Tiny Tims Children's Centre

OK OK Blog, OK. So my parody in our last communication didn’t quite scan! You try writing on a given subject and a defined set of material, then we’ll see who the Lord Byron is around here. Anyway, like all great pieces of literature, all is not what it seems. ‘I’ appears 10 times ..... ‘Harriers’ appears five times and without the aid of a calculator, I reckon that ten times five is a cool fifty ... fifty years ago today. If you count the words in this sentence and divide by two, you get a grand total of fifty ... fifty years ago today!

The number of lines in the parody is fifty eight, which is eight over the odds which makes fifty .... fifty years ago today. And how many words were there in the opening sentence, again if you count the words in this sentence you will get a grand total of fifty!

Enough, enough, enough of this  ... you can work out the others for yourself Blog, while you are recovering from your latest training spin. So as the Queen has been known to say ‘There you have it.’ God bless her Majesty.

Are there some words or phrases that really get up your running vest, Blog? Some drive me crackers. I went along to the Midland Road Relays on Saturday. The Women’s relay was first event, four ladies in a team, by the way. The autumn course at Sutton Park, is the one not down by the stream. They were lead off by Zarinda, my elder, leg three was Myshola, my younger who took us up to a high of nine. My wife was last at 22^nd, which was a bit of a decline. However she was the oldest runner of the 72 starting teams .... which leads me to full circle with the inevitable ‘The Kirkhams’ [team in this case]. That term drives me wild, a phrase I cannot stand. Other candidates for pulling my hair out, for shortening my locks ..... ‘BOGOFF’, and ‘for free’ and

Photograph Quiz:

Photo no. 50:- A cutting from yesterday’s local paper. Who is it and why is it causing so much family friction?

Of course it is a photograph of my elder daughter who is running the Coventry Half Marathon this Sunday to raise funds for Tiny Tims Children’s Centre .....come on Blogsie, where are your quids???? The friction within in the family?? Well, I trudged a marathon in London earlier this year for my two children’s charities Newlife and Tiny Tims Children’s Centre and my picture in the local newspaper was half the size of my daughter’s. It is just not fair. Why should she get two pictures and me only one? I trudge double the distance and get half the coverage, so by the Law of Inverse Proportionality, if I trudge a mile, I should get a full double page spread ..... and if I do a 100m tridge**, the newspaper should not only print a special addition, but issue a supplement as well. I am working on it. Any way, we should be talking to each other again by the weekend when she will have run the Coventry Half Marathon to raise funds for Tiny Tims Children’s Centre ..... paying up Blogsie?

I was up in God’s own country last week, as I mentioned to you before, Blogs. On Thursday, when I planned to travel back to the estate, I was on the horns of dilemma. I could travel back via the M62 or the M65 to get to the M6. If i used the former I would pass within a mile of  Littleborough where Ron Hill was holding his 75^th Birthday 5 km race, Or if I used the latter, I could call off at Wycoller****** and run for an hour or two on the Herders. No contest I am afraid, Ron, the Herders won!!!!!!!!!!!!! One of the highest pubs in England (the Herders Inn) was sometime featured in the news over winters past, because quite a few drinkers were maroon inside the pub because they became snowed in (tell the missus that!); as I trudged by, it was a sad sight to see the place boarded up, closed for business because of the present economic crisis. When I first started to run marathons, my regular Sunday session was:-

a.m. Swim.

a.m. Run from home to the track (2 mile), 10*440 with 330 jog, run home (2 miles).

p.m. Run from home over the Herders to Laneshaw Bridge via Oakworth. Either return same way, or complete the loop via Cowling, Eastburn and Keighley (21 miles)

Makes me tired just thinking about it! What did you used to do when you first started Blog? I’d be interested to hear.

It was in the Newspapers this week so it must be true. They have done it at Cern, in Switzerland. You can travel faster than light ..... well Mr Thompson, can Mr Kirkham now have his degree back, please. Stuff your Professorship. Oh yes, it was dead funny fifty years ago, wasn’t it, when an undergraduate dared to suggest in a Maths tutorial that it might be interesting to speculate what would happen if we could travel faster than light. Re invent some of the basic laws of Physics

There was a young lady named Kite
Whose speed was much faster than light
She left home one day
In a relative way
And returned home the previous night.

It would not be possible to build a time machine to travel forward in time, because the future has not happened. But the past has occurred, so if a time machine were possible, it would enable a time traveller to go back to a previous age. Presumably there would be no control as to where in the past the traveller would end up. And on arrival, all the paraphernalia of travel, the clothing, capsul etc., would de-materialise because they had yet to be invented. The human form would be OK. But, by arriving in the past, the traveller would be altering history, which clearly is not allowed; so a parallel universe would begin [to make such events possible]. And of course, the traveller would not be able to return to his starting point, [even if he could invent the materials for such a project] because, once he had arrived in the past, the future time from which he had left, would not have happened. And you cannot travel into the future. Presumably, the geniuses of the past who have had such a profound effect on the development of mankind with their foresight (Da Vinci etc), must have been such time travellers! Wonder what I am writing to you at this moment, Blog, in all those infinite other parallel universes??? Now there is a question and a half.

See you on the other side, Blog.                                                                                                          Colin

PS.  In case you are not familiar with the modern athletic terminology, Blog, you know ‘a tempo run’**** etc., a ‘tridge’ is a fast ‘trudge’.

PPS **** ‘A tempo run’ used to be called ‘a steady run’.

PPPS ****** ... of ‘Bronte’ fame.

Bingley Harriers and ...... Athletic Club

Dear Blog,

Are we both singing from the same hymn sheet I have to ask myself ........? And what would you do if I sang out of tune .... would you walk out on me? Don’t worry, I’ll sing you a song and I’ll try not to sing out of key ....

It was fifty years ago today,

That Peter Dyer taught his group speed play*,

They were doing repetition quarter miles

With gritted teeth and not a single smile,

So may I come and join with you,

The club I’ve known for all these years,

Bingley’s only Harrier Club and .....

They’re Geoff Garnett’s only H. Club and .....

In training you should see them go.

Bingley’s only athletic club and ......

Sets back and forth the sessions go

Billy Humphries’ only, John Waterhouse’s only,

Bingley’s only Harrier Club and .......

Was wonderful to be there

Training on the hill,

Amid such lovely scenery,

They’d loved to drop me off for dead,

They’d love to drop me off.

I don’t really want to stop the flow,

But I thought you might like to know,

That the runner’s going to run a race,

And he wants you all to keep up the pace,

So let me introduce to you,

The one and only Stevie Binns

And Dennis Quinlan’s unbeatable Harrier Club band. [of runners!]

................................................................................................

Wednesday morning at six o’clock as the day begins,

Silently closing our bedroom door

Leaving my clothes in a pile on the floor,

I creep downstairs to the kitchen clutching my running kit.

Quietly turning the backdoor key,

Stepping outside for a pee.

I (jogging one of my favourite fives)

Am training (running one of my favourite fives)

Hard (trying to do a long steady run).

I’m leaving home, after training alone

For so many years. Why? Why?

Children snore as my wife gets into her

dressing gown

Picks up my note that’s been lying there

Telling her the route that I’m running out there

She slides down the stairs on the banister rail

Catching her toe in the door

Why did he leave it so thoughtlessly?

How could he do this to me?  

I (freezing, out in the bitter cold)

Am training (falling down flat on the frozen road)

Hard (I struggled hard to keep the pace high)

I’m heading home after training alone

For so many times. Why? Why?

Friday morning at nine o’clock, I am far away,

Waiting to keep the appointment I made

Racing along in a marathon cavalcade.

Me. What do I do to win a gold gong?

Am having. The pace judgement’s all wrong

A run. Winning is one thing that money can’t buy.

Training aside, the sheer pleasure derided

From so many wins gets you high. High

I’m going home. Bye Bye.

Yes Blog, it is really 50 years ago today that I went down and joined Bingley Harriers for the first run. Would I lie to you or would I lie to you?? Fifty years, that’s like half a century, or five decades. Cool.

                         Colin

P.s. * speed play is the old fashion name for fartlek, in case you didn’t know Blog.

Twinkle twinkle little star

Photograph Quiz:

Photo no. 49:- Why is this Olympian and former world record holder shaking my hand? Or am I shaking his hand? Where were we? What was the occasion? Who is he?

Dear Blog,

    Did you see a new bright twinkling star in the sky last night? I think there may be one more angel in heaven, one more star in the sky.

Why?

Went out for a trudge yesterday, up in Yorkshire, over the Dales and far away for 2 hours and 55 minutes (Impressed Blog??). All very lonely. Saw a couple of walkers just after I started out along the river bank, and a pair of mountain bikers as I began to climb up the first Hill past Percival Hall. And there you have it, not another sole. No body. Well, except for one; read on. As a precaution, I do leave a note on the car dashboard when I go off road into the wilderness stating my rough route and a generous E.T.A. in case I do one of my diving acts and cause myself some personal damage. At least, if the locals see the car parked up for a couple of weeks, they will have a rough idea where to find a body!!! Up I went. Nackering. Near the hill ridge, I came to within a mile of Pately Bridge where my sister and I had the pleasure of staying in a children’s home for some time when we were young. I tracked the ridge until I came to the cross route I used to use 50 years ago, thinking that in this brave new world of Right to Roam legislation, the path would be well trodden. Was I wrong, or was I wrong, Blog? A mile of stop, start, stop, stop, start did not help my mood with the chill wind not helping matters. On to the narrow path which would eventually drop down to the Wharfe, I had to be extra careful with the sheer drop on one side, no time now Colin to have a chat with Heather. Then I saw him. Coming towards me occupying the whole width of the path was a walker waving his arms about. A big chap. The closer I got, the more agitated his waving became. Trouble? Accident? Nutter? He greeted me like a long lost mate. ‘Colin Kirkham’ he said. ‘That’s a coincidence’ I said, ‘That’s my name too.’ ‘No I mean your name is Colin Kirkham.’ He said. ‘Yes, I know,’ I replied ‘ I already know that, it’s been that for a number of years now.’ I am getting worried; a Nutter with a capital ‘N’. ‘No’ he said ‘Let’s start again.’ Too steep to escape down there Colin, how do I pass him? ‘You’re Colin Kirkham’ ‘Yes, I’ve just said that I already know that. It was a decision my mum and dad made 65 years ago; it was entirely their fault. Bu to be fair they have stuck to it ever since. They have had no cause to change their minds’ ‘What a coincidence’. ‘What’ I said ‘A coincidence that we both have the same name?’ ‘No’ he said ‘you are just being silly now.’ I thought to myself that he was turning nasty; he’s a big bloke and I am miles from any help. The note I had left on the dashboard might come in handy after all. So, as Mr Murdoch used to say in his private paper before he murdered it, ‘I made my excuses and left.’! Quickly. Very Quickly! I looked back when I thought it was safe to do so. He was standing there waving his arms about shouting something about struck up grit, though why he was shouting about the millstone grit outcropping on the moors, I couldn’t quite comprehend. I soon dropped down off the wild moorlands to the relative tranquillity of the Wharfe. The river was in full spate after all the overnight rain, the Strid looking quite awesome as I passed.

       Back at the car park, an old couple were in conversation with another motorist, clearly upset over something. ‘Not going in your direction, I am afraid.’ The motorist was telling them. ‘I am heading over to Lancashire’. (Sorry about the language Blog, I shall wash my mouth out, say three Hail Marys and flog myself each night for a week for absolution). I sat there exhausted, supping a defizzed coke. A couple of walkers passed and the old couple approached them. Obviously the old couple were retired Jehovah’s witnesses looking for converts? I tried not to notice what, they were telling the couple, but the passing walkers weren’t buying into the scheme, ‘No’ with a shake of the head. I suspected that the old pensioners were the parents of the Nutter on the Hill and were worried that he had not returned; should they be so lucky. Then it finally happened. I was slightly mad; they came round to my side of the car. Now Blog, tell me honestly, have I got MUG tattooed on my forehead, or have I got MUG tattooed on my forehead? Be brutally honest with me, don’t spare my feelings. They told me they had lost their car keys and couldn’t get reception on their mobile to summon help. Was I possibly travelling home near Addingham. I said that it was no sweat to go that way ... they were very old. I said wait five minutes until I had regained consciousness from my trudge, and I would take them. Where did they think they had lost the keys, I enquired of them. The old fella said that the only time they had opened their rucksack was at the Cavendish Cafe for lunch. I said that was on the way to Addingham and that it was sensible to call in there on the way. They might have a land line at the Cavendish Cafe which they could use to summon help. They agreed with the brilliance of my suggestion and clambered on board the automobile. I drove into the Cavendish and half way down the approach drive to the Cafe, the gatemen was selling parking permits. The old fella wanted to get out to talk to the gateman who was selling parking permits but I said leave it to me as I was quite good at acting stupid. I told the gateman who was selling the parking permits that I had an old couple in the car who had lost their car keys and they thought the said keys might have dropped out of their rucksack when the stopped at the Cafe for lunch and could I drive down to the cafe without purchasing a parking permit and check if the lost keys had been handed in. He said that that was OK but to report back to him on the way out which I promised to do because he was operating the barrier and I couldn’t get out without him raising the barrier. I parked up at the Cafe, the old lady got out and went to the Cafe, emerging after a few minutes waving the keys in triumph. The old man said they would walk back up the river bank to their car to save me a return journey as I had been very kind to have driven them so far. The old lady got back into the car and said would it be alright for me to run them back up the valley to the car as the old man had already walked five miles that day and that five miles was about his limit. Now, Blog, tell me honestly, have I got MUG tattooed on my forehead, or have I got MUG tattooed on my forehead? Be brutally honest with me, don’t spare my feelings. I ran them back. They did offer to pay but I said that it was OK if they sorted out a bright twinkling star in the sky for me. They said they would see what they could do. So Blog, did you see one more angel in heaven, one more star in the sky; a new bright twinkling star in the sky last night?

                                                                                      Colin

P.S. A question for you Blog. Should I have charged the old couple a few quids for my daughter’s charity Tiny Tims Children’s Centre?? Her half marathon is only a couple of weeks away.

Dem bones, dem bones, dem dried bones....

Dear Blog,

              Fantastic news ...unbelievable. I went out for my usual long trudge yesterday; forgoing the excitement of viewing the Great North Run on the television set, and what happened???? I got a blister. A real blister. A blister affording me some little pain. Oh Joy!!! It’s my first blister for a decade; ten years. Does this mean I qualify now as a jogger, Blog? Have I graduated to a higher level of athletic endeavour? Am I to trudge no more? Trudging is no longer an option? Trudging has gone forever? Does my blister mean I have to look around in the athletic literature to find a competition to test my new found status? I must confess that the blister is not 100% caused because of the friction of trudging. That is, there are extenuating circumstances for its appearance, but it is still a blister caused by running, I hasten to add. Why the doubt? Well underneath my foot where the blister has appeared, is a length of scar tissue which has always and regularly blistered when I was running when I was a young lad. Many years ago, before you started jogging Blog, sorry, running, I had a couple of bones removed from my foot. Admittedly they were small bones, tidgy bones, but bones nevertheless; they had to be if they were removed from my foot? You don’t get bones the size of a femur in your foot do you Blog? Well, I had these bones extracted from my foot and I was left with a scar is where the knife went in and the bones came out. I suppose with hind sight, from an athletic point of view, it would have been far more convenient for me to have the bones taken out from the topside of my foot rather than the underneath part, thereby avoiding the repeated blistering over the years. Because it was a top London surgeon who performed the operation, I never thought to question the wisdom of creating scar tissue in such a sensitive part of my athletic anatomy. I never foresaw the problems I was stacking up for myself in the future. I am surprised that a surgeon au fait with athletics did not anticipate the consequences of his surgery. However, I was still able to churn out 2:15s, 2:16s and 2:17s marathon times post operation, even if the last few miles were always more painful than they might have been. So, Jogger am I, Blog?? Answer on a cheque for a quids or two for my children’s charity Tiny Tims Children’s Centre. I have already told you Blog, that both my daughters are running the Coventry Half Marathon in a couple of weeks time, the elder raising money for the charity.

Another amazing thing happened during the week. The local paper printed three quarters of a page of athletic news. Some of your actual LOCAL athletic news. What is so special you might ask yourself, Blog. Well, the local paper does not do athletics for some reason. Not for the last year or so anyway. That other well know Olympic speciality, Pentaque, yes; column inches of the stuff. But athletics? No, with a capital ‘N’. If you neglect all the information distributed to newspapers by the Avia publicity machine, then, since Christmas, local athletic clubs have had 7, SEVEN, reports only. This despite reports, comments, photographs being submitted. This despite athletic road races, track competition, trail races. Material that only had to be downloaded for printing. No sweat for the editorial staff. And what was this three quarters page you are desperate to ask me, Blog. It was a brief report of a 5 mile race in the local park promoted by my club which took place 23 [TWENTY THREE] days ago, most of the page occupied by tiny print with the names of the 201 finishers. A NEWS paper. Next week’s headlines will no doubt be about, the ending of the War ... the Boar War! And the proprietors wonder why circulation is dropping. I suspect that the only reason that athletics was given the coverage was because the local football team did not have a fixture. Mind you, if a letter is set to the editor, the subeditors mess with the contents to such an extent as to lose the point of the letter, or as was the case last week of a friend’s letter, make it complete gibberish. Two weeks ago I had cause to question the sincerity of one of the paper’s feature writers. A valid comment by me after the feature decried the lack of ‘true’ athletic competition at his child’s schools sports day. He finished his feature by acknowledging his relief at not having to take part in a fathers’ race. I pointed out that if he was relieved at not having to compete, then perhaps the reason for a non competitive sports day for the children was so that they did not have to suffer from the same anxiety that he had expressed!!! My letter was subedited so much, as to be unrecognisable. Note, dear Blog, it was an Infants school sports day to boot. I attended the same event as my granddaughter was taking part. I give up with that paper. They haven’t a clue.

                                     Colin

Death of a very dear friend.

Dear Blog,

               What did I say? ‘Things can only get better’. Well they didn’t. Definitely no. No with a capital ‘N’. I couldn’t trudge on Wednesday, my collarbone was too sore from my two executive meetings with Mother Earth, on Saturday and Tuesday. My athletic session on Thursday was a slow trudge ... a very slow trudge; a trudge even slower than my usual slow trudge, which is slow slow slow slow slow ... not even a quick in there! It was so slow that an old lady with a walking stick offered to help me to cross the road while there was a lull in the traffic.

But that wasn’t what made the week not get better. You see, I have always fed the wild birds that come to visit the estate. I mentioned the red legged partridges to you last week, didn’t I Blog? Over the years I have had robins, blackbirds, sparrows feeding out of my hand .. not at the same time I hasten to add. Pheasants have visited the old homestead by the bus load. Last year I was especially fond of ‘Hoppy’ who had broken her leg at some time in the past and limped with her foot bent at a peculiar angle, forcing her to hop on her left knee. I was saddened when she stopped popping round for a bite to eat about a year ago. I suppose she must have become someone else’s bite to eat? Well, this year there have not been too many pheasants. One bird popped by with a brood of youngsters in tow in the late spring, but she visited the once only. Last year, a brood was raised in one of the greenhouses which was a bit of a pane [geddit, Blog??], trying to plant up without disturbing mother and children. Early spring, an old scruffy male turned up on the estate with a beak deformity which meant he had difficulty eating anything but peanuts. So I had to use all my spare cash buying nuts for him. He got very friendly. He would feed out of my hand. He used to follow me about the garden. If I went litter picking on the estate roadways, he used to trundle along after me   ... sweet it was. Nice for me to have another friend besides you, Blog and Olympic Travel Bug. I suppose you have spotted I have been using the past tense, haven’t you Blog? Not a lot gets past you, does it? Sharp as one of my dad’s razor blades, you are Blog!  That’s why I’m sad, so sad. Yesterday, he was hit by a car (the pheasant not my dad) and died at the scene before the RSPCA could get an ambulance to him. It really is upsetting, so if you don’t mind Blog, I’ll drop you a line later as I’m much too upset to continue.

                            Colin      

Things can only get better

Dear me Blog,

What a day I had yesterday.

Things can only get better, I’m thinking.

Early morning and the washing machine wouldn’t work ... piles of washing ...a few strategic kicks made no difference, it still refused to work. Switching the electricity off and on a few times and the machine still refused to cooperate. I started to dismantle the thing! The lid took a bit of releasing but the internet solved that ‘Thump the rear of the top cover with the palms of both hands in a direction away from the front of the machine’! I kid you not. So I did ... big thump and it worked!!!! Off came the lid. So far so good. Things are getting  better, I said to myself. The mother control board took a bit of releasing but I finally got it detached from the machine. The micro switch control was missing!!! It measured about 3mm square, I kid you not. Tidgy it was. I searched the bottom of the machine with a torch and saw the little blighter lodged under the base of the drum. I managed to get it out with a piece of bluetac stuck to the base of a walking stick. The five tiny solder welds had given way. I searched the internet ... a replacement board would be £75, thank you very much. £75 for five tiny pieces of solder, I ask you. £75!! Not if I can help it, matey boy. I went into town and visited the computer shops ‘No we do not do soldering’!! Visited different jewellers. ‘A difficult job, and the chances are the solder would not be controlled well enough not spread onto the rest of the board thereby causing a short circuit’ One jeweller only, the rest weren’t interested. Things can only get better, said Mr. Blair or was it Mr. Kinnock? Who did I know who had the ability to fine solder? No one!!! So I got a piece of insulation tape and carefully stuck the switch in place on the control board making sure all the 5 contacts touched their respective terminals. I reassembled the machine and asked my wife for a pile of washing. She couldn’t believe her luck; she was quite disappointed at missing her trips down to the laundrette in the village for the next couple of months. Switched on, and HEYPRESTO. I have a working washing machine. The downside is that I did not replace the cover switch on purpose so that I could keep a check to see if the insulation tape was still doing its job ... I have now to switch on the electricity, and select the required programme, with the tip of an insulated screwdriver!!! Things have only got better. Do you know of anyone who can solder, Blog? I have a £500 washing machine only working because it is held together by one centimetre of insulation tape, colour black! I went for a trudge in the evening .... I told you that I tumble trotted on Saturday, didn’t I Blog, and hurt my arm and knee which are very sore still; and guess what?? I went a**e over t*t again .... and the worst part about my repeat performance was that my false teeth shot out of my mouth along the country path in front of me. I tried to clean them up with a bit of spit and a rub, but I must admit that it was not too successful. It was a gritty run back to the changing-rooms; I really had the bit between my teeth. Before last Christmas, as I was just getting into this trudging lark for the London Marathon to raise funds for my two children’s charities, Tiny Tims Children’s Centre and Newlife, I took a bad tumble and hurt my collarbone; ten months later, that is NOW, it is still keeping me awake at night, particularly sore when I try to pull, hammer or saw when doing odd jobs about the estate. Well I landed on my right side and damaged the same collarbone. Things can only get better, as they say. I did not sleep very well last night. I got up as usual about 6:30am this morning, had my breakfast and guess what? I fell asleep in the chair!!! Oh, and I couldn’t pull my socks on, the pain was too severe; pulling my vest and pullover on was bad enough. Things must get better. Now, the question is, ‘How am I going to trudge today?’ The answer is ‘With difficulty’!! And the other question is ‘What am I going to do with my spare £75?’

                                                       Things can only get better.

                                                                         Colin         

Packington Estate

Photograph Quiz:

Photo no 48:- The London to Brighton stage road relay took place from the twenties to the mid 1960s. So why is this take over on grass?? Why does the banner read 'Start and Finish'

And who is the Olympian finishing his leg? And what is the name of the athlete starting? A clue ... the club is Coventry Godiva Harriers.

Dear Blog,

 Can you believe it or can you believe it? I was doing a fartlek session up at the War Memorial Park on Saturday. I don’t mean, can you believe that I was doing a FARTLEK session up at the War Memorial Park on Saturday, but, can you believe the incident that happened during the session. I say fartlek but it was rather a cross between an interval type session and a true fartlek session, a standard format that I have used for years. I had done about four miles when I went a**e over t*t at the junction where the tarmac footpath becomes the car park entrance road to the park. Down I went. Crash. Lacerated flesh and spurting blood. I think I went down because I was watching an approaching car, slowly leaving the car park travelling towards me. Anyway I went down with a crash, taking the skin off my left arm and right knee and very badly bruising my dignity. As I lay there with tears welling up into my eyes, the car I had been watching continued to slowly edge towards me, mounted the kerb to get past and carried on out of the park!!!! I kid you not. ‘Thanks mate, sorry if I’m in your way laid here sunbathing in the middle of the road. I find I get a better tan stretched out in the roadway, something to do with the sun’s rays bouncing off the tar macadam, I think.’ Can you believe that, Blog? The caring big society? ‘I am in my car and you happen to be in my way. Don’t bother moving, I can get round you, no problem.’ I suppose I should be grateful that in addition to my bloody arm and leg, I didn’t have tyre tread marks across my chest. Anyway I was very brave, I mopped the tears from my eyes, wiped the blood from the gash on my arm and completed the session. Boy, was I sore the following day. So, instead of the intended session, I did a modified ‘10’ on the road to make sure that I recovered enough for today. I was trudging so slowly that a stag beetle crossing the road in front of me was faster, I kid you not. I trudge up the hill towards the radio towers, towards Maxstoke. Down one of the country lanes, I passed a small triangular grass traffic island at a lane junction, on which there is a very old oak tree. On the trunk is mounted a brass plaque denoting the fact that John Wesley preached there; no date given. As I continued to drop down the lane, I could see the huge tip at Packington. My first ever long run, forty years ago, when I came to Coventry, took me passed the tip. In the morning, I had ridden on my moped and found the track at Nuneaton so I could do a 10 by 440 interval session. I was amazed at finding the track because on arrival, I recognised it as the track I had run on in an Inter Counties 1500m a year or so earlier. I had travelled to the match on the county coach and had not taken too much notice about where we were travelling to!!! Surprised I was!!! I did my session, had some lunch, a rest and was ready for my ‘20’. For the long run in the afternoon, I went from the pit village of Arley, through Fillongley village, over Meriden top, down past the ruined Abbey at Maxstoke, through Coleshill, down the Packington Lane before turning for home along the A45 trunk road, back to Arley. Little did I realise that in a couple of year’s time, I would be running up and down the Packington Lane to and from work at Coleshill School. I went down the lane, passed the tip. It stank. There was rubbish everywhere. The tip was a series of gigantic holes about 50 or 60 feet deep. Tipping had recently begun I think. I later learned how interesting the enterprise was. The tip was on Lord Aylesford’s land, part of the Packington Estate. Apparently, a few years before, the estate was having severe financial problems; minimal income from farm lets, set on not very good agricultural land. Packington Hall, sat stately in the middle of heath land, was in dire need of restoration / preservation work. So was the estate church. So was the North Hall. So were the many farms on the estate. But there was no money. Then things changed. I don’t know who was responsible for the transformation but the ‘how’ is extremely interesting from a conservation point of view. The first thing to happen in the sequence of events that led to liquidity was that acres of the estate were turned over to sand and aggregate extraction, thereby creating those massive holes I mentioned but also creating a source of income for the Packington Estate. The holes were then licensed to the surrounding local authorities to be filled with household waste, thereby creating a source of income for the Packington Estate. Then the motorway (M6) was built along the northern boundary of the estate thereby creating a source of income for the Packington Estate. Some of the large holes were turned into fisheries, thereby creating a source of income for the Packington Estate. Some of the land near the motorway was turned into a golf course, thereby creating a source of income for the Packington Estate. A hotel / conference centre was built beside the golf course, thereby creating a source of income for the Packington Estate.  When the holes were filled with rubbish, the local planning authority gave planning permission for the tipping to continue, the hole slowly growing into a huge mound a couple of hundred feet high spread over many acres, thereby creating a source of income for the Packington Estate. The mound was then covered with a membrane of plastic, trapping the methane gas which had been produced by the millions of tons of rotting household waste dumped at the tip over the years. The captured gas was piped to a generating station built nearby on the old railway line (thanks to Dr. Beeching) that ran through the estate. Electricity was produced by the generator which was sold to the Electric Generating Board, thereby creating a source of income for the Packington Estate. The mound has been grassed over and returned to agriculture which is of a better quality than the original land, thereby creating a source of income for the Packington Estate.

I do think that the whole enterprise is extremely praiseworthy. Intrusion and inconvenience for a period of years, but then a return to the natural order of things. And a part of England’s heritage has been saved because the income generated has been used for restoration on the estate fabric, and the Packington Hall preserved despite a disastrous fire at the Hall a few years ago. If only other industries were half as successful or committed, our countryside would be all the better. Let me now declare an interest. For very many years, Lord Aylesford, then his son on inheritance, gave me permission to run through his private estate to and from my place of work at Coleshill School. There was no public access to the estate. Also, a couple of years ago when I was organising the multi stage ‘N.P.Areospace Tour of Coventry and Warwickshire’ to celebrate the first marathon to be run in this country, I was allowed to run one of the stages through the park, at no cost ... as opposed to running another stage at the Prodrive Test Track at a cost of £800!!!!! The run through the Park made a big impression on the competitors ..... past the fishing lakes, in front of the old stately Hall, over the heath land with the deer bemused at the spectacle of a running race, crossing the old packhorse bridge. Not only was the five day event memorable, but this stage in particular, was unforgettable.

Anyways, I completed my ‘10’ and am fit and well for today, just in case you were worried about me, Blog. Joke.

                                                   Colin

PS Don’t forget Tiny Tims Children’s Centre

Tic Toc, Tic Toc, Tic Toc.

 Photograph Quiz:

Photo no. 48 (or thereabouts):- Despite finishing second to Ron Hill (three times Olympian, European and Commonwealth Champion) in 1966, why was I not a happy bunny? Where was the race? Who was third?

Oh Blog, Blog, Blog.

                                 I feel you have duped me; taken advantage of my good nature. Back in January when you asked to be my friend, I thought it was because you were lonely and wanted a mate. Now what do I find? My nephew has revealed to me all this technical palaver about computer messages etc. and what do I find out about you; I find you have friends in 43 countries ..... 43!!! Admittedly, half a dozen of those have only been in touch with you three times or less. But the rest???? Well, well, well. Viewing all you contacts since January, I am Impressed. IMPRESSED I AM. But why didn’t you tell me about them all? Do they all get in touch with you? What do they say?

I am surprised that you have had only a few contacts from Australia. Perhaps if you had written your messages to me on the back of a beer can, you would probably have been inundated with mail!!! Are you not worried by your mates in China? And those in Russia? Are you not afraid of a honey trap? We have lots of valuable training secrets between us after all. Perhaps the Russian and Chinese want tips on athletics to make their athletes superior to the GB athletes for the Olympic Games in London in 2012??? To embarrass us perhaps?? Can’t let that happen, can we?? Do you think that they think our communications are some form of subversive code to the athletic agents in their countries? I see you have a big fan base in France and Germany, and what about Tunisia? Tunisia? Perhaps the latter want training tips to get fit to escape from their country’s internal problems? I bet all the college athletes in USA are keen on the training tips to improve their scholarship value? Those in the Caribbean will get a bit hot and bothered if they take notice of the trudging tips, the same can’t be said about your mate in Alaska, though, and those in Switzerland!! I bet you are flattered that all the Scandinavian countries are keen on your athletic schedules as they are the countries that have contributed so much to athletic training methods and racing in the past. Do the athletic nuts in the Philippines, Indonesia and in Singapore have track facilities?? Why so many mates in Singapore anyway??? Talking of nuts, what events do your four Brazilian mates do?? I am amazed at the number of friends you have from the countries that used to be behind the Iron Curtain, Slovakia, Ukraine, Lithuania, Belorussia and all those in Poland??? That’s me being old fashioned though?? We should all get together. Have a worldwide party??? Perhaps we should form a trudgers international club, trudgers on continents, call ourselves TIC-TOC? With so many mates in Spain, Italy and Greece, you will be a bit spoiled for choice about where to go for a sunny holiday or warm weather training? It would be nice to have a touring holiday around India seeing all your friends scattered around the sub continent. You will enjoy Israel ... do all the people live on Kibbutz or do some live in the cities? Or a moshav? You could ask your Austrian mates if they would give you board and lodgings while you did a bit of intensive hill work, or do they all live in Vienna? With your large fan base in Eire, I can recommend a trip across the Irish Sea. Or the North Sea to Denmark or Holland. You could do snow running in Canada and sand running in Egypt or the U.A.E.. So many friends. So many. And they keep in touch so regularly .... TIC-TOC must be GO??? Why not ask them to pass on your good wishes on to their friends and try to chalk up 50 countries??

          Oh yes. You remember I told you about my new dear friend the Olympic Travel Bug. Well, he’s landed in Australia .... Knocked off Sydney and Melbourne from the list of Olympic cities .... where next?????

            I really must stop now. I have arranged to do a few hill climbs on the University of Warwick playing fields, though with all these football courses the University is organising, it is difficult. Obviously, the footballers have paid a great deal in fees to learn how to kick a ball, but need they be so offensive? I don’t want to tread on their precious pitches, anyway. Perhaps if I offer to clean up the mess they leave after each day of learning to shout all those rude words to each other, they be a little friendlier? What do you think Blog??

          Colin

PS My elder daughter is raising quids for Tiny Tims Children’s Centre, I’ll be after you and your mates, Blog!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

PPS After my experience with the wheelchair on the London Underground trains, I have added wheelchair lifting to my weights schedule, 1. Dead lift wheelchair.  2. Running upstairs with wheelchair. 3. Training with a wheelchair ... Geddit?????? Oh what a wag, I am.

7/11

Dear Blog,

                I must confess that I have always been sceptical when people have claimed to remember precisely where they were or remembered what they were doing when a significant news story broke. I cannot remember where I was or what I was doing when Kennedy was assassinated. I cannot remember where I was or what I was doing when Elvis died. I cannot remember where I was or what I was doing when Lennon was shot.

                But

                Ten years ago I was teaching mathematics at Blue Coat Church of England School in Coventry. I had a stack of marking to do. I worked through my lunch hour and into the afternoon to get on top of that weekend’s homeworks. As I was free in the afternoon session, earlier in the day I had ask if it was OK if I went to pick my elder daughter up from her place of work to take her to the dentist. I hadn’t quite finished my marking, so I took the remainder of the unmarked books with me to complete while I waited for the dentist to do his bit (!). In the car I tuned into the radio. I had just missed the start of the afternoon play on radio 4 when I set off from school; I thought I could pick up the plot as I drove. The narrator kept repeating himself and despite my best efforts I could not make head or tale of the story line. I abandon ed the plot and switched my tape on to listen to music. I sat outside my daughter’s office for her to come out. I completed my marking, and switched the radio to radio 4 to listened to the programme after the play. The fact that the play was still on didn’t register as significant; the narrator was still babbling on.The play seemed like a poor man’s version of H.G.Wells’ ‘The War of the Worlds’ with the narrator doing an appalling take of Orsen Wells. I switched off. I dozed. My daughter came running across the road from her office; why so keen to get to the dentist? She told me about the Towers.

                  I must confess that I am no longer as sceptical when people claim to remember precisely where they were or remembered what they were doing when a significant news story broke.

                   Colin

Where have all the young birds gone, Long time passing, Where have all the young birds gone, Gone a trudging every one

Photograph Competition:

Photo no. 45:-   What is this all about???

Dear Blog,

                A dilemma …. I started writing to you in January, because I thought you wanted to be my friend and I thought I could earn a few quids for my two charities for disabled children, Tiny Tims Children’s Centre and Newlife while trudging around d the streets of London. Oh yes, while I remember, I also raised a couple of hundred quids in addition to the £1700 by selling some athletic memorabilia on e-bay, though that didn’t appear on the Just Giving account as it went directly into the Charities’ Fund!!! Anyway, as I said, writing to you as a mate, I thought it would produce a few Quids. The London has long gone and the fund per sec has closed though one of my daughters has taken up the torch so to speak and is running with it in the Coventry Half Marathon to raise money for Tiny Tims Children’s Centre, any quids from you Blog, are welcome!!!. So the dilemma …. Do I stop trudging???? What will I do with all my spare time if I do? Do I try to Trudge London again???? If I stop trudging do I stop writing to you? Will you be heart broken if I do??? I need to make a decision??? I suppose I could make a big push to finish my magna opus, as they say in the trade, ‘The History of Athletics in Coventry and District with reference to Coventry Godiva Harriers in Particular’? I’ve a few funny tales to tell you about some of the incidents … might get around to telling you them if you promise not to pass them on. The answer to the photo quiz is:- it is the first ever club handicap, the cards cost 4/6 to print but the cost was covered by selling enough to entrants and supporters at 6d per card andso started Godiva’s obsession with money and their fight to survive financially; a recurring theme throughout the club’s history, many other local clubs folding because of the lack of a stable financial footing!!!

In my last little communication to you, Blog, I mention the swallows … well a little bird must have warned them about the weather cos they’ve gone … so have the swifts from the barn up the Lane … and so have the house martins from the school eves. So that’s it, winters coming, get out your woollie undies Blog!!

                                                Colin

Road Runner

Dear Blog,
                I went over to Kenilworth yesterday and trudged around part of the Kenilworth Half Marathon course while my daughter ran. The swallows were out in force despite the rainy conditions. As I trudged, I thought about the habits of the migratory birds. Without exception, house martins used to turn up to start nesting in the second week in May while I was working in my last job. Without fail for 25 years. As regular as clockwork. I don't know how usual it is,, as they stick to the same routine. For a week in April, they both take an early morning stroll together down our driveway, always in the same direction; occasionally they stop for a bit of a peck. They then disappear for a month; then one of the birds returns for three or four days feeding on the drive with a string of chicks in tow, as much as to say, 'what do you think of the family, eh Trudger matey?'. I am waiting now for the final part of the yearly ritual ... the pair turn up for three or four days for a similar stroll to their walk in the spring, then they disappear for the year!!
                  Bit like training really. You get keen in the spring, do a couple of races in the summer and retire for the winter. Or so they tell me.
                                                 Colin
In case you were wondering Blog, my daughter won the Ladies race ... she promises to buy me a pair of trudging shoes with her prize .... hang on a minute, a pig has just flown past the window ... and another one ... and another.

Marathon Training Tip

Marathon Training tip no. 4 and no. 5.

Photograph Quiz:

Photo no 44:- Why did this group have their photograph taken? Where was it taken? What competition had they won? Why was I missing from the photograph? Who are the four Olympians? Who are the two world record holders?

Dear Blog,

                   Went out on Thursday for my trudge in the beautiful sunny weather. Back in shorts. Part of the trudge took me down along the river bank. Growing on the bank sides was the tall (4 or 5 foot) plant with the attractive mauve flower similar to a snap dragon – I did know it’s name once upon a time. When we were young, a long long time ago, we used to break the plant down and snap off part of the stem. The stem was hollow. This was used as the tube for a pea shooter. The ammunition was the green berries of the elderberry tree. We used to strip the tree of its bunch of berries; presumably into some sort of bag (did plastic bags exist then???). The bunch of berries was stuffed into our mouths and the bunch stalk pulled out, leaving a mouthful of ammunition. I am sure we must have swallowed tons of the things. Getting back home, I did a few stretches in the greenhouse ..... which reminded me of my marathon training tip number 4. Dehydration can be a big problem in marathon races, more so years ago when water stations were very limited indeed. To adapt the body, I used to train in excessive kit (obvious ploy), or a full wet suit in summer, (not so obvious ploy) but end a session doing an exercise session, or a weights session, in the greenhouse where the temperature was very high and the humidity excessive. (most unusual ploy). Sweat used to tipple off me in summer; on a hot day the heat was unbearable. But at least, I believed it enabled me to cope better than most other competitors with heat in races. I followed this routine for many years. The downside was that I now find it very difficult to cope with cold. I wonder if the two are related?? Have I upset the natural temperature tolerance of my body?? This week it was a bit crowded in the greenhouse as all the varieties of tomatoes are coming to fruition. This jogged my memory as I sweated away. As kids, the only holiday we had each year was to visit my granny in Nottingham. And of course during the course of the week, we had to do the rounds of all of dad’s brothers and sisters. One brother, who we regarded as rather posh, had an allotment. He was posh because he lived in a council house with a garden!! A garden with a lawn, which we could only tread on if we were careful not to damage the grass. I kid you not, Blog. The joke in the family with Uncle Ted was his tomatoes!! No double entendre, Blog! Whenever we visited him, we were regaled with tomato sandwiches. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but now I fully understand his passion for the fruit. Thin sliced white bread tomato sandwiches with thick butter and excessive salt. My wife makes all our own bread, cakes etc. so in the normal course of events, I never see white bread. Except when the tomatoes come on stream ... it’s just got to be white thin sliced bread tomato sandwiches with thick butter and excessive salt, if only to evoke the memories of the hot sunny holidays in Nottingham. It always seemed hot and sunny when we visited each year during the Keighley holiday works fortnight. We couldn’t afford to travel by train so it was a major exercise to travel by bus from Yorkshire to my granny’s house. First bus out of Keighley to Leeds at about 6.15am which meant a mile trek into town at the early hour carrying (dragging) our suitcase with us. First in the queue meant we could sit at the front seat on the upper deck, a real treat. If it was a single decker, we could sit directly behind the driver. A bonus was having my granddad drive if he could get on the early shift. At Leeds we had a small trek to get to the bus stand which contained the connection bus to Doncaster. By late morning with the temperature getting warmer and warmer, we were faced with a long route march across Doncaster from one bus station to the other in order to catch the Nottingham bound bus. It seemed like miles and miles with my parent’s temperature rising with the thermometer. By now there were stacks and stacks of passengers all waiting for the Nottingham bus. Duplicates had to be put on, which meant an additional wait until the extra bus, or buses, turned up. Luckily, granny Swift’s terraced hovel nearly backed onto the Huntingdon Street bus station, so the final drag with the suitcases was short. I say hovel, because living conditions in the inner city Nottingham were appalling. Our house in Keighley was poor, but Gran’s was worse. But she did have electricity which we didn’t ... and the toilet was at the bottom of the yard not in the next street like ours! As a six or seven year old, Nottingham meant a week of unbridled freedom, wandering the city streets with all my cousins. We were all of a similar age, so it was a week to savour. One of my cousins was a crook then, became a professional crook later and died a crook after spending some time in prison. But she was great fun!  The city kids variation of hide and seek was an inversion of the usual game. One person was ‘on’, but went off for the count of a couple of hundred, and the rest chased to find them. However, to complicate things, the person who was ‘on’ set off armed with sticks of chalk. At each road junction, they were supposed to draw an arrow on the pavement to indicate the direction of travel  .... however, the arrow could be multi directional, pointing in several different directions, one of which had to be correct by the rules of the game. So, at every junction the chasing group had to split up with each person forced to go to the next junctions to determine the correct route. If it was a long street, this could be a strategic delaying tactic employed by the person ‘on’, as the chasing group had to re assemble before the pursuit could be resumed. A star on the pavement indicated that the chase was over and the chasers had to find the quarry who was hidden in the immediate locality.  Perhaps that is why I liked running when I was older. Of course the game didn’t work in Keighley, because there was not enough streets, because there was a lack of variety of foot paths and ginnels which did not afford the same opportunity to make the chase interesting, and because my parents would not allow us to wander off ... in Nottingham they just thought we were playing in the street at one of my cousins’ houses, blissfully unaware of what we were really up to. Uncle Ted’s tomato sandwiches was usually accompanied by sugar sandwiches, a staple at home as well. Again, thin sliced white bread, caked in butter (was there margarine then??) and doused in sugar, eaten as an open slice. Healthy or what??? And of course. Sweets were on ration, so sweets were home made, a sherbert dip with no sherbet but cocoa and sugar mixed together in a paper bag. Question; if sweets were rationed, was not sugar? And if it was, how come we always seemed to be eating sugar sandwiches? So marathon training tip number five:- Sugar white bread sandwiches as your pre race meal, Blog. P.b.s all the way!!!

                             Colin

Marathon Training Tip

Photograph Quiz:

Photo no 44:- Why did this group have their photograph taken? Where was it taken? What competition had they won? Why was I missing from the photograph? Who are the four Olympians? Who are the two world record holders?

Dear Blog,

                   Went out on Thursday for my trudge in the beautiful sunny weather. Back in shorts. Part of the trudge took me down along the river bank. Growing on the bank sides was the tall (4 or 5 foot) plant with the attractive mauve flower similar to a snap dragon – I did know it’s name once upon a time. When we were young, a long long time ago, we used to break the plant down and snap off part of the stem. The stem was hollow. This was used as the tube for a pea shooter. The ammunition was the green berries of the elderberry tree. We used to strip the tree of its bunch of berries; presumably into some sort of bag (did plastic bags exist then???). The bunch of berries was stuffed into our mouths and the bunch stalk pulled out, leaving a mouthful of ammunition. I am sure we must have swallowed tons of the things. Getting back home, I did a few stretches in the greenhouse ..... which reminded me of my marathon training tip number 4. Dehydration can be a big problem in marathon races, more so years ago when water stations were very limited indeed. To adapt the body, I used to train in excessive kit (obvious ploy), or a full wet suit in summer, (not so obvious ploy) but end a session doing an exercise session, or a weights session, in the greenhouse where the temperature was very high and the humidity excessive. (most unusual ploy). Sweat used to tipple off me in summer; on a hot day the heat was unbearable. But at least, I believed it enabled me to cope better than most other competitors with heat in races. I followed this routine for many years. The downside was that I now find it very difficult to cope with cold. I wonder if the two are related?? Have I upset the natural temperature tolerance of my body?? This week it was a bit crowded in the greenhouse as all the varieties of tomatoes are coming to fruition. This jogged my memory as I sweated away. As kids, the only holiday we had each year was to visit my granny in Nottingham. And of course during the course of the week, we had to do the rounds of all of dad’s brothers and sisters. One brother, who we regarded as rather posh, had an allotment. He was posh because he lived in a council house with a garden!! A garden with a lawn, which we could only tread on if we were careful not to damage the grass. I kid you not, Blog. The joke in the family with Uncle Ted was his tomatoes!! No double entendre, Blog! Whenever we visited him, we were regaled with tomato sandwiches. I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but now I fully understand his passion for the fruit. Thin sliced white bread tomato sandwiches with thick butter and excessive salt. My wife makes all our own bread, cakes etc. so in the normal course of events, I never see white bread. Except when the tomatoes come on stream ... it’s just got to be white thin sliced bread tomato sandwiches with thick butter and excessive salt, if only to evoke the memories of the hot sunny holidays in Nottingham. It always seemed hot and sunny when we visited each year during the Keighley holiday works fortnight. We couldn’t afford to travel by train so it was a major exercise to travel by bus from Yorkshire to my granny’s house. First bus out of Keighley to Leeds at about 6.15am which meant a mile trek into town at the early hour carrying (dragging) our suitcase with us. First in the queue meant we could sit at the front seat on the upper deck, a real treat. If it was a single decker, we could sit directly behind the driver. A bonus was having my granddad drive if he could get on the early shift. At Leeds we had a small trek to get to the bus stand which contained the connection bus to Doncaster. By late morning with the temperature getting warmer and warmer, we were faced with a long route march across Doncaster from one bus station to the other in order to catch the Nottingham bound bus. It seemed like miles and miles with my parent’s temperature rising with the thermometer. By now there were stacks and stacks of passengers all waiting for the Nottingham bus. Duplicates had to be put on, which meant an additional wait until the extra bus, or buses, turned up. Luckily, granny Swift’s terraced hovel nearly backed onto the Huntingdon Street bus station, so the final drag with the suitcases was short. I say hovel, because living conditions in the inner city Nottingham were appalling. Our house in Keighley was poor, but Gran’s was worse. But she did have electricity which we didn’t ... and the toilet was at the bottom of the yard not in the next street like ours! As a six or seven year old, Nottingham meant a week of unbridled freedom, wandering the city streets with all my cousins. We were all of a similar age, so it was a week to savour. One of my cousins was a crook then, became a professional crook later and died a crook after spending some time in prison. But she was great fun!  The city kids variation of hide and seek was an inversion of the usual game. One person was ‘on’, but went off for the count of a couple of hundred, and the rest chased to find them. However, to complicate things, the person who was ‘on’ set off armed with sticks of chalk. At each road junction, they were supposed to draw an arrow on the pavement to indicate the direction of travel  .... however, the arrow could be multi directional, pointing in several different directions, one of which had to be correct by the rules of the game. So, at every junction the chasing group had to split up with each person forced to go to the next junctions to determine the correct route. If it was a long street, this could be a strategic delaying tactic employed by the person ‘on’, as the chasing group had to re assemble before the pursuit could be resumed. A star on the pavement indicated that the chase was over and the chasers had to find the quarry who was hidden in the immediate locality.  Perhaps that is why I liked running when I was older. Of course the game didn’t work in Keighley, because there was not enough streets, because there was a lack of variety of foot paths and ginnels which did not afford the same opportunity to make the chase interesting, and because my parents would not allow us to wander off ... in Nottingham they just thought we were playing in the street at one of my cousins’ houses, blissfully unaware of what we were really up to. Uncle Ted’s tomato sandwiches was usually accompanied by sugar sandwiches, a staple at home as well. Again, thin sliced white bread, caked in butter (was there margarine then??) and doused in sugar, eaten as an open slice. Healthy or what??? And of course. Sweets were on ration, so sweets were home made, a sherbert dip with no sherbet but cocoa and sugar mixed together in a paper bag. Question; if sweets were rationed, was not sugar? And if it was, how come we always seemed to be eating sugar sandwiches? So marathon training tip number five:- Sugar white bread sandwiches as your pre race meal, Blog. P.b.s all the way!!!

                             Colin