Run like an American

Last weekend I ran the inaugural Edinburgh Rock ‘n’ Roll Half Marathon. A lot of stuff happened and it was overall a pretty cracking event, but the main thing I took away was an observation of a stark divide between the way we plucky Brits run and the way our American cousins race. My conclusion is to do with politeness, and not in the way you might expect.

Lining up for this race at 9am on Sunday morning, and having investigated the route, I was prepared for spectator numbers to be relatively low. That’s fine with me – I’m happy to switch off and let my legs do their thing if necessary. But equally I knew I would be falling into a familiar pattern, whereby I become excessively grateful for the few spectators who do bother to show up. I end up running in a constant state of preparedness, looking for the next tiny group of spectators defiantly clapping and whooping and cheering on an otherwise empty road. I make eye contact, smile, say thank you and distribute high-fives to those who want them. I do the same for volunteers, acknowledging the vital and generous contributions of those fluorescent-clad heroes of the open road. Sometimes I find myself putting more energy into engaging with spectators than actually running.

I have to do this, because it seems that almost no-one else bothers.

I think I understand why this is – you’re in the zone, you feel like an athlete and you’re working hard on a great race. When you come across people clapping, you steel your gaze forwards, determined to look the part and be deserving of this admiration. You’ve no time for cheerful thanks or petty high-fives. You have a goddamn race to run. These spectators have no idea what you’re going through and their mere mortal clapping is just another indication of their incredibly inferior status to your god-like athletic prowess.

Or maybe it’s the opposite. Maybe you think they’re out supporting someone specific, waiting for a friend or family member to round the corner and appreciate their own personal cheering station. To acknowledge this cheering might be to misappropriate someone else’s goodwill. Maybe you feel a little embarrassed that a huge crew of people have turned up to witness your middle-of-the-pack struggle. Maybe you’re not used to praise. Maybe you’re just a slave to your natural British reserve.

Not many supporters at mile 3...

Either way, I beg you to get over yourself. Smile, say thank you, engage with another human being, and make races friendlier places to be, both for spectators and runners. This is where the Atlantic divide seems to favour the Yanks – I see Americans smiling and laughing and chatting to each other at races all the time. I could barely move a few paces in San Francisco without striking up an optimistic conversation with a total stranger.

Even the liveliest of British spectators could do with taking a leaf out of our colonial cousins’ book. The Crew Chief, whom I sent to an American finishing school in the deep south for a year in preparation for her role, is a master of US-style supporting. She whoops and hollers and engages with people like it’s going out of fashion. She puts the most fervent of British fans to shame, as even they are hampered by that awful stiff-upper-lip reserve. When I saw her during last weekend’s race I could hear her encouraging and enthusing the steely-eyed runners for several hundred yards after I had passed her, many of whom, rudely, didn’t even acknowledge her.

So run like an American. You never know, you might have more fun.

Happy running

Dave

2012 to date: miles run - 142.72, miles biked: 29.2, metres swum: 750

Jedward want you dead

Yes, that two-headed Irish Britain’sGotTheXFactor thing is back in the press, this time for running the Los Angeles Marathon without having done any training! With no sleep, straight off a plane and without even eating breakfast! What a jape! What heroes! They’re so cool!

No, not a jape, actually, for several reasons. Nor are they heroic, or cool.

People who run marathons without proper preparation are reckless, foolish and not deserving of attention or praise. It is an unbelievably dangerous thing to do – you have no idea how you might react to the strain. If you’re lucky, you might just aggravate an old injury or have a generally miserable time. If you’re unlucky, you could die. I’m not even joking here. What Jedward has done in such a public and stupid way could spark a series of copycat attempts, and there could genuinely be some very dire consequences. Maybe they want you dead.

What’s more, I don’t truly believe they ran it. If you, like me, are somewhat suspicious or are curious as to what time they ran in such dire circumstances, then why not search the list of finishers? Here’s the link: http://results.active.com/pages/searchform.jsp?rsID=124848. Jedward’s real names are John and Edward Grimes – you’ll find that neither of them is in there. Nor is ‘Jedward’. And there was only one Irish finisher in the entire race, a Mr Eoin Fitzpatrick who ran a respectable 3:57. Jedward are pictured in various articles running with no race numbers, the classic sign of the ‘bandit’ runner who hasn’t bothered registering but is quite happy to take advantage of all the race has to offer, paid for by everyone else. They even had the gall to accept medals at the end (again, presumably not paid for).

Grr.

 The BBC’s coverage of the story is here, the Daily Mail’s rather more extravagant take on events here.

Respect the distance, folks. Jedward is from another planet and only survived the ordeal through some sort of alien trickery, you might not get so lucky. And please don’t run as a bandit – that is the epitome of bad form.

Rant over. As you were.

Happy running

Dave

2012 to date: miles run - 88.74, miles biked: 23.4, metres swum: 750

Be Seen Don't Die

A few days ago, driving home from work, I pulled out of a side street onto the main road and nearly killed a cyclist.

Reflective man: not dead

Those are horrible, awful words to write. The evenings are very dark at the moment, and this cyclist was wearing dark clothes, with no front-facing lights on his bike and no helmet. I only saw him because he passed through the headlights of another car waiting to pull onto the road. I slammed on the brakes and he swerved, almost into oncoming traffic, in the nick of time. He gave me the finger and ploughed on into the night, living to die another day.

The old ‘Be Safe Be Seen’ slogan doesn’t go far enough for me. ‘Be Seen Don’t Die’ would probably get the message across better. Being as I am hugely in favour of people cycling, walking and running their commute, I must in the same breath be hugely in favour of reflective and hi-vis gear for everyone doing these things, in addition to helmets as a matter of course for cyclists. I was asked recently why I wear my bike helmet even for laughably short journeys and for cycling on bike paths (as opposed to roads). I replied that I have to wear it because I am horribly allergic to brain damage.

When I run at night you will see me with at least one, often two sets of lights (red flashing LEDs on my rucksack or ankle and sometimes a headtorch if going anywhere without streetlights), as well as a hi-vis and reflective jacket. I wear light colours and even have reflective strips on my gloves. All that and I’m only using pavements and footpaths for the majority of the time.

For cyclists, it is required by law to have both white front and red rear lights when cycling at night. I’m starting to think that the something similar should apply to runners – at least a hi-vis requirement. If as a cyclist you’re not using lights, not only are you committing a crime but are endangering your life and possibly other people’s. What a stupid and reckless way to behave.

It’s so simple and obvious to me. I don’t want to die under the wheels of a bus in pursuit of a few seconds shaved off a PB.

I run because... is happy to endorse not dying pointlessly. Glad I could clear that up.

Happy running

Dave

2012 to date: miles run - 16.3, miles biked: 6.4, metres swum: 750

Identity

It is a blog cliché to start a long-overdue post with an apology for not posting more often, but here it is: I’m sorry. Thing is, this is a blog about running and runners, and recently I have done much of the former or felt like one of the latter.

Almost two months ago I headed out for an easy five-miler along the river, when, as so often happens in such circumstances, I ran into trouble exactly halfway through the run and, consequently, when I was as far away from home as I could possibly be. A deep, dull ache gripped around my mid-section like a vice and tightened, making every step agonising. It was as if I was wearing a cummerbund of misery and pain and gross inconvenience. I paused a moment, almost winded by the shock of the pain, and decided to walk instead. But walking was even more painful, so, with great effort, I forced myself into a pitiful, laborious trot and headed for home.

The pain lasted for days. I’ve run two marathons this year and barefoot half marathon – I know a thing or two about pain – but this was by far the worst. I ached when I walked, stairs were agony and I could barely put on a pair of socks without wincing. This was torture. I live an active lifestyle: I walk to work most days, two miles each way, and am used to putting in anything from 15 to 50 miles a week running, as well as some time on the bike, too. I am rarely still. I fidget and pace and meander. I’d sooner walk than get a bus and rather sprint than miss a train. But this new injury put paid to all of that, or rather, made all of that hurt like hell. I even stopped walking to work - the discomfort made me nauseous.

Since then the pain has never been far away. Every run has been the same; starting well but deteriorating rapidly, the dull ache growing until I couldn’t take it anymore and ran for home as fast as my confused legs could carry me. My GP had no answers but plenty of scary words, like hernia, appendicitis and ‘surgical consult’. The fact that my injury only kicks in during a run seemed to annoy her – she suggested that I run until it hurts then present myself at A&E. An absurd notion. My physio decided that my back was to blame and spent an hour systematically demolishing it, to no noticeable effect. I’m still waiting for that surgical consult, by the way.

So I’ve been running horrendous, pathetic miles. 10 miles a week. Then seven. Then five. Last week just two; the kind of miles that I am ashamed to put in my training diary. The kind of miles that make me embarrassed to look at this blog.

He looks happy.

And so we reach identity. What is a runner? To me the only criteria have always been that you run because you love it, because you know what it means to have adrenalin surging through your veins as you haul yourself uphill into driving rain, because you have no shame in beaming and whooping and laughing as you hurtle down a snowy hill, because you get to the end of a long run beaten, battered and broken and triumphantly glowing with the sense of accomplishment you deserve.

I haven’t felt any of those things for weeks.

If you’re fit and well, then please, for goodness sake, go for a run this week. Somebody should.

Jog on

Dave

2011 to date: miles: 1077, parkruns: 6, races: 6, miles biked: 159, metres swum: 1225

The disastrous hyper-evolution of running shoes

When I bought my first pair of running shoes, it was a complete revelation. Never had a pair of shoes fitted better. Ever. Never had I spent so much time carefully choosing what I would put on my feet. They were miraculous. My knees felt bouncier, my ankles felt stronger, there was no pain anywhere. It was magnificent.

But it didn’t last. I got them in December 2008, with a view to using them for the 2009 Paris Marathon. They performed wonderfully on the day, but afterwards I could feel them becoming less effective. Running shoes have a useful life of anything from 4-700 road miles, depending on who you believe. Less still if you use them on tracks or trails or for general day-to-day wear. After that they lose their bounce, the soles becoming hard and unyielding, jarring rather than dampening impact. When I wore my original shoes to climb Ben Nevis in June 2009, I knew they were knackered, and binned them shortly afterwards.

It was when I made to replace them that I learnt a ridiculous truth – it is nigh on impossible to buy the same shoes twice. Just 6 months after buying the first pair, I walked back into the same running shop, with same feet, and said that my Asics had been great and I’d like exactly the same again, please. No chance, they replied, because good news! Asics have improved them!

Well I was excited. The old ones were fantastic, so the new version would probably be extraordinary. I tried them on, went for a cursory run on the shop’s treadmill, and, fairly satisfied, paid for them. Some weeks later, when they were broken in and should be performing at their best, I decided that they were quite good but not actually as good as the old version, which was a shame. I wish they’d just left them alone.

This routine has since been played out another half dozen times. Every time I need a new pair, I am forced to experiment with something different. If I dislike them, I have to start again from scratch. If I like them, I always attempt to replace them like-for-like when they’ve reached the end of their efficacy, and every single time I am disappointed.

Out with the old...

I know what you’re thinking- when I find the right shoe I should just buy a lifetime supply, right? Well at £75-90 a pair, and me needing at least two pairs a year, you’re talking about nearly thirteen grand’s worth of shoes (assuming I’m still running marathons age 84). That’s just silly.

No, the real fault lies at the over-analysed feet of the shoemakers, ‘reinventing’ the market at regular intervals to create demand for their latest innovation in spongy plastic and something new for their franchises and high-street stockists to display.

This week, I bought new shoes. My Asics 3030s have done two marathons and a good few hundred other miles besides, and they are showing their wear and tear. But as usual neither of my three local running shops stocked them, instead offering ‘similar’ shoes which were variously uncomfortable and significantly more expensive. So screw you, running franchises. I bought a pair of 3030s online, discounted because they’re end-of-line. Victory!

Next up: becoming a full-time barefoot runner. That’ll show ‘em.

Happy running

Dave

2011 to date: miles: 1053.91, parkruns: 6, races: 6, miles biked: 155, metres swum: 1225

History Stands

Two or three years ago, some paper-pusher in the Department for Education or some other such administrative body in charge of exams decided that it was time for another rule change. Successive UK governments like to fiddle with our exam structures every now and then to put their stamp on education, and usually I couldn’t care less. But this one was different.

In summer 2005 I collected my A-level certificates, ridiculously satisfied to have achieved the highest possible set of results: four As. My school could offer a maximum of four A-levels per student, so I chose four subjects I enjoyed and was good at, worked hard at those four and got good grades in all of them. My CV would forever proclaim this clean sweep of school-age academic testing. I may not have collected any shiny plastic trophies, but academically I was top dog.

Until that paper-pusher moved the goalposts and added an A* grade to the A-level scoring system.

Now my CV looks good, but not great. I ‘only’ got As. Hypothetically, when the current cohorts of A-level students filter into the job market, their performances could be unfairly measured against mine. I did the best I could within the rules I was given, but now the rules have changed I’m retrospectively disadvantaged. How is this fair?

It isn’t. But it doesn’t matter. I have an MA now, so my A-levels are pretty irrelevant. Hopefully anyone looking critically at my CV would have some awareness of the rule change, if they were to care at all.  But imagine if a comparable scenario was played out on an international scale, affecting achievements which are recorded in history books and have huge sums of money associated to them. Imagine the greatest athletes in history being downgraded by retrospective rule changes. Sadly, right now, we don’t have to imagine.

The IAAF, athletics’ governing body, recently changed the rules for female distance records. Essentially, world records will only be certified in women-only races, on the basis that mixed races or races with male pacemakers offer some sort of ill-defined advantage, loosely generalising that women run faster in the presence of men. Aside from the fact that this is pretty sexist and to my mind based on flawed logic, there’s an even greater injustice afoot.

Outrageously, the rule is being applied retrospectively, disqualifying Paula Radcliffe’s phenomenal marathon world record of 2:15:25, achieved in London in 2003, and establishing her merely amazing 2:17:42 in London in 2005 as the official world record. Paula ran the 2003 race with pacemakers (whom she hadn’t asked for), although consciously not running behind them (which might have been considered drafting, entirely legal but not Paula’s style), at the pace she wanted to achieve (without giving the pacemakers any instructions).

Paula ran 2:15 with her own legs, in her own way, in a world-beating and record-shattering time. She strived and sweated and worked harder than anyone else on the planet to do it. The IAAF, on the other hand, whom I imagine to be cooped up in some gleaming corporate headquarters, have ruled that her time wasn’t achieved according to some new standards they invented eight years later, and so are quite happy to wipe it from the record books, belittling the months and years of work it represents. It’s worth noting, of course, that Paula is still the world record holder, in fact she has run the three fastest female marathon times ever, including the disqualified 2:15.

Check out the 'News' section of www.paularadcliffe.com

Looking forward, this is bad news for women’s marathoning. Relatively few women-only races or women-only starts exist, limiting the potential for faster times. Berlin is a prime example – the men’s world record has repeatedly been broken there, but it doesn’t have a women-only start. There will never be a female world record achieved on what is possibly the fastest marathon course in the world. This will create a messy two-tier system of ‘world best’ and ‘world record’ times, possibly subdivided again to exclude courses like Boston which don’t meet IAAF qualifying standards of elevation and layout. A cynic might say that this is a ploy to push up the standards of IAAF championships and the Olympics - races which are usually run for podium places, not necessarily for fast times...

Paula and Nike are mounting a campaign against this decision, with a massive groundswell of public support from the running community and beyond. I have no hesitation in adding my voice to it. 

Do you think I could convince them to have a go at the A-level thing too?

History stands.

Dave

2011 to date: miles: 1023.17, parkruns: 6, races: 6, miles biked: 155, metres swum: 1225

Zero to Hero

At 11am on Saturday I was sprawled over the sofa in my pyjamas; lethargic, grumpy and bemoaning various aches and pains. I had more or less no interest in leaving the flat for any reason whatsoever, least of all to pursue the 16+ mile run I had scheduled in for myself. I was on my own, slightly glum and generally not bothered. At all.

By 2pm I was back in the flat, elated, surging with endorphins and having recorded my longest run of the year to date. How did this miraculous turnaround happen? I’m not sure, but I’ll try to work it out.

The first hurdle was to bully myself into getting dressed and ready. I agreed with myself that if I put my gear on, I would go for at least a little run. No way would I put my running kit on and then endure the shame of taking it all off again to return to pyjamas. I did, however, take an outrageously long time to get dressed, postponing the moment that I’d actually have to step outside for as long as possible. My procrastination was epic. I downloaded a new podcast (The Marathon Show) to listen to on the run. I tied and retied my laces. I insisted on adding ice to my water bottle. I pursued every avenue of potential timewasting for as long as possible, until I had literally no further excuses.

I finally got out of the door at 11.55, almost an hour and a half later than optimum-run-o’clock. I stubbornly maintained absolutely no interest in running the full, prescribed 16 miles, but since the first 8 miles of my planned route were loops relatively near the flat I thought I may as well pursue them. I trotted cheerfully up the hill, confident in the knowledge that I had dozens of opportunities to cut things short.

My first mile was heavily handicapped by traffic lights, registering an impressively slow 9:41. I didn’t care. This run didn’t matter. It wasn’t a long training outing or anything. I trotted cheerfully along the Grassmarket and eventually all the way down to Holyrood Park, ticking off the miles slowly but surely. I dug in and put in a lap of Arthur’s Seat, slowly remembering why I like running and amiably racing a few other pavement-pounders who had joined me on the popular route. At the highest point, with a staggering view over the Forth and across to Fife, I knew this run was going to go well.

At the foot of Arthur’s Seat I headed for the Royal Mile, intending to run all the way up to Edinburgh Castle and rack up some altitude. Seemed like a great idea. But no, terrible mistake – the Royal Mile on a Saturday lunchtime is more or less the most densely populated place in the entire Universe (it’s definitely in the top ten). I was weaving in and out of the camera-toting masses, trying to contain my pedestrian-hating rage as I picked my way through the crowds. There was a wedding, some street performers, half a dozen bagpipers and coach loads of bimbling tourists. Nightmare.

Then suddenly, like a triathlete sensing the very gravest injustice, I could feel someone running on my shoulder. I glanced back. A greasy boy of about 16, laughing and shouting in Italian to a friend toting a camera, was keeping pace with me. His reeking cigarette hung lazily from two fingers. His gleaming white tracksuit shimmered in the sunlight.  I doubt it has ever been near a track. My brief stint of studying Italian was enough to know that I was being mocked for running slowly. 

The boy kept pace for just a fraction too long.

I know, I know. I was out for a training session. I was 6 miles into what was clearly now going to be a 16 mile serious long run. I was climbing a very steep hill and maintaining a carefully modulated pace. I am a serious marathoner with multiple long-distance goals in both the short and long term. But the Italian was very, very annoying. I know I shouldn’t have. But I did it anyway. 

I decided to teach him a thing or two about runners.

I surged forward like a shot, sprinting at full pelt up the cobbled street. The Italian laughed, he was game, this was what he wanted. He picked up too, a fraction behind. But I just kept sprinting, dodging back and forward between bollards and groups of tourists. I glanced back to see the look on his stupid face, and saw him fading faster than a free commemorative T-shirt. After just a few seconds he was long gone, I imagine he started crying. To prove the point I pounded out another few hundred metres at suicide pace, finally reaching the castle with burning lungs and heavy legs. It was awesome.

The next 10 miles were more difficult as a result, if I'm honest. But who cares? Some random tourist who I'll never see again was taught a pointless lesson and it made me feel great. I finished the full 16.6 miles in 2:17, averaging 8:18 minutes/mile. I was elated.

Aaw, yeah. Click to enlarge.

I encourage you to educate any Italians who annoy you, too.

Happy running

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 570.52, parkruns: 6, races: 3, miles biked: 47.44, metres swum: 925

When I grow up I want to be...

...a race director. It would be my perfect job.

I came to this conclusion on Sunday afternoon, after supporting the Edinburgh Marathon and later reading comments that runners had left in various places – on the facebook page, on the Runners’ World website and in The Scotsman, all of which highlight basic errors made by marathon organisers who really should know better. This was the 9^th running of the Edinburgh Marathon in its present form, under the same corporate for-profit leadership, and to my mind it’s getting worse.

The many complaints highlight the fact that runners expect a product that is high-quality overall and supported by top-notch attention to detail. The Edinburgh race used to get away with its weird course, (of which 80% is nowhere near Edinburgh and large portions are exposed to the seafront), by virtue of a high-quality experience for the runner elsewhere. This year it was the overlooked details which damaged its appeal. Runners’ comments focussed on:

• Small or missing mile markers. An inexcusable mistake in a road race. I read a comment which simply said ‘Not enough mile markers. The optimum number is 26.’
• A course which includes a loose gravel surface, large sections through industrial areas, very little association to the City of Edinburgh and a frustrating finger-loop right at the end of the race- these are annual problems, usually forgiven, but this year thrown into sharp relief asdisgruntled customers seek to increase their lists of grievances...
• Large sections with no crowd support at all. Hardly surprising given the course layout, and again an annual problem.
• An uninspiring finish. The race used to finish at Musselburgh Racecourse in front of a grandstand, this year it was diverted to a featureless residential street near the racecourse for reasons unclear.
• Poor post-race support and facilities. No spectators were allowed in the final few hundred metres of the race, creating a strange and slightly deflated finish-line environment. The reunion areas and shuttle buses were a hefty distance from the finish, and access to those areas was insufficient and potentially dangerous given the crowd size.
• Wrong medals and T-shirts. When you finish a marathon effort, the last thing you want is someone handing you a half-marathon T-shirt, or a generic medal that doesn’t properly commemorate your achievement.
• A big screen in the reunion area, purportedly placed to show the finish line action to the displaced spectators, was instead showing footage from last year’s T in the Park. With the sound off.
• Inefficient, slow and not enough shuttle buses. Imagine you’ve just finished a marathon, then walked two miles on blistered feet to find a bus, only to wait in a lengthy queue for a slow, old vehicle where no-one checks the ticket you’ve paid for before taking you on a 45-minute journey to somewhere not terribly near the city centre. Misery.

All this for just £45! I read these comments open-mouthed.

Marathoners deserve better. Whether Edinburgh was their first or fiftieth 26.2, the race’s practical shortcomings will probably have tarnished many runners’ experience. It looked like a race organised by a bank, not a group of dedicated and inspired pavement pounders. I couldn’t help but think that I could organise a better race than this with my eyes closed.

So I’m going to. Watch this space.

Happy running.

Dave

P.S. I'm off to the Mull of Kintyre tomorrow to cover the half marathon and festival of running over the weekend for an article. More details to follow.

2011 to date - miles: 518.31, parkruns: 6, races: 2, miles biked: 47.44, metres swum: 675

Pedestrians and other animals

I heard recently of a pilot scheme in one of London’s bigger parks which would introduce ‘jogging lanes’ alongside the existing cycle lanes which criss-cross the greenery.  The suggestion was met with derision, outcry, mockery, confusion, exasperation and other forms of half-arsed middle-class protest about things which don’t really matter. Cue sarcastic letter to the Editor of the Times, a few column inches in cycling and running publications, and eventually things quietening down irrelevant of the eventual outcome.

But why would anyone think this was a sensible use of the precious taxpayer pennies, when there are perfectly good wars and public sector bonuses we could spending them on? Why can’t runners just share pavements and footpaths with the rest of the bipedal population?

I’ll tell you why. Because no brain activity has ever been recorded in any pedestrian in the moments before, during or immediately after they are passed by a runner. Pedestrians become jibbering wrecks, incapable of processing any decision-making thought processes at the time of interacting with a runner.

They see us coming, and they panic.

Should they step aside, and if so, which side? Should they try to speed up to avoid the looming bottleneck, or slow down, or stop entirely? Maybe they should do nothing at all and steadfastly continue on their trajectory of doom (yes, this is definitely the best bet), because the runner, as a second-class citizen, won’t mind being forced into the road to tango with oncoming traffic.  Or how about a snide and hilarious comment to accompany the encounter, just to let me know how annoying it is that you had to move half an inch to accommodate another human being? That would be brilliant, thanks.

Worse still, they don’t see me coming – I’m stuck behind them, trying to overtake. I politely say ‘excuse me’, and they scream in surprise, run around in circles, or completely ignore me. My pace is reduced to zero, and after having been forced into the road again, I sprint off into the distance, eager to thoroughly demonstrate the difference between a lazy pedestrian and a ground-pounding runner.  This makes me tired and grumpy. I go back to punch the pedestrian in the face, but he’s still spinning in circles so I leave him to it.

Beware; runners. 

Large groups produce even more unusual behaviour. Their brain waves not only shut down unilaterally, but also force the group to lock on to one another like a shoal of fish, moving, as one, in the most inconvenient direction imaginable.  Sometimes this forces a large group to continue occupying every inch of available space, making overtaking impossible without a tight squeeze or a rendition of the bus-lane tango.

Even people who weren’t previously together are spontaneously unified in their mission to make me stop or slow down. Are they being controlled by the dark forces of some anti-running supervillain? If they are then he’s doing a bloody good job. On special occasions the messages get crossed, and the well-meaning individuals will leap in opposite directions to get out of the way, creating no net difference in their human barrier but providing a charmingly symmetrical example of the good-intentioned-but-poorly-executed double leap. Unless this is another supervillain trick, in which case he’s even more dastardly than I first thought.

Then there are the dogs. I think it’s probably lovely to take a dog for a long rambling walk in the countryside, where you can let him off the lead and think beautiful thoughts about nature and clouds and the special relationship between a man and his hound. But is your dog reliable and well-mannered? Or is she actually really lovely when you get to know her, but sometimes gets a little bit bitey around new people, particularly new people moving at speed? The bitey one? Thought so. The problem with the rambling walk in the countryside is that there are other people in the countryside, and unless your dog is extremely well-connected, many of them are likely to be unfamiliar. This will come as a shock, I know. Sorry.

My local running club out for a quick jog/snack

 So when your dog runs headlong at me; a slobbering, barking, 2 ½ tonne juggernaut that looks like a cross between a pitbull and a Mk2 Challenger Tank, maybe you could take half a second to consider investing in a lead, before, perhaps, calling her off? Oh, she doesn’t come when you call? I see. That must be because you’re such a responsible dog owner and she’s such a sweetie that you didn’t think training was important. Oh well. Never mind, I don’t use my lower legs very much anyway.

What I’m getting at here is that I am a road user, a footpath user and a real live human being. I’m not a nuisance in hi-viz seeking to deliberately inconvenience you, delay your journey or deprive your dog of a tasty ankle-bone treat. I'm just a guy out for a run. 

Jogging lanes? Yes please.

Happy running

Dave

2011 to date - miles: 316.41, parkruns: 4, races: 2, miles biked: 12.85