Frankfurt 2014 – Dam-Busted (Part 1)

I’ve purposely not rushed to write this report. Marathons often take a lot out of you, more than the physical strain that covering 26.2 miles in one go places on the body. Ever since the race, my mind has been a swirling mess of thoughts and emotions which I’ve found hard to put into words. But here we go.

The best laid plans can often go completely breasts-aloft. Earlier in the year I’d had it all worked out. Training for Thunder Run will stand me in good stead for 12 twelve weeks of concerted training before Frankfurt. Having found a new home we wanted to move to back in January, we were due to move in June/July. This was also crucially away from Frankfurt prep, nothing was going to distract me.

Fast forward to the end of July. The training for Thunder Run had been a bit punishing. The double sessions at the weekends, whilst valuable, had taken their toll. The Thunder Run event itself was also a bit of a bruiser with the horrific temperatures and moments of team distress. Also, we had no signs of moving house, with obstacles and delays galore. Still, I was ready to start training.

It has to be said, I had a great August. I was consistently running 55 miles+ every week and was ailing the sessions. I had some great company on my long Sunday runs and things were looking good.

This run continued into September, buoyed by my success at Lake Vyrnwy Half Marathon. There were a few events coming up on the horizon, but I was ready to take them in my stride.

The amazing weekend events in London at the beginning of October have been documented already on the blog. What hasn’t been yet is my trip to St Mary’s University for a little Physiological Testing (I promise I’ll write that up soon).

The one down side to all that was that I really felt like I missed an important weekend’s run. Nick was cool about it all and adjusted my training plan accordingly, but there was a nagging voice in my brain berating me for going ‘off-piste’ so close to race day. About that time it also became clear that the house move was imminent and a lot of time was being taken up with sorting stuff for that. Also, news came through of an incoming reorganisation at work, nothing like a restructure to relax the mind…

I was trying to train as much as possible, but some runs were suffering. It culminated in a Wednesday session and I felt my left calf go. I knew it was a little tear an only rest was going to cure it. This was a couple of days before I was do to do the longest and most important run, the 35Km Shit on a Stick. I had to put it off and ended up trying to do it midweek (after a full day in work, in the pissing rain). Suffice to say it was possibly the worst run of my life. Code brown after 6 miles, I had to dive home, got out again and fucked up my Garmin. Twice. In the end, after 17 miserable miles I gave in and rang Steve from a phonebox to come and get me. I’d never done that before and it bit hard, but everything kind of came to a head and I realised I just couldn’t do everything at once.

Just to top it all off, I then went and had a crash with a bike. It was an ordinary Monday recovery run, two weeks before race day and was almost game over. No one was seriously hurt and I limped a mile home, nursing my right leg and got to my Physio as soon as possible. I’d got away with a ‘dead leg’ with a lot of pain and some mighty brusing. The Physio said that it was only my quads that stopped me having a broken femur (thank you Rowing). Another few days off didn’t do anything for my rock bottom confidence. In the week before the race I manage to get out a couple of times with some residual pain on my neck and back (maybe whiplash?).

We ended up moving house on the 17^th, one week before the race.  But that was lovely, hard work but lovely . Soon it was time to travel to Frankfurt.

As I’ve said many times before, I love Germany and I love Frankfurt. I’d forgotten how cool it is being in a city during marathon weekend. The buzz is electric. We busied ourselves with race preparations and sorted out things like race number collection.  I had a lovely last run along the river on the Saturday morning. It was just me and the Kenyans *gulp*.

We tried not to spend too long at the expo, but managed to catch up with Nick and Tom there. After resting in the hotel in the afternoon, I headed over to Nick’s hotel of a bit of a pre-race briefing. If you’ve not had one of these you are missing a treat and I was grateful for it. I’d told him that given the events of the previous few weeks I wasn’t here for heroics, just keep it steady as possible. A great Italian meal in the evening and it was time to get some rest before the race. 

I didn’t sleep too badly, but felt fidgety on Sunday morning. We headed over to the start and it was soon time to go. I had decided to stick with the 3:14 pacers for as long as possible and see what happened. This was slower than I’d been running in training, which I thought was probably a good thing. Of course the pacers were German, and I was too shy to say hello, but I kept close to them.

The race started and off we went, the two 3:14 pacers went off like bullets, one was slightly in front of the other and I decided to stick with the second one. The first few Kilometeres went by and to be honest the pace felt slightly feverish. I was manual checking off the Kms on my Garmin. Now I know that 3:15 pace is 4:37/Km. By my reckoning we were going at more like 4:30/km. I tried not too think about it too much at the time, but post-race it has annoyed me somewhat. Going round the inner city streets, it felt quite hot. I reasoned that was because the buildings were close and high. There were quite a few water and sponge stations so I tried to keep cool as best I could.

As we headed out of the city, the race fell into something of a pattern. Our pacer was running the race on the left hand side of the course, however most of the water stations were on the right. Therefore, in order to get water (in paper cups at Frankfurt) you had to cross the width of the course, pick up the refreshment and then try and get back into position. I would find myself 100-150m down on the pace group after every station and would have to work slightly harder to get back with them. I was conscious that it is generally easier to run in a group than alone so was keen to get back into position.

I was kind of forced to take a tactical decision just after the 20Km mark. My race number started coming off and I didn’t want to be disqualified so I had to stop and readjust. I also took on some water that was there and got going again. I was probably about 300m behind the yellow balloon of the pacer at this point. Looking at the starts after the race, I crossed the halfway point still within 3:15 pacing. With a stop. That’s how much the pacers were overclocking it,

I carried on, now alone in my thoughts…

Cookbooks

I must admit to a major internet transgression. I’ve totally lifted the basis for this article from someone else. The Internet Food Supremo that is Adam Roberts – The Amauter Gourmet posted his responses to these questions on his website

I’ve wanted to write about my cookbooks for years but didn’t know where to start. I hope you find something of interest below. Cookbooks are a wonderful thing, holder of memories, stories, laughter, love and tears. They tell our story through food. Here are some of my thoughts.

When did you start collecting cookbooks?

If you watched a film of my childhood, a large amount of screen time would be taken up with me pouring over the cookbooks owned by my Nan. My family have always communicated through food. There were meals of welcome, meals of comfort and meals of sorry. There still are. We’re all a bit obsessed with food.

The cooking bug didn’t hit me hard until after I’d moved into my first flatshare. I had a copy of a little Nigel Slater paperback (which I saved from a bonfire) and cooked the Sauages with Lentils. It was almost a religious moment. The quality of the ingredients, the time taken to prepare it was like an orchestra playing in my head. I was hooked. I bought a few more Nigel Slater cookbooks and carried on cooking.

My first cookbook

With the passing of my grandmother and my aunt (equally as epicurious as I) I found myself with some hallowed books I’d treasured for years. Then I just kept buying…Cookbooks are like storybooks, they put us in a particular time and place and with particular people.

I love quirky ones. I’ve got cookbooks purely for Jelly, Mince or Scones. About 500 in total, and I love them all.

What lesser-known cookbooks do you think deserve more love?


There is a bit too much reliance on the TV Chefs and cooks. The prevalence of ‘lifestyle porn’ photography is a real turn off. Turn to one of Nigella’s first books – “How to Eat” – No pictures and absolutely wonderful writing.
The traditional (dare I say old-fashioned) food writers tend to produce much better books (notable exception being Val Warner for his sheer genuine love of food.). “The Vicar’s Wife Cook Book” by Eliza Benyon is a real underrated gem, the result of winning a  competition for Waitrose. The writing is so warm, it leaps off the page. The books of Alice Hart. Tamasin Day-Lewis, Xanthe Clay, Diana Henry are also all recommended.

 

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What cookbook would you recommend for beginner cooks?


For baking there is one choice – Mary Berry’s Ultimate Cake Book. It’s All-in-one-methods all the way. No mucking about.

The first general-use cookbook I found really useful was Tom Norrington-Davies’ Cupboard Love – a great book for twenty-something folks living away from home for the first time. Gives you a great repertoire of simple dishes to cook.

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What cookbook do you turn to for inspiration?


I love the food of the Eastern Med/Middle East, so Yotam Ottolenghi is a big favourite of mine. Also Arto Der Haroutunian, and Sally Butcher have produced some brilliant books in this area.

I also tend to gravitate towards the calendar-year based books, such as Nigel Slater’s Kitchen Diaries or Elizabeth Luard’s Year in a Welsh Farmhouse”. But normally I’m looking through for recipes to match what I’ve got in the fridge and cupboards. For veg it’s Jane Grigson’s Vegetable Bible or The Riverford Farm Cook Book.

What cookbook really taught you something new?


I’ve yet to find a cookbook that hasn’t taught me at least one thing I had not known. Having such a collection now, I tend to stay away from general cookbooks now. You can only have so many recipes of something like Key Lime Pie.

What's your favourite cookbook overall?


It’s like asking to choose between children! Erm, probably my Nan’s 1960s slightly battered copy of Mrs Beeton’s All Colour Cookery Book as I’ve grown up with it in all its lurid flare. If the house caught fire as a result of some disastrous culinary experiment, that’s the one I’d save.

I’d be loathe to leave Delia Smith’s Christmas as well.

What newer cookbooks impressed you recently?


I’ve been really impressed by the cookbooks that have been released by former contestants of the Great British Bake Off. John Whaite Bakes is a great book, cooking by mood, something I think we all do. I also love the fact he wanted to call it The Moody Baker, he’s such a sweetie. 

But the ultimate has to be Mary-Anne Boermans’ Great British Bakes. The scholarly, accessible text had me literally running to the kitchen. Combining my love of history and baking, it reads and cooks like a dream. You can tell this is a proper cook’s book. She even lists the pans she has used. I love that. She’s great on twitter (@Wotchers) as well. Every cook should have this book.

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What older cookbooks do you love?


I’m partial to the cooking of Britain in the years between the two World Wars. The pre-Elizabeth David food of this country in that time was interesting, frugal and not completely obliterated by the fads of the continent. Wonderful pies and jellys, tarts and joints. The books of Mrs Hilda C.F. Leyel are the best examples of this – “Picnics for Motorists” and “Cold Savoury Meals”. I love the fact that the first line in a pie recipe is “Make a Pastry” – That’s it and it moves onto the filling. Everyone at that time knew how to!

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I hope you’ve found this at least a little bit interesting. I hope you feel an urge to pick up a cookbook and allow it to transport you to another place, a table laden with tasty treats. I’ll be there pouring the gin and tonics

A Family Affair

Family is a wonderful thing. No matter how strong the winds of life toss you about, they provide a safe haven and a reassurance that things are going to be okay.

As we get older, we find that families come in all sorts of guises. Of course, there are our biological families.  A sure sign of growing up is the point where we stop wishing that we found out we were adopted and come to accept the quirks and foibles that make up our own families. Allied with this is the family one gains when in a relationship. It’s a lovely thing to have a whole ‘new’ group of people to develop relationships with. To find out their hope, dreams and fears.

Historically, LGBT folk will often count their gay family as a separate entity in itself. This was often borne of a need/desire to stick together in the face of community or family-imposed isolation. I don’t see my own gay family nearly as much as I’d like. When I returned from Ghana in 2004, they were the ones that stopped me from going totally insane and I own them much.

Of course, mention must be made of our sports family .Participation in sports, especially team sports such as rowing, will mean that you spend an inordinate amount of time with your fellow teammates. The trial and tribulations of life will be spayed out for all to see and you juggle intense training, work, and home life – never an easy task. Your team mates will no doubt see you at your best and possibly worst in the course of time. There are often very few secrets that kept from those around you. 

The reason for this post is I’ve had a bit of a shock family-wise. The Hawkins family has dwindled somewhat in recent years. At my mother’s wedding a few years ago, a comment was made that I was the last Hawkins. I must admit it left me feeling a bit glum. Well, through the magic of Facebook, I’ve found myself connected with members of my wider family of cousins-through-grandparents and other relations. Last week we (Steve, myself, my mum and her husband) found ourselves just north of London at a family party. I’d been incredibly nervous about going and had been thinking about it for weeks. Most of the people there I hadn’t seen for over 20 years when I was a child.

It was one of the most wonderful evenings of my life. From the moment I arrived (slightly trembling) I just felt engulfed in a sense of belonging. Even if you’ve never met me in real life, I’m sure you’ve picked up in this blog that I’ve always considered myself a bit of an outsider. Well imagine what it’s like for an outsider to walk into a room of friendly faces, all saying “you’re one of us”. It was a pleasure to talk to everyone. I was able to share old family photos from my phone and Picasa. I was able to talk about relatives and everyone knew who I meant. I found out lots of information about my direct relatives I never knew.

I also got to meet a relative, Mick, who I’d heard so much about over the years but had never met. It was as magical as I thought it would be. I could talk to him for hours, days even and I hope we get to meet again soon. But the same is true of everyone there. We felt a bit isolated from the family up in Liverpool, but I hope we can now take the steps to stay connected with everyone.

So in the space of a few hours, I went from having a biological family that was tiny to one that is massive. We may not have the same surnames, but we’re all Hawkins. I’m so proud of that, I’ve walked a little taller since last Saturday.

Family is important, whatever form it takes. Look after yours.

Race Report – Lake Vyrnwy HM 2014

Right, let’s get this out of the way. This is the single worst race I have ever had the misfortune to run in. Out and out misery, from beginning to end. Game Over.

…Right

…Have they gone?

This can be our little secret. Lake Vyrnwy is one of the best Half Marathons in the country, but we can’t be telling everyone. Catch my drift? I mean, it already sells out every year, despite being in the middle of nowhere.  People coming back year-after-year. It’s got to be doing something right.

Lake Vyrnwy is gorgeous

With the growth of running as a mass-participation sport, there are becoming fewer and fewer chances to run in what feel like proper runners races. I have to admit, dear reader, I am one of the ones rolling my eyes at the start of races with their bouncy-bouncy warmups and “Eye of the Tiger” jukeboxes. Really, it is just a race, someone indicates go and you all run as fast as you can until you cross the finish line.

Therefore, races like Vyrnwy HM (and others such as the Trafford 10K and Capenhurst 5K) give a refreshingly old-school race experience. By this I do not mean ultra-competitive, or snooty. We are all runners, where you’re finishing the race in an hour or three hours. Just the main focus on the day is the race, not the paraphernalia we get around many events. This approach is obviously successful as club runners attend in their coachloads, literally coachloads. 

Vyrnwy is one of the friendliest races out there, an event set up and run by the local community, it has a real family atmosphere and all the facilities you need. Plenty of toilets, showers, changing rooms and cake. A couple of massage tables, shop stand from Bourne Sports and reasonably priced race photos from Mick Hall complete the package.

The build up to Vyrnwy has been great. Obviously, the main focus is Frankfurt and all my training has been geared towards that. I know that I benefit from a very light taper week in the build up to a race, so I binned a couple of the easier runs and just id the focused sessions. A light 30 minutes the day before left ne ready to face the challenge.

I say ready, in reality I was completely bricking it. I’d manages a decent PB there last year of 1:27:54, and after the disappointment of Liverpool R’n’R Half, my coach was keen for a good result here. That PB worked out as 6:42 a mile which seemed ridiculously fast for me.  Going any faster would mean dropping to a time that was dangerously close to my 10K pace. In the days leading up to the race I’d found myself doing endless calculations of what different paces and times would mean. All this did was scare me even more. With the focus having been on marathon training, clipping long at MP was very different to a concerted effort for around 90 minutes.

I gave myself a reality check. I am in my best ever shape and have had a great summer of running sub-19 5Ks at the Mystery. I can clearly do something good and just need to control things and not go mad. Having recently made the switch to working in kilometres, I worked out that my previous PB was 4:10/Km pace. My dream is to run an 85min Half which is around 4:00/km pace so I gave myself a range of time to ain for of 4:05-4:10, with the knowledge that 86 minutes is 4:07/km pace

So I had a plan, it seemed fantastical but it was there.

Steve came down with me to the race. It is in a beautiful area. As usual I probably wasn’t much company. I’d packed us a picnic lunch, which I started eating at 10:30am so I didn’t have a stitch in the race at 1pm.

We arrived and I got myself ready. I remembered my start-line faux-pas from last year and made sure I started closer to the front. There were a few there who were clearly starting too far forward, but I didn’t have to wade through the field this time. It made the whole race feel very different. It’s a strange feeling knowing that those running around you are likely to be there for the whole race. 

There was some good banter with the other runners. “I PB’d last year so no pressure” I joked. The pit of my stomach lurched at the thought. Soon it was time to go. I was over the chip at in 4 secs from the gun time, a lot quicker than the 30 odd seconds it took last year, showing how far back I’d been. The first uphill mile came quickly. You have to tell yourself to hold back, there was a long way to go. My watch beep the first kilometre 3:50. “Too Fast, make it Easy” I told myself. There were a couple around me who started to pull away, but I didn’t want overexcitement in the first mile to cost me later on. 

As soon as we reach the reservoir the race proper starts. I was determined to run my own race. There are some that like to latch on to others and ‘race’ them the whole way. I’ve found that doesn’t particularly work for me as the stress of it sends my adrenaline levels through the roof and uses up all my energy. A bit of mental work came into play here. It’s a trick I’ve used successfully before. I imagine I’m running in a giant coloured bubble shield, kind of like what used to protect Sonic the Hedgehog. That day’s colour was green to match my new calf guards. Nothing can penetrate the bubble and I can run on my own terms inside it. Whenever I was feeling scared, the bubble protected me from what was going on around.  It sounds wacky but it really helps when you’re being pressured by another runner in a race. 

I was focusing on calming down and getting into my rhythm. I was running this race on feel and the feeling I was looking for was Threshold-10%. “Make it Easy On Yourself” (cue a song) was my mantra and one that became important in the early part of the race. Because I wasn’t passing a lot of people, it was all the more important to ignore the actions of those around me. There were some who had clearly started to fast and were paying for it. There were some who would surge and drop back and there were some rockets who decided to shoot off into the distance.  

Ironically, one of the best things you can do running around Lake Vyrnwy is to ignore Lake Vyrnwy. Start looking over the lake and you realise how far there is to run. Focus on the road in front (and the Hells Angels trying to mow you down). Where do they come from?

Handily, I had a Knowsley Harrier sat about 150m ahead of me. I knew he was a consistent pacer and he wasn’t getting any further away so it provided a handy visual check. The Kilometres were checking off quite nicely – they were all 4:0something depending on the slope of the course. Now Vyrnwy is flat but the road does undulate ever so slightly going round. At the 5Km I was conscious that I was working a little harder than I‘d expected to be so I took the opportunity to take on water and check myself over that everyone was okay.

“Take each Kilometre as it comes” I was telling myself.

At the 6 mile mark there is an uphill incline for about 1200m, just after a water section. I was pleased to reach this point as I like pushing on up hills and it meant the turning point on the lake wasn’t very far away. I’d decided just to take one gel with me and have it at the 10K mark. I took some on board and immediately didn’t feel great. “You’ve got this far without it and feel alright so crack on” I told myself. I’d had less than half the gel but held it in my hand until the next water station where I could dispose of it without littering the country side.

After the turn at the top of the lake, I’d remembered this was the point last year when it had started to dig in. I kept calm and carried on doing was I’d been doing up to that point. No changes, no dramas.  At this point the km beeps on my watch seemed to be coming about half way between the mile markers on the course, so it split the race up into nice easy short sections which was mentally very handy.

This approach paid dividends.

There was a point just after the 7 mile marker when I realised I was kicking on and passing quite a few people “Shit don’t speed up now” I panicked. Another group was passed and my watch beeped the next kilometre.  4:02 it said so I was going faster than my plan but I was still feeling ‘easy’ so hadn’t let it bother me. I realised, it wasn’t the fact that I was speeding up, it was that everyone else was slowing slightly as I had done at the same point the previous year. This was a MASSIVE boost and I remember thinking to myself “Game On”. 

The Knowsley Harrier who was in front was about 100m or so ahead, an ahead of him was a massive group of runners. In hindsight I realise this was probably a sub 85 pacing group. I knew the race was going well but I was purposefully not looking at the total time on my watch. I didn’t want to mess things up now so I carried on what I was doing.

I properly realised how great I was feeling when I managed a little joke with the cub and beaver scouts who were manning the water station at the 15k mark. I discarded the unused gel here and realised it was a little over 5K to the finish.

Three laps of the mystery. Game On.

There had a Stafford Harrier just in front of me and it had taken a couple of miles to catch him up. I had expected him to come with me when I went past but he gave me a word or two of encouragement and I pushed on. 

The thing about Vyrnwy is that really you have to think of it as a 12+1.1 mile race. The last mile descends a hill back to the village. This means you are willing yourself to mile 12, waiting for the view of the water tower on the lake signifying you are nearly there.

I can tell you they were a VERY BLOODY LONG TWO MILES. I was working hard now, but I’d come so far I wasn’t going to mess it up. “Today is not going to be one of those days” I was screaming to myself in my head. A couple of guys motored, and I mean motored past me at about mile 11. I had to blank them out of my memory as it was unusual for something like that to happen. 

I’d expected to see the water tower in the distance but all of a sudden it was there, next to me. “I’m nearly home, it’s a mile and a half or so” I told myself. Great crowds were cheering us home at the reservoir, and s the field it quite strung out you get your own applause. Knowsley was now about 150m ahead. I knew I wasn’t going to catch him, but he’d hardly been out of my sight the whole race. I was quite proud of that. 

The downhill began and I picked up a bit of steam. It carried on…and on….and on…and “HOW BLOODY LONG IS THIS HILL!” I was thinking, "I’m sure they had extended it mid race". I could hear the garble of the tannoy in the village. Of course, just as your bollocks are about to break at the bottom, that’s where the race photographer was, another classic.

There’s an evil little kick of a hill at the end which I’d sworn myself up last year, but it was soon over and I turned into the village. At this point I looked up and noticed the race clock at the finish line ahead of me. I couldn’t quite believe it was saying 1:25:02. Because I’d been focusing on each kilometre independently, I hadn’t taken noticed of all the extra seconds I was gaining. 

It was time for Go-Go-Gadget Courage Legs and I crossed the line in 1:25:15 in 79^th Place out of 1500-ish over the moon. For a second year I was beaming at the finish. 

The runners who finished at the same time were all congratulating each other and giving thanks for a good race. A couple of them said some very nice things about my run and tactics which did my ego and confidence wonders. 

This is turning into a must-do race. Just don’t tell everyone.