Tom Roper's Running Training

Couch to 5k, and an anniversary

Tonight the second Seaford Striders Couch to 5k completed the programme, the ninth week, with 30 minutes of non-stop running. It was a chilly night, and my group, who self-identify as medium, set a cracking pace. We finished back at the Downs Leisure Centre, high on endorphins and achievement. On Saturday we go en masse to Peacehaven parkrun. 

I’m not sure how I ended up coaching them. I have no great stores of running wisdom to offer. My approach is similar to that of Ledru-Rollin, the French politician, who was supposed to have said, when running down a street at the rear of a crowd in the 1848 revolution, 'Eh! je suis leur chef, il fallait bien les suivre!’, which, being interpreted means 'I am their leader, I must follow them'. 

I may not be a very able or experienced coach, but I had able help from many other Striders, some who helped lead groups every week, some who  dipped in when they could. But the group coached themselves, to a great extent. I am so impressed with them; they came, week after week, in considerable numbers. They were tolerant of the baffling, eccentric and, very occasionally, hilly routes I sent them on, and always cheerful. I am reminded of the story of a report on a British army officer, which said ‘his men would follow him anywhere, but only out of curiosity.’ 

It’s an anniversary today too, the anniversary of my 2003 Westlain Plantation run, a short run, but my first for many years. I’d last run when my son was a baby, a 10k in Crouch End thirteen years before. I’ve told the story of this return across foggy, muddy November fields many times, but I don’t think I ever confessed to the garments I thought appropriate for this first excursion, to wit:

• a t-shirt given away at a conference I’d been too, advertising a database provider, Ovid, with a quotation from the poet of antiquity
• a pair of rugby shorts I had worn at school
• shoes: I think I had a pair of shoes I’d bought for treadmill running in a gym - one day I’ll tell all about my Westminster gym years

And here I am, thirteen years after that, with marathons and all manner of other races under my belt, trying to encourage others to run. It’s a rum do. 

On not running the Lewes Downland Ten, and a Bevendean Down parkrun record

I had a place in the Lewes Downland Ten, which was run this morning. I was sorry not to be able to use it, because of family commitments, and reasons of state. Instead I ran a very short local run. The forecast for the Lewes event was poor, and threatened to be like that terribly rainy and windy running of the event around ten years ago.In the event, conditions were not so bad, though it was probably muddy in Ashdown Bottom. Well done, all those who took part, especially the Seaford Striders. 

On Saturday, I ran my favourite parkrun, that at Bevendean Down. It was a historic day. a runner, James Baker, known to me from the Sussex Grand Prix, turned up, and, though he was due to run in a cross-country event at Goodwood that afternoon, stormed round the course to break the course record by a minute, finishing in 16:30. As I was finishing my first lap, I felt the slightest movement of air, as James, on his way to complete the race, passed me effortlessly. My own performance was poor. It’s not about times, they say. But it is. 

My plan for this year was to run few races, but to run races of substance, so in each quarter I would run a ten-miler, or half-marathon. Looking back through the year so far, it has not been straightforward. The first quarter was dedicated to the Brighton Half Marathon, which went according to plan; in the second, I was to do the Seaford Half Marathon, but, with a dodgy knee,  had to substitute the half marathon that makes up a part of the Seaford Martello Triple Challenge event. In the third quarter, it should have been the Bewl 15, which again I missed because of injury, and substitute the Erdige Ten Mile Trail. As for the final quarter of the year, today’s race should have been the one. So I have now entered the Downland Devil, a nine mile race in West Sussex in early December. As for 2018, I have a charity place in the Brighton Half Marathon, running to raise funds for the Brighton and Sussex University Hospitals NHS Trust Charity.

 

Eridge Park 10 Trail Challenge

A week ago I ran, with three of Lewes’s redoubtable Twitten runners, Duncan Rawson, Rob Read, David Stacey, the Eridge Park 10 Trial Challenge. The mud in the shower has gone, my toes are more or less dirt-free and I can knock the dried filth off my trail shoes, so it may be time to record the race. 

Eridge Park is a couple of miles south of Tunbridge Wells, and owned by the Marquess of Abergavenny. You may wonder why a Welsh peer should have his residence in Sussex, but that’s feudalism for you, and explains the Abergavenny name on Sussex pubs, and the frequent use of the family name, Nevill, in local toponyms. This was the nineteenth renewal of the race, though I am ashamed to say I had never heard of it before, and only discovered it through a leaflet left on my car windscreen at another event. The leaflet promised views, hills and mud. What could be more agreeable?

The morning of the race was cool, though bright. We assembled in parkland. Numbers were issued in order of surname, which meant that Rawson, Read, Roper and Stacey were all close together. Some of us went for warm-up runs. I abstained; I knew the race would be hard enough without adding extra distance.

We were sent on our way with an unorthodox start, a banner unfurled from the starting rostrum bearing the word bang. And we were off, a good wide start line, and a gentle descent. The organisers have gone to some trouble to name give parts of the course whimsical names, such as the Tomb of the Unknown Harrier and  the Leap of Death. It was near the entrance to the Lost Wood, I believe, a little over four miles in, that I lost my battle with the mud and fell face first into the swamp. My shoes stayed on, though, thanks to the looped lacing I use, and it was a soft landing. I rose and carried on. In a curious way, it was a liberating experience; I now knew that the mud had done its worst. I had to put up with jocular remarks from marshals, such as one who accused me of stealing his Lordship’s mud, and, my hands being coated, the jelly babies I ate at the next water stop had a crunchy garnish. On I went. The highest point of the course dubbed Saxonbury 659, had a folly, a tower straight out of a fairy tale. In total I climbed 1,362ft.  

I knew I was slow, and the last few miles were hard; they included a ridiculously steep ascent, lots more mud, and a sudden heavy downpour of rain, though I was in the woods for this and protected from the worst. The last few hundred yards twisted and turned, until the cricket ground came in sight, where a game was in progress. I had very little left, but managed to hold off two ladies close behind and finished in 2:37:04. My fellow Seaford Strider Natasha Swan finished in 1:47:18. As for my fellow Twitten runners, Rob finished in 1:39:18, David in 1:45:20 and Duncan in 1:49:43. At the finish there was beer, pints of Larkins Traditional, and cake. 

With thanks to Rob, the master of post-run group selfies, here are some photographs. 

The race was splendidly organised by Tunbridge Wells Harriers, and well and enthusiastically marshalled. Duncan, who takes over the reins as Race Director of the Moyleman marathon for the 2018 race, was muttering about coloured tape as we left. 

Tom's knee

It’s an awfully long time since I wrote about running; my last post looked forward to the Seaford Half, an event I missed thanks to my knee. 

Since then notable runs have been:

• 10 parkruns, including my 50th. These were at Bevendean Down (3), Preston Park (1), Peacehaven (4) and one each at Wimpole Park and Blandford Forum
• 2 Twitten runs
• 2 Dublin runs while away at a conference
• the Martello Rotary Triple Challenge (an alternative half marathon to the Seaford Half)
• the Bexhill 5k

Today I ran to the Cuckmere and back over Seaford Head. Both of my knees were stiff and painful, and I was a full ten minutes slower over this course than when I last ran it at the end of April.

 

This is poor, and, with the exception of Blandford Forum, none of my 5ks has been on the right side of 30 minutes.

Not cheerful news; my hope is that my knees will become stronger and, once the hay fever season is over, the soporific effects of the antihistamines I take will disappear.

I have entries in two ten mile races, the Eridge Park Ten Mile and the Lewes Downland Ten.

Four weeks until the Seaford half

Until the end of this week, I was not looking forward to the Seaford half. I felt unprepared, acutely aware that I was not running the miles an off-road half-marathon requires. This week's three runs, each different, changed my perspective. 

Run the first: I took the Seaford Striders Couch to 5k group on their fourth outing. It’s extraordinary how they stick at it. I had expected a number to drop out, but we tackled a longer distance, making it to the sea and back, with longer periods of running. 

Run the second: I had toyed with the idea of taking on the Good Good Friday Run, an eight mile run from Brighton Marina and back, but one of the country’s leading agronomists, charliecat5 (aka Duncan) invited me to an 8 a.m. excursion from Lewes to Ditchling, and promised to explain the Ontario Heat Unit to me as we ran. How could I resist? The morning was bright, and we set out on the track towards Blackcap. I failed to start my Garmin properly, so we were 1.7 miles in before I realised I had no record. As we reached Blackcap, the sun came out and we ran on the path on top of the escapement, with Plumpton and Ditchling below us, and further away Burgess Hill and Haywards Heath. Duncan raced away from me on more than one occasion, but I kept going, and he waited patiently for me to catch up.

Run the third:  I went out for six miles over Seaford Head and down to the Cuckmere on Easter Sunday. Cold, windy, but larks sang and the sun shone for much of the time. 

Miles this week: 20.96 
Four weeks till the Seaford Half Marathon 

Couches, parkrun and a round-Seaford tour

This week’s running consisted of leading the second week of the Seaford Striders Couch to 5k group on Wednesday, where we took advantage of the lighter evening to run down to the golf course, and along, to run on grass. Impressively, nearly everyone who came to the first session returned, There were twenty-five of us in all. 

Photo by Tony Humphreys

On Saturday I went to Eastbourne parkrun, where, by dint of sticking with the pacers, I managed a PB for the course, beating my previous best time by over a minute. It was the first event of the revamped Seaford Striders Grand Prix I’d taken part in, so should be good for some points.

Finally, today I ran a seven mile course in brilliant sunshine around Seaford. My knee hurts, but seems to stop hurting after the first mile or so. 

 

Total mileage this week: 13:55
Six weeks till the Seaford half marathon 

In other news, it emerged this week that the Brighton half marathon was short by 146 metres, and has been for the past three years. I hope this will not lead to those who sponsored me demanding their money back. 
 

From couch to coach

Next Wednesday I coach the first session of a new venture for my running club, Seaford Striders, a couch to 5k group. Based on the NHS Choices programme, I’ll lead a group through nine weeks of runs,  increasing until we finally  run for 30 minutes without stopping. Then we’ll go and do a parkrun. 

In other running news, this week I was off work, using up annual leave, which allowed for a post-Moyleman run on Monday, a short outing on Wednesday, a try-out of the first week’s Couch to 5k session on Friday, and a Twitten Run today. 

 

My next target, and that, I am delighted to be able to reveal, of the Moyleman race director and others of the organising committee, is the Seaford half-marathon, now eight weeks away. This is timely. My enthusiastic embrace of alcoholic drink since the Brighton half, and a diet of hot cross buns, mean that I have become portly again. 

After the Moyleman

Having spent the weekend preparing and marshalling so that others might run, it seemed only right that on a beautiful March day I should run myself. 

As I did, I tried to absorb the experiences of the 2017 Moyleman. From marking the course on Saturday, high above Firle in impenetrable fog, to the assembly at Wallands school and the address by Ash Head, Race Director, to the spectacular start on Landport Bottom, the race itself, my marshalling point at the top of Firle Bostal (which attracted a motley and fascinating band of supporters and interested passers-by), then down to follow the last runners through Firle and Glynde, and arriving at the finish in time to see the last four or five runners finish - it was an extraordinary day. I must record, too, that Mrs R brought her experience of time-keeping at sea in sailing regattas to bear on a land-based event, forming part of Tim’s Time Team. She says that it would be easier if runners carried large sails bearing their numbers.

There’s too much to make sense of. To get a feel for the day, read Ash’s account, and that of Duncan, Assistant Race Director. This race has evolved, from what the computer wallahs call a proof of concept try-out in 2014, to full races in 2015, 2016 and yesterday, Each has been splendid, but today was the best yet, a worthy memorial for Chris Moyle. There’ll be photos and full results soon. 

As for the run, knee pain on tarmac, but better on the grass; then I passed the coastguard cottages and ran up the long hill from Hope Gap to Seaford Head, A large helicopter (a Chinook?) passed overhead. When it had gone, there was profound silence and solitude. I ran down Seaford Head towards home; halfway down a man stood, motionless, controlling a drone. 

The eve of Moyleman Eve

A short plod this evening, in dreary mizzle. There’ll be little time for running this weekend. Tonight the organisers will soothe our nerves with the finest thrash-skiffle know to humanity, offered by the Curst Sons; tomorrow we mark the course. Then on Sunday we put on a 26-ish mile race around the Sussex downs. In forty eight hours time I will be toasting the success of the 2017 Moyleman.

I’m organising a team of marshals, each of them giving up their Sunday to stand on the hills in uncertain weather, so that runners may tackle one of the hilliest, hardest races in southern England. If you want to understand the race, some of the course organisers (not me, you’ll note), ran the course in two legs: the first half, from Lewes to Southease, and the second, from Southease back to Lewes, by way of Firle and Glynde. Or feast your eyes on this elevation.

The 2017 Brighton half marathon

Back to this race, after nine years away. When I entered, rashly, I imagined an early spring day on Brighton seafront, soft sunshine, a light breeze at most. What did I find? Cold fog at the start, a chilly wind, Doris’s last gift to us, and a tough race. There are running bloggers I know who can work miracles with their words and who isolate and describe the essence of every run, writing as if sired by Hemingway out of Hunter S. Thompson. I can only offer a chronological account, without any great themes.

I rose at 6, ate porridge and toast with some Greek honey, a present from my daughter. I left the house at 7:15, worrying about finding a parking place in Brighton. As I drove, I listened to the latest episode of In Our Time, in which Melvyn Bragg and guests discussed Seneca. This seemed appropriate preparation. The best way to approach a half marathon is with ἀπάθεια, apatheia, a state of mind in which one is indifferent to passion and suffering. Seneca wrote bloody tragedies, and ended his life by his own hand.

I seized the first parking place I could find. I had planned to then take coffee at Ground Coffee in Kemptown, but was thwarted, as it doesn’t open until 8.30 on a Sunday morning. No matter. I had read, marked and inwardly digested the advice of the International Marathon Medical Directors Association. who enjoin runners to drink no more than 200 mg of caffeine before a run of 10k or more .

I returned to my car to gaze at yesterday's Guardian prize crossword, leaving for the race at about 8.20. I went down Duke’s Mound to the baggage area. There were thousand of runners, warming up, seeking secluded places to answer calls of nature, taking selfies, worrying. This race was so unlike those I am used to. At cross-country events, I know the rest of the field by sight, if not by name. There are rarely more than a few hundred  entrants. Brighton being Brighton, this was more like Glastonbury in lycra. We were blasted with music, at times too loud. I found my place, a little way behind the 2:15 pacemaker’s banner, and waited for the off. 

When that moment came, we shuffled forward slowly. I don’t think we passed the start line until ten minutes after the advertised time of 9 o’clock. Progress was slow, with runners of all paces trying to find space to run their race. I stuck with the 2:15 banner, out away from the coast to St Peter’s church and then back. 

The first miles always pass quickly. Before I knew if we were back on the seafront, running along the A259 on my homeward route from work. A drinks station, too soon for me to have a thirst, but I took a pouch. Out towards Roedean and Ovingdean. I saw faster runners I knew coming back as we headed east: Josh Rudd and Luke Borland looked strong. 

Six miles in, the pacemaker was ahead of me. I counted the gap: about two minutes. I’d be happy with that. I haven’t done a half marathon in under 2:17 since 2012. By this point, I felt strong, but little niggles were making their presence felt. My knee tonged, my feet hurt, my ankles were not as they should be.

The run along this stretch, the central part of the seafront, was well supported, and this always lifts the spirits. But I knew how far west we had to go, to Hove Lagoon. After Hove Lawns the support is lighter, and I began to hate the tarmac. Why could we not run this on some sheep-nibbled down? 

The turn at the lagoon lifts the spirits, though. From this point on I knew that I would finish, and that the finish would still be in a decent time. Back we went, along that part of the promenade familiar from the Brighton Marathon, the Hove Prom 10k and the Phoenix 10K. By this point everything was hurting at once; this is helpful, because it stops one obsessing about a particular body part. ‘Listen to your body’, some earnest runners pontificate. I’d rather my body kept itself to itself. Between miles 11 and 12 I had a very hard time. This was a pity as my supported, Mrs R, son Will, his partner Jemimah, and grandson Teddy were by the i360. They saw me, but I missed them. They said I looked unhappy, But at mile 12 I received, and upped the pace. By the time we passed the Palace Pier I was going well, and passing runners. I spotted the mighty Sweder in the crowd, who captured my efforts on camera. I managed a surge towards the line and finished in a very satisfactory 2:22:01. Nothing like the 1:43:14 of 2005, but I was younger then. 

Thanks to everyone who’s supported the Stroke Association. If you haven’t yet, you still can at https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/Tom-Roper

Next, the Seaford half marathon in May.

I offer you some photographs, and am grateful to Ash (aka Sweder) and Mrs R for these.