Photo Quiz:-

Question 2.

’Who is the well known national athletics official in third place?’

Help Blog, Help.

                      An emergency. I’m desperate. Really, really desperate. I don’t know what to do. I need your advice. My wife twisted her ankle on the last day of the trip to the Dales. Now she is expecting me to help around the house as she is unable to walk. I said I’d pop down to the British Red Cross to hire a set of crutches but she just snorted. ‘What about my trudging’, I said, ‘Have you no thought for others?’ I had to take her to the Co-op this morning for some shopping. Shopping on a Sunday morning? Sacrilege! Sundays are special. Sundays are sacred. No one shops on a Sunday morning. She should know that Sunday morning is set aside in the good book for a long run. Lydiard has written about it extensively. I was beginning to think that she had landed awkwardly on more than just her ankle.

I said that I didn’t think it right that we should add to global warming by driving, but she insisted. She can be so stubborn. I said that the hobble to the bus stop would do her good; she needed some fresh air. I offered to help her up the step onto the bus, but she was adamant. I’ve never been in the Coundon Co-op before; it was quite bright and cheery; I suggested that she could support herself if she pushed the trolley round. I told her she should use this shop more often rather than go into town shopping. It would mean that she would not have to carry all those heavy bags as far, as the bus to and from the Co-op ran very frequently and it did not entail too much walking to the house, only about half a mile at the very most. When we got back, I was ready to go for my trudge but she wanted me to do the breakfast dishes. I ask you; she really was trying it on. I’d already had to get up early to make my own cup of tea to take back to bed. Then she made me go down again and get her one. ‘I hope this does not become a habit’ I told her. I said that I’d run the hot water for the dishes, and she could stand at the sink with her leg on a stool. She said a couple of naughty words. I had to tell her that the man in the Church had said ‘For better and for worse’ and that means doing the housework, even if you take a little more time over it – I don’t mind compromising in such circumstances. So I left her at the sink. I must say that I was a little shocked when I got back about 90 minutes later and she refused to let me in. Quite unreasonable. I went and did a few stretches in the out house until she saw reason. It was a good session; I was pleased with the way it went. It was spoiled however, when my wife continued with her sulk. I did cook lunch for us both on condition she got herself sorted and did the bread making in the afternoon while I had a little nap to recover from my trudge. I must say that I think she enjoyed her beans on toast. Cutting the bread into triangles seemed to really do the trick. It bucked her up. I thought it quite a nice touch on my part. Back to her old chirpy self, she was. I was a little taken aback therefore when she said I should do the vacuuming after lunch. Vacuuming? Me? I said I didn’t think I knew my suck from my blow, and we didn’t want to see the dust go all over. My eye is still quite sore but the doctor said to keep bathing it and the swelling should go down in a couple of days. He said I should still be able to keep on trudging.

    So Blog, if you can come over to help for a few days, my wife would be very grateful and she would not feel so guilty about stopping me going for a trudge to help her out.

                     Yours desperate friend,

                                              Colin

Holiday? Some holiday!

http://www.justgiving.com/Colin-Kikrham Newlife

http://www.justgiving.com/Colin-Kikrham0 Tiny Tim’s

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And now for the promised quiz:-                                                                                                            Question 1.

‘1971 National Road Relay at Sutton Park, but who am I handing over to?’  

Dear Mr. Glob,

                      I was going to address you as ‘Dear Sir’ but that seems to be taking our new formality to an extreme that our friendship does not necessitate. My lack of communication during the last few days has been brought about by my vacation in Gods Own Country. Despite there being a cafe next door to the cottage I am vacating in (no joke), they do not have a Wii connection so I have been off line.

                  Surely, even you must admit that the mud was a bit unusual on Saturday last at Alton Towers in the National Cross Country Championships. So what? It was advertised as cross country I believe. The National is nearly always muddy, and mud is just mud is just mud?? I do not know the reason for the curtailment of the women’s race or the shortening of the men’s but, in my dotage, I feel the whole saga is symptomatic of what is happening to our sport. Sad uncle. The senior women not running much more than 20 minutes? Think of those poor girls who had tried to prepare diligently during the dark winter months by gearing their training to a hard slog with two vicious hills, only to be confronted by three (?) laps on the top of the hill – not flat admittedly, but nothing like the expected course. And three laps?? I was at the far corner of the course trying to keep my feet dry, my socks clean and my trainers unmudded and they only passed me twice. I probably missed the third loop because I was so busy blogging you?

                         As I noted at the start of my blob to you, I spent a week in God’s Own Country, up in Wharfedale where I used to train when I started running many, very many years ago. Instead of the hard dark millstone grit of previous visits, the softer white limestone dominated the landscape this week.

                        On Sunday I went along the banks of the Wharfe, with not a soul to be seen for most of the run. The agenda was a simple trudge down to the Abbey, on one side of the river, over the bridge by the Cafe, and then back up the other side. I saw one runner, who passed me early in my session; another symptom of the malaise in our sport I feel; no acknowledgement; no friendly grunt; not even a spit in my direction. And on a morning, with the birds singing their hearts out, the river flowing menacingly in high spate following the fast melt of the four inch snow fall of the previous day, the young lambs bleating with the novelty of life and the cows letting everyone know how pleased they were to be out for their first taste of fresh grass this year, you may ask me what was he wearing? A good question. He was wearing earphones!! How sad was that? Whatever it was that was being pumped into his cranium, it was incomparable to what nature had to offer. Gratis.

              And so the next day it snowed. The driving wind helped freeze my face in minutes of starting; the swans had got their hats on, the mallards were wearing earmuffs and the fish had frozen fingers. But I did see five individual joggers out exorcising their souls, one was in shorts; they breed them tough up here!! Or is it the inbreeding which causes such stupidity?

             Tuesday:- The climb up to Simon’s Seat from Howgil is steeper than I remembered but I am quietly pleased with myself as I didn’t have to stop. Actually that’s a moot point because the speed on some of the steeper sections could have lead to my being arrested for ‘loitering with intent’ [to grab some fresh air and run].  Luckily for me, no member of the local constabulary was nearby; in fact I didn’t see a single policeman during the whole two and a half hours. I bet that has something to do with the cuts of that nice Mr Cameroon. The path erosion up here is extreme. Huge problems are being stacked up for the future if something constructive isn’t done soon to remedy the wear and tear by man and nature. The run down the Valley of Desolation took its toll on my shins and knees. On rubber legs I got back to Barden Bridge where a couple of bikers (in leather not lycra) gave me a ‘Up one, two, three’. Now I haven’t heard that for years and years. I felt inclined to stop and tell them to ‘Get real chaps’ but I was not too happy about the way their salivating pit-bull was slobbering over my ankles. I though a ‘Good Morning’ would show them that I bore them no animosity and thought they would be rather pleased that I was encouraged by their comments. I didn’t think to ask them how they had got such a brute there; a backie or saddle? Back along the river to Burnsell; kingfisher, heron, goosander, sod off, I’m too tired.

                 Mid week:- When we hired a canal boat for a day on the Leeds-Liverpool Canal, I had totally forgotten about the lock closures of last summer, first from the drought then due to the scheduled impending winter maintenance. The canal was still not back to normal operations. However, flat out at 4mph, it didn’t matter too much. At that speed, I wasn’t going to get very far and the boat was able to keep up with me fairly easily.

              Thursday was pencilled in for a few hill efforts along the banks of an old dam which used to serve as the power source for the paper mill at Skyreholme. Except at weekends, the pathway was always totally deserted. Nearly always. Years back I was doing reps with a senior member of my running club along the sheep cropped dam side causeway. In previous days we had racked up the miles and he was suffering agony at the top of his legs from the repeated chaffing from his shorts. Vaseline afforded no relief. In desperation he discarded his shorts and ran the reps in his jockstrap!! (that’s OK between consenting athletes) Less than half the session complete, a troop of Girl Guides happened to pass by ... slowly. I believe they were on a nature ramble. Poor Pete had nowhere to hide his blushes; his cheeks had gone quite red! I wonder what badge the guides got.  Ballroom dancing?  

                    Friday had to be down to the Abbey again, but the Wharfe was still too swollen to allow a crossing by using the stepping stones. A shame. I wondered what the monks used to do when the river ran high. I suppose they decided on a session that avoided the river crossing. You can’t start a session in wet sandals, can you? And the straps do rub so. Running reps around the cloisters in closed order?

                   After the week of jogging, I do feel pretty confident that Aim 3 will be achieved.

Watch out Madge,

                               watch out Emil,

                                                          watch out Roger,

                                                                                       watch out Highly,

                                                            You won’t know what hit you.

                                                                                                Colin

P.S. To raise more money for the two charities, TINY TIMS and NEWLIFE, I am trying to sort out a few odds and ends to sell on e-bay, mostly running related. DETAILS TO FOLLOW.

Tiny Tims (reg char no.  1095737 www.tinytimcentre.co.uk  ) and Newlife (reg char no. 1001817 http://www.newlifecharity/)  Tell your friends    Spread the word   Please

All I want for Cwismas is me two flunt tleff

Win my medal Guess my time ... don't forget to record your guess

Dear Blog,

      No need to get so uppity. How was I to know that you are so touchy about people calling you nicknames? Honestly, I didn’t mean to upset you. Would I do that to a friend? Sorry. I’ll try not to do it again.

      What a week I’ve had. My trudging took a bit of a knock as I had to make a visit, or rather four (!) visits, to the dentist. Friday was a recovery day. I was suppose to have a tooth extracted and have a replacement for it, fitted to my plate; well that was the plan. Impression taken, out came the offending molar, plate to be fitted was sent to the technician, back came the plate next day; but - wrong tooth put on my plate!!! Well that is not quite the truth. Not one wrong tooth fitted to my plate, but three. Yes three extra teeth which did not include the one I wanted! It is like a medical take on the supermarket slogan, ‘Buy one, get one three’! I have more teeth in my mouth now that I have had for the last half century. Move over Knasher. Boy you should see me have a beano with a pile of food!!  Everything is now fine and dandy. Finally got it sorted but it meant that with all the messing, it was a bit awkward trudging; the pain, the blood, the dribbling. I have raced with a nose bleed, but to train with bloody dribbles flowing down my chin?? So the old mileage dipped a bit.

 And what else you might ask has befallen me? Well, there was the interview on local radio where the presenter had me to jogging on the spot while being interviewed – I kid you not. Yes – gasp - 66 years old – gasp - for children’s charities – gasp – Tiny Tims - cough – Newlife - sweat – £1 per guess - splutter – London marathon – gasp gasp. I could hardly walk the next days. Then there was the 25 minute interview with the local paper. It is so difficult talking about your own obsession with someone who is not wearing the same coloured anorak, don’t you find?

    I must confess, I did try a long run on the Tuesday. To combat the effect of the arthritis in my big toe, I did a little DIY on my shoes. I cut a large hole in my training shoe sole, to relieve the pressure. However, it was only partially successful. It was a 97 minute run and grit did tend to get inside the shoe; obviously the prototype needs a little more attention. The whole hole thing took me back to the 60s, when I was running a trial race for one of the Games. I couldn’t afford a new pair of shoes. The sole had worn through. And anyway, in the good old days, it was surprisingly difficult to find a sports shop that sold ‘proper’ athletic shoes. There was no demand. As it was, because of the money situation, to get down to Windsor, I’d had to hitch and then slept on the Embankment the night before the race. I confess I did treat myself to a train ride out to Windsor Castle on race day! Anyway, I had this hole in the sole, so before I travelled down to London from Durham, I’d cut out two inner soles of linoleum and then several layers of newspaper to act as cushioning, to stuff inside each of my ‘Tiger’** cubs (the oldies will remember those!!) to make an inner sole sandwich. All went well until about 21 miles when the lino finally wore through, the newspaper had turned into sweat soaked papier-mâché and I was running barefoot on the tarmac. Boy, those last five miles were interesting!!!

     Then there was the time I ran a 3000m steeplechase in bare feet and lost most of the skin off the soles of my feet before I reached 2000m ... cinder track in those days remember! Boy, those last 1000m were interesting!!!

                                    Teck care lad,      Colin, but you can call me Col if you like.

** To anyone under 50, ‘Tiger’ is the pre Cambrian name for ASICS.

Advice to youngster

Dear Bloggi,

      Glad to report that I’m feeling much better today as if life’s script has taken on a more amusing aspect, I feel. The sun is out, the sky is blue and there’s not a cloud to spoil the spring in the air. There are even buds on the holly. I went down to the running club last night to do my trudging. After which, one of the younger members asked me what my weekly training had been. I desisted from explaining the meaning of the word ‘training’ and assumed he was referring to the trudging

Fri: 5m rd

Sat: 1h 55m 60m pk, 55m rd

Sun: 2h 55m finished knakered

Mon: am 48m cty

Tues: pm 65m rd

Wed: am 63m rd

Thur: pm 62m rd

I told him it was all slow, survival in April being the overriding concern. He then asked me if I’d ever made a mistake I’d regretted. Thinking he was referring to life’s rich tapestry, I said that I had, and embarked on a long discourse about my first year at University. It was only the tormented look of bewilderment on his face that made me realise that, in fact, he had been referring to errors in an athletic context .. but, as I’d started, I continued to cycle of along my tangent.(Have you ever cycled on a tangent missus? Uncomfortable with no saddle isn’t it?)

In my fresher’s year, I’d opted to choose a course on computer studies. Of course, it wasn’t called that in the days of yore, it was called abacus, abacus, abacus, abacusorum or something, more like. Anyways, computer time was very expensive, and freshers were allowed 30 minutes on a Wednesday night, I think it was. As preparation, a programme (whoopsie daisie read ‘program’), had to be devised, written in code, typed onto ticker tape, and for a check, you posed a question for your own program to perform and solve. [Why’s he yawning, I don’t want to inspect his fillings] At the allotted time slot, the ticker tape was run through the transfer machine and dispatched via the phone line to god knows where. Our University shared computer hardware with another uni and a couple of polytechnics. The solution came back the following week via the phone network, ticker tape and decoder if the program had been written correctly. If not, an error message came and the whole fortnightly procedure had to be repeated!! I never did get an answer to my problem! At the end of a year of total frustration, I decided that computers would never catch on, they would never be of any real use and I was wasting my time. [Why’s he rubbing his eyes, has he got grit in them?] Instead, I switched to a course on Relativity. Now that was a real bright thing to do, a clever move on my part. I cannot begin to tell you the number of times that I have been in a tight spot and I’ve said to myself, ‘And what would Lorentz have done in this situation?’ And back would come the answer, ‘He would have travelled faster than the speed of light and ended up at a time before there had been the problem. So the situation causing the tight spot never occurred. Simple. Boy, I can’t start to tell you how pleased I am that I was wise enough to change courses all those years ago.

And do you know, after I had related my experience to the youngerster, I notice that he had dozed off and I had to wake him up. I can only speculate that his coach had worked him so hard that he was totally fatigued – surely a case for the club child protection officer to deal with? I shall have a word with my wife about it when I see her next.

Now don’t forget

£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1££1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1££1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1£1

Colin

Memories are made of this, The memories you gave me ....

Dear Bloggo,

I hope you don’t mind but I am beginning to think of you as my mentor, my confidante, my personal agony aunty. Re assuring man.

Having got that off my chest, I have to report that I am worried, - seriously worried with a capital ‘S’. You see, it’s like this ... Last Sunday, during my long run, I had completed a couple of hours and was entering the early stages of an amnesic stupor with a capital ‘M‘, when my mind began to wander, as it does at that stage of exhaustion. I was mentally going over my last blog posting to you.

What if – just what if, I imagined, just what if I do have a Doppelganger;  a sort of athletic stalker? If I hadn’t been completely dehydrated, I swear on my favourite racing shoes, that I would have broken out into a cold sweat. The thought had certainly made me up the speed of my run without my realising. It was only when I got really out of puff that l corrected my pace back down to a shuffle.

I had remembered that last summer I had had a phone call. Not just any old phone call from a call centre mind you, but a call from a member of NUTS (no not that – it stands for National Union of Track Statisticians) At first I assumed that the call was a wind up, but when I checked later, the phone call was genuine enough. “Was I” enquired the NUT on the end of the line “the Colin Kirkham who had recently won a marathon [I wish] in East Anglia. If so, did I know that this would constitute a World Record for the time span between a first marathon win and the latest marathon win!” He went on to explain further that he was involved with the Guinness Book of Records and his remit was to deal with athletic related events. Unfortunately I had to disappoint him (and me); I was not the same person. Now how scary was that? Two Colin Kirkhams. Can you believe it? It would take a whooping pinch of salt. Even more incredible is the spectre of two great athletes of the same name doing the same event; stretching the bounds of incredulity a little too far, don’t you think? I mean, 100m yes. Perhaps even 200m. I could accept that; but 26 miles??  No way Jose. I checked in AW, and sure enough, there it was ’1^st Colin Kirkham’ ... and you don’t see that printed much nowadays. Indeed, you don’t see that printed !

Coincidentally, about the same time, I had been researching a few facts for the History of Coventry Godiva about the Morpeth – Newcastle New Year’s Day Road Race. The year in question was 1967. I stumbled purely by chance on a result from the November, which had me in 4^th place at the North Shields ‘5’. (Check in AW, if you think I am telling porkies ) I had dismissed the result as a printing error because I had started work in Coventry a couple of months previously and was seriously broke. No way had I any spare cash to squander by travelling half way up the country. And why would I traipse all the way up to the North East for a poxy 5 miler? At the time I gave it no further thought.  I dismissed it from my mind. I dismissed from my thoughts and continued with my researching. But now in my heightened exhausted state, the enormity of having a long term stalker was seriously worrying, with a capital ‘W’. I swear there was a further increase my pace, although I suspect that might have been me hallucinating, as happens when you are really, really knackered. 

In the afternoon, after a period of recuperation from my long run and my return to full consciousness, I got out of bed and went swimming with my grandchildren. During the session, as I went under water for a third time, the above events flashed before my eyes. I am told such things do happen when you are drowning. Unable to exact a fitting revenge in public on my granddaughter for my rather unpleasant feeling of panic at the prospect of an early death, I resolved to at least to check out the facts on the North Shields Road race on my return home; If only to lay my subconscious fears to rest.

Yes the AW had not lied.

1. J.Hillen (Salt) rec. 23:48 ...4. C.Kirkham (Cov) 24:40. (AW vol. 21 no. 48)

 I dug out my old training diary. To my utter astonishment

‘Fri am:  Ran into work 8m. pm: Lift pt wy hme, 4m.

Sat North Shields RR 4^th – ran tired.’ and ‘Sun am  4m w.u., Collins clamber * 15, 4m w.d.. pm 5m Framwellgate Moor run.’

Mon am: Ran into work 8m. Pm: ran hme v. Slow’

I have no recall of the weekend. I was obviously in Coventry on the Friday and Monday, working as per usual. I have no idea why I would have travelled a couple of hundred miles to the North East. A possible reason I might have gone to all that trouble had left University at the same time as me. I have no idea where I would have stayed. I certainly couldn’t have afforded it. As I did not own a car, the logistics of the travel involved are most interesting?

So Bloggo, I conclude that not only have I got a doppelganger or a latter-day stalker who has the ability to erase past memories and alter documentation, but also that the time is rapidly approaching for me reserve myself a place in a secure unit, preferably with a view of a running track.  This marathon thing is beginning to take its toll, mentally and physically.

What do you think Bloggo? Cracking up or shortening the long runs on a Sunday? O.K. O.K..Long runs on a Saturday it is.

                                       Seethi,       Colin

It shouldn’t happen to a Vet!

Whato Blogsie,

In our first little tête à tête, I mentioned that you could guess my finishing time on the payment of the princely sum of £1 for the two charities for disabled children, Tiny Tims and Newlife; and I mentioned that Did Not Start (dns)  was not an option available for your little wager. ‘How Holmes’, you might ask ‘might this be?’ A very perceptive question Jeeves; allow one to offer up an explanation. Quite simple. If I don’t participate, my lookalike will, as has happened in the past! As fanciful as you might feel this scenario might be, the facts speak for themselves and can be checked at your leisure in the relevant copy of that august publication, ‘Athletics Weekly’. You may not be able to reconcile yourself to a parallel universe, as I myself did not until the following event unfolded.

In 2001 I was unable to run in the London Marathon of that year because I had sustained an injury which had curtailed the quantity and quality of my training. I wisely carried my entry over into the following year’s race. Unfortunately, I had the misfortune to again be the recipient of an athletic injury. A couple of days before the actual race, a friend asked me if I was competing; I told him that I would not be running because of my foot problem. The following week, I saw the same friend and he question why I had told him that I was not running when in fact I did; he said that he had seen my name in the results column of ‘Athletics Weekly’. My time was 4:23.53 for 17924^th place!! Sure enough, on checking in the official results, it was there in black and white, so it must be have been true.

Colin Kirkham 30:10:44 v57 Coventry Godiva Harriers 4hrs 23min 53 sec. (Check yourself!)

I tried to find out from the London Marathon organisers how someone was able to use my number, without my permission but I did not receive a satisfactory answer as such an event could ‘not be possible’, despite the physical printed evidence. Somewhere I still have the official piece of paper, issued prior to the race which told me what my race number would be. I waited with eager anticipation for the official photographs to arrive to see what my doppelganger looked like. Could he possibly be as handsome and athletic as me?? Had he invested as much as me in the last 10 years in his local gentleman’s hairdressers? Did his artificial tan look artificial? Could you see his tattoos clearly? Was he wearing retro 70s kit? Sadly, the photographs never arrived but a demand for payment did - and a few weeks later, a red letter demand fell on the door mat with the threat of legal action because of the non return / non payment of said photos!!! The company did take a couple of phone calls to back off and I never did find out who had shuffled round in my place, but I thought that leaving me to pay for the photos was a bit rich!

I am hoping that I will be recording a faster time this year than my twin brother did in 2002. To show that I am not one to bear a grudge, I am trying to arrange for him to receive the bill from the photographic company for this year’s race. What do you reckon, Watson? After all, all’s fair in love, war and a 26 mile trudge? Anyway, the way my jogging is going I suggest that the photographic company use the ‘still life’ setting when photographing my progress in April.

                                                                   See you,

                                                                                     Trudger.

P.S. To raise more money for the two charities, TINY TIMS and NEWLIFE, I am trying to sort out a few odds and ends to sell on e-bay, mostly running related. DETAILS TO FOLLOW.

Trudging past the tower 2000

Dear Bloggie,

                      I think it is worth mentioning that my Virgin London Marathon place is an athletic club place and not one of the Charity Places that the London Marathon sell to various charities. I have paid my own entry fee so no money has had to be raised for the race place! Therefore all money raised goes to the two charities, TINY TIMS and NEWLIFE. (Remember £1 per guess at my finishing time for a Virgin London Medal!)

You did mention when you signed up to be my friend that you would like a few details about me and my reason for running such a very long way when plenty of the famed London Red Buses seem to go along the same route quite regularly.

So here goes with the proviso that anything I write may not be used in evidence against me at anytime now or in the near or in the distant future so help me Godiva:-

Age: 66, looks 70, feels 80, although I cannot confirm the latter for another 14 years. Hang on in there!

Best time: 2¼ hours ish but that was when dinosaurs roamed the earth and my hair was black. It should be noted that I do not anticipate a personal best time on this occasion; could I be bluffing??  Sad.  I have been to an Olympic Games, a European Games and a Commonwealth Games –

Preparation:  I gained a Coventry Godiva Harrier club entry to the Virgin London Marathon 2011 on Thursday December 2^nd and on Thursday December 2^nd plus 1 day, I started jogging slowly, very slowly, very very slowly. After eight weeks, I have now speeded up to slowly. Of course, it goes without saying that ‘Slowly’ is a relative term. If you are called Highly Gabrilasillywhatsit, ‘slowly’ is fast. If you are the bloke in the diving suit who completed the London Marathon last year, ‘slowly’ is                              

so                  s   L     O       W         L           Y.                                                             

I must confess that I do feel that I am tending more to the former gentleman rather than to the latter.  I have not raced for some time!!! (? Should that be ‘I have not raced for a time for some time’, or ‘I have not raced’?)

Aim:     In order of ascending priority

1. To finish
2. To finish without walking
3. To finish before it gets too dark
4. To finish in 4hrs 10mins 34secs (see below)
5. To raise a few bob for Tiny Tims and Newlife, the two charities which help disabled children to cope more easily.

Predicted time:

Well Bloggie, if you are really old like me and used a slate and chalk at school you will remember this sort of thing:-

Question:- “If it takes a 35 year old man 2¼ hours ish to run a marathon whilst training 140 miles per week, how long will it take a 66 year old pensioner to run the same distance whilst jogging 40 miles each week?”

Answer:-   A 35 Yr old takes 2.25 hrs to run a marathon on 140 miles per week

i.e. A 1yr  old takes  2.25*35 hrs to run a marathon on  140 miles per week

i.e. A 1yr  old takes   2.25*35*140 hrs to run a marathon on 1 mile per week

i.e. A 66yr  old takes   2.25*35*140/66 hrs to run a marathon on 1 mile per week

i.e. A 66yr  old takes     2.25*35*140/(66*40) hrs to run a marathon on 40 miles per week 

                              .............. the computer says  ‘4.1761364hrs, which is 4hrs 10mins 34sec!!!! (see number 4 above)

[note:  yes I know!!]

                                            Yours

                                                              Colin Kirkham, London Marathon Trudger.

 ‘Trudging past the Tower’ (AW April 19^th 2000) with thanks to Mark Shearman for allowing me to use his photograph.

If you are unsure - I’m the athletic one in the yellow bib and dark blue coloured hat.