home. (Now can you see why I decided to go back to work?!)

Meanwhile, on a happier note, a whole nest of little wrens fledged. Sweet.

It's raining again...

It is raining a bit. Okay, it's raining a lot, pouring in fact and, like any normal person I'm out in it getting thoroughly wet. Except I'm not like any 'normal' person at all. All the 'normal' people, like the vicar, for example, are in their cars, nice and warm and dry.

I'm out because I'm running. I hear a car approaching from behind, so I pull in to the side and wait for it to pass. But it doesn't, it stops, the driver's window descends and the (very lovely) vicar ask sweetly: "Do you want to be out in this? Because, if you don't it'd be no trouble to run you home..."

"No really, I'm fine, I like it," I say.

The vicar looks astonished. "Are you sure? It's no trouble, really."

"No, it's really kind of you but..." I say from the depths of my water resistant running jacket which I am thinking of taking off because I'm too hot.

"You are sure? Really?" She's long given up on trying to save my soul, but she's not ready yet to give up on saving my body. Does she really want a soaking wet, slightly muddy, sweaty runner in her lovely warm, dry, pristine car? I might splash the embroidered vicarly robes she's wearing (she's in the full Dibley works and fabulous they are too.) It seems she does. "It's really no trouble," she repeats, hopefully.

"No I'm fine, honestly," I laugh, as if to prove the point. The vicar smiles back at such madness, gives up and drives away.

I take off my jacket and run on. Big droplets of water hit my arms, sizzle and steam off. I run on, in my own, slow, splashy ploddy way for another hour or so and arrive home, six and a half miles later, convinced I'm dry, but actually soaking wet (that's technical fabrics for you - they wick, they're great.)

It's happened before. We were due a farm inspection, Tir Gofal or something. Granny in the annexe was dealing with it (paperwork is G in the A's department, heavy work is Brian's department, I'm somewhere in the middle with the children.)

There's a severe weather warning. Really heavy rain, especially in the Welsh hills, says the weather person. Some localised flooding. Just perfect for a run (actually she didn't say that bit). I splash down the road towards the hills, water sheeting around me. The road, sloping towards me, is running with flood water. The water is above the height of my ankles, at another point it is calf-deep. I approach the T-junction. A car turns towards me, stops, the driver looks at the state of the road and thinks better of it. It's the Welsh Office farm inspector.

"I've just seen your daughter," she tells G in the A in a 'she's completely mad' voice.

"Yes," says G in the A, in an 'I know she is' voice.

But oh, there's something magical about running in the rain. The air is moist and cool and easy to breathe. You don't get so hot or so sweaty-salty. Everywhere is washed and shiny. There's something magnificent about being out in the elements. The hills look fabulous, peeking out from under heavy clouds, all brooding and dark.

Coming in to get warm and dry is lovely too. You don't get that lovely snuggly warmed up feeling when it's hot and dry and sunny. That's when you can't get cool again, when you're hot, sticky, burned and uncomfortable. Sunshine makes you parched and gritty.

I know I've moaned about it raining in the past. I know I moaned all last summer that it's less fun when it's raining, but only when I'm not running. When I'm running it can rain all it likes.