running commentary

Oh dear, another spell of blog missing in action (inaction?) The least I can do is bring the running stuff up to dte, so here goes the least I can do.

July was pretty a fairly light month, having started with the DNF on the Goldie and August starting wiht some diving that I did not feel like missing because I'd got all stupid and snotted my lungs up again. Then there was the City2Surf, which was the do-I-don't-I decider for having a crack at the Sydney Marathon and pretty soon after that I landed on do.

So I had about a month to get some distance into my legs and some belief that I could do Sydney's twisty 42k, grab a medal and be able to breathe properly the next day. As it turned out I did what I consider to be about the bare minimum training for the distance, but hey, I've got a ton of base over the years and I'm still stubborn and stupid enough to suck up a fair wallop of post-race discomfort that could have been avoided with more more better training and less stubborn stupidity.

So my final month saw me knock out a lap of Manly Dam - because I was missing the trails a bit, do a bit of faster stuff (well, one run of 5k, running in circles - but it still counts), I ran home from the new office a couple of times (18km) and I knocked out a smidge over 32k of one of my stock runs.

I get my car serviced at Chatswood Auto Repairs and done since I lived in Willoughby a few years back. They are a good bunch that I trust. The run home from the garage is a bit over 32k. Yes, you do need to take a rather daft - but quite picturesque - route home, but 32k is 32k. And that is my bare minimum long run for marathon training. A mixture of arrogance, ignorance and maybe a bit of self-belief tells me that it doesn't matter how bad I feel I can always knock out a 10k. So I took it easy, I took a few pictures and I came away thinking yes, I can do Sydney.

Three days later - legs and lungs intact - I registered.



The following weekend I found myself back in the medals (so to speak, please do not think I got a podium finish!) at one of my favourite events, the Pub2Pub. It does not start at a pub and since the renovations at the Newport Arms it no longer finishes at a pub. But the new finish is, in my opinion, far more conducive to sticking around for a brew-or-two; the finish festival, behind the surf club at Newport Beach, features a pop-up 4Pines beer garden.

This is a lovely event, despite the first bit being in calf-destroying sand along the beach at Dee Why. I finished in under an hour, which I was pleased with. That got me 58th place. At a little after 9am I had my first beer, and despite the drizzle I stayed and had a couple more with a good friend who also has this as an annual event.

It's poor form to turn up at a new job wiht a hangover, so finishing drinking by noon on the day before my first day at Blackmores seemed sensible. Don't judge me, it is one day a year!

My final run was one of the two home from work at which point I started my taper. By which I mean I didn't run for the last 10days. Normally I stop a bit further out, but this time around I felt I should get a few more miles into my legs and as I had no intention of going for a time I didn't need to be fully rested; this one was going to be treated as a long training run.

The Tuesday before race-Sunday I got a call from school saying my oldest was sick and could I collect her. If I'm honest then I'd say i should not have shoe-horned her into school because she had been barking like a seal, but she wasn't running a temperature...Anyway, collect her I did. Wednesday morning I took her to the doctor who confirmed she had a cold, said there was no point in giving her antibiotics and saw no reason to keep her out of school - my kinda doctor! So as she rapidly got on the mend I felt a familiar snottiness creeping up on me and got myself on the Lemsip. And Robitussen. And Vicks Sinex.

Situation normal then; feeling undertrained and battling a cold I went to bed on Saturday night wiht metaphoric fingers crossed that the cold I kept in my head would still be there in the morning. And lo, Sunday rolled around and although I was not feeling a hundred percent I could draw a full lungful of air.

It is an early but not too early start to the Sydney Marathon. I feel for the runners in the half, who go out at 6am, an hour earlier than the full runners. There was a c-o-l-d wind blowing on Sunday morning and many of the waiting runners were huddled behind anything they could huddle behind to get out of it; I ended up in the entrance to the car park of a nearby block of units. I should not complain too much though, because Saturday had been a mad-warm 31degrees with bushfires, before a "polar blast" brought things crashing down.

The wheelchairs went at 7am and five minutes later the marathon headed out. I was somewhere near the 3.30 pacer as the gun went but found that a bit crowded and slower than I could go, so by the time we got onto the bridge I found myself just in front of the 3.15 pacer and formulating my plan. I was always going to take it easy and aim to come home in 3.30. I'd thought that I'd do it by staying on the 3.30 bus but changed my mind because I felt OK to go out a bit quicker. So I'd stay in front of the 3.15 pacers until half way and allow myself to fade in the second half but not get overtaken by the 3.30 guys. Simples.

And that is pretty much how it panned out. I'll not dwell too much on the run because I'll end up bitching about the course (too many sharp turns, clearly created by someone who doesn't run it.) The weather turned out ot be almost perfect; there were a couple of places where the wind hit, but the course was far more sheltered than that start and the temperature was lovely. I got to half way reasonably comfortably and still nicely in front of the 3.15 guys. So I decided I'd stay in front until I got back to the city - which I did - and then that I'd try to stay in front until 32k - which I think I did. It was close run thing at the 32k mark as they bus overtook me.

With 10k to go I was having to gig a little deeper than I wanted to. At about 28k my right glute had
started to grumble and at 32k most of the rest of my right leg muscles had joined in so I felt a bit hobbley. I was likely being a bit soft as well.

The last 10k of Sydney is a trip out to Pyrmont and back. It can be quite soul destroying as when you run back through the City in the late-20s you pass about 500m from the finish line. But this time it came and went OK. Yes I was huffing and puffing, and yes I was shouting all sorts of insults at myself, but I knew I had it in the bag and I knew I'd get home - slowing up quite considerably - in under 3.30.

Just. OK, I had a bit to spare, 3.26ish. I was all sorts of aches at the end and the cold has lasted for the best part of following week. But hey, I got my medal and have put the Goldie behind me. The cold has stayed up in my head, so I should be back on the road again soon.

The men's wheelchair winner was Kurt Fearnley, who I regard as Australia's greatest athlete. In November he will be off to try and win New York for a sixth time. He is awesome. Go read about him.

And while on awesome, this weekend Eliud Kipchoge, who beat me in Berlin last year (and everyone else!) smashed the world record this year back in Berlin.

All in all, a good weekend over the full distance. Now, what do I do next...



...next I could start blogging more regularly #justsaying

Jillian's bloody Cakery

I slept reasonably well and meditated reasonably badly before rolling out of bed this morning. Too much on my mind to drift away, but the deep breathing was good and I felt OK. Right up until I found the red back spider just in front of my tub full of running gear in the laundry.

Normally I leave them alone; yes, they're a dangerous spider but they're pretty placid and unlikely to nip you unless you ram a thumb up their arse. But this one was a little too close to places kids and wife may potter about, so she met a grisly - but quick - end, thwacked with a thong/flip-flop/jandel.

Not a good start to the day then.

Work was pretty much back to back meetings and an interview with a potential senior dev who was doing well, then not so well, then not knowing what an acronym he'd used on his CV stood for - really not so well at all. Shame, he was a lovely lad.

I did manage to nip out at lunch time to grab a pie and slab of "oh yes you will be running tonight" from Jillian's Cakery.

It had been pointed out to me earlier, when I was getting my mid morning coffee. Banana, some sort of icing cream, salted caramel New York cheese cake. Fuck me it was good. And great motivation to run, even if it needed to be late and after Sal got back from meeting a friend after work. Which it was as she did, but 11km is plenty of penance I say. It was rather chilly this evening too. I avoided the rain, which was good, but I felt justified in pulling on the Helly Hansen classic this evening before donning a shirt. I quite like the look of the old school Helly gear - the navy blue with white detailing on the arms.

Anyway, that is a little bit of today. No touchy feely stuff, but I'm tired and need to finish this gin off before I go to bed. June will be mostly dry, what with the Gold Coast marathon on July 1st, so a couple of wee nips at the tail end of May won't hurt

Yes, I know, another running post. Six Foot Track 2014

I missed the entry date again. Entries for the annual 6 Foot Track trail marathon once opened on a Thursday and  I would sit on the internet while at work trying to get a spot before the event was full. Then they moved the entries-open date to a Saturday and I've missed it three times. I really should put a reminder in my diary. I can't remember when I remembered to look at the the site for this year's race but it was late and by the time I logged on it looked like all spots were taken. I refreshed my browser, the "sorry we're full" message disappeared and I entered, fairly sure there was a glitch on the booking site and I had not secured a spot.

But I did get a spot. And with a personal best of 4:32 I could request a Wave 1 start. As it turned out I got a wave 2 start, which I was a little disappointed with. My goal was sub-4:30 and I was hoping to make up the two-and-a-bit minutes by getting through Nellie's Glen more quickly as a member of wave 1 and not battering myself any more on the course than I had last year when I ran my PB. Nevermind.

Last year I had approached the race with fewer miles in my legs than I'd hoped for and I made my decision to run based largely upon a single long run in February. If I made it I'd run, if I blew up I wouldn't. So this year, with that in mind, I split my training for the run into 3 goals. The first was to complete the Beyond The Black Stump run on New Year's Day, which I did without knackering myself. Goal 1 achieved. Next goal was to run 500km in January which I managed with plenty of commute runs and a few longer outings, but nothing "big." So goal three was to go big in February, which I did by doing my longest ever run, a commute home via Bondi and Manly which lasted a bit over 4hr 30min and covered a little over 50km. Training done, I chose to ignore the fact that I didn't really have a lot of trail miles in my legs this year.

I left work early on Friday leaving for Katoomba before rush hour started. The bus home made it 500m then the driver clipped a wing mirror and rendered their vehicle unusable. Not a great start to my trip. The next bus and driver had no problems and I got home, picked up my stuff, got in the car and headed west. Sydney drivers are an odd bunch. Lots of lifetime members of "The Middle Lane Owners club" live here. There is another sizable minority who have yet to work out that frantic lane changing is probably the cause of and not the solution to motorway congestion. I can only assume the joy they feel at arriving home 2 minutes earlier on one trip in 10 has such a huge payoff that they never stop to think about driving more sensibly so everyone could get home 15 minutes earlier. They're a competitive bunch in these parts (and yes, by that I do mean the roads are packed with selfish fuckwits.) By the time I was at the foot of the montains things had settled down a bit and I got to Katoomba a little before 5pm.

It was raining and misty, although I'm fairly sure the mist was low cloud. I quickly picked up my race number from The Carrington Hotel then went to Coles to buy some empty carbohydrate calories for dinner. I had my camera but wasn't particularly inspired to stop and take pictures. Katoomba has some mildly interesting weirdos (an oversupply of emos and goths, folks who look like they should not be out alone and the odd God-botherer) but I suspect any picture I'd have  taken would be more cliched than kookie so I didn't bother. I went to my hotel, straight up to my room and settled in to an evening of documentaries and bad food.  I did take a few pictures of the sunset, which was nice anyway and nicer still because it meant it had stopped raining and tomorrow might not be too wet underfoot.

I woke just before the alarm at a 05:14. My traditional pre-race cold had not made it to my chest and I felt...OK. The pre-race cold is an inevitable pain in the arse. I typically don't exercise for the week before I run a marathon. My defenses drop. I get the bus to and from work, exposing myself to whatever bugs other commuters have. I'm usually stressed. I've often been eating badly. I usually think I'm under-trained. To get me to the start line I get on the Lemsip Max and hope nothing moves to my chest before the race. The onset of a cold may be stress related, but the encroaching cold is real; phlegm, blocked ears and itching eyes are real. But as usually happens I was breathing fine on the morning. And it wasn't raining.

I got some water down, had a couple of choc chip cookies, took a poo, finished packing my bag and left the hotel at about 05:45. I parked my car at the park and ride, took a shuttle bus to the start, had a cup of tea and a final pit-stop then took up a position near the start line. I shared a few words with one or two people but pretty much kept myself to myself and tried to both think about the start and relax, which is no mean feat. I have finished the race around 100th in the past and wave 1 and 2 are around 100 people each so I started quite close to the front of wave 2, hoping I could stick to my original plan. As it got light and the last coaches arrived the MC started to get us gee'd up, introduced the legend who was about to start his 30th - of 30 - Six Foot Track races. There were rumors that someone, maybe Martin Dent, was going to have a crack at the record.

And then it was 7am and wave 1 went. Five minutes later I was off. I made surprisingly good progress down the hill to the top of the steps, picking off a number of runners. There was a bit of a traffic jam at the top of the stops, as usual. The walking started, but there were sections where I was able to run down some of the steps. It was wet, but not treacherous, and I made good progress through what is one of the prettiest parts of the course. I really should go back with my camera and pay proper attention to it. I say that each time I run Six Foot; each time it looks a lot like a patch of gravel eight feet in front of my feet.

To cover 45km in my goal of 4:30 (well, 4:29:59) I needed to average 6min/km. I was hoping to cover the "easy" 15km to Coxs River at an average of 5:30min/km before the walk-up-run-down part started. The slow section through Nellie's Glen passed and then my average started to improve. Conditions were good. Overcast, cool, not to humid. A South African runner named Sean (everyone calls him Sam) started chatting to me. It was his first time in the race, but he was an experienced runner and was looking strong. He was surprised that you could get so close to 4:30 with the run-walk strategy I employ. I pulled away from him before Cox's river, but he caught me on the hills and finished in front of me. At one point I was running behind two woman who I told I would not overtake because it was International Women's Day. We had a bit of a chat before I overtook them. Towards the river I ran for a while with a guy who works for one of the sponsors. I was enjoying the company and not too concerned that my average was around 5:32/5:33. I'd kick myself (gently) later for that.

Cox's river was not as deep as I'd expected. Despite the recent rain it was around waist deep and as refreshing as ever. I squelched out and made my way towards the uphills and the section of the race that I pay least attention to. The 10km from Cox's river is mostly uphill. There is a bit of a drop from the mini Mini Saddle at 20km to Allum River at 22km and then more uphill to the Pluviometer at 26 before the grade shallows but you keep running uphill across the Black Range to the Deviation at around 35km. There's plenty of uphill. My plan through here is to run where i can but whenever it looks silly-steep to power walk. If my run speed will drop to about walking speed I walk. I stop briefly to chat to the NSW Rural Fire Service guys and girls at the aid stations. At one there was a guy in a sombrero who I have a three amigos salute to and for that was told I had enough energy to keep running. Fair point. At the Pluviometer i said there was a crude gynecological term to describe the hill, which got a bit of a laugh. Somewhere on the Black Range - I think - I asked if one of the guys was actually dressed as Batman or if I was hallucinating already. The friendliness of the runners and support crew is a defining feature of Six Foot. Mind you, so is the self-absorbed slogfest of the hills.

I got an extra spring in my step at around 35km; there is a flattish section and the mental boost of knowing that from there it is only a 10k - and anyone can knock out a 10k. I looked at my watch; 3hr30min. I needed to do a little over 10km in a little under an hour. An outside chance. There are two reasons why this is an outside chance. One is the silly-steep hill at around 38km. I've laughed at it each time I've got there. It is a fierce drag on already tired legs, sapping what little strength I have left. But it isn't the worst of it. The worst is saved for the very end. A steep 2km drop to Jenolan Caves over a narrow, rocky hillside path. This beats the crap out of the legs. Some people seem to be able to keep it together and make good progress on this drop; I tend to move aside and let them pass as I sort of hobble-hop-run this section.

But I made it through unscathed - in fact I'd not fallen at all this year - and on to the final, concreted path to Caves house. I heard a runner catching me up and then he said something to the effect of "go - NOW!" I put my foot down, determined to not be overtaken. I sprinted to the line, the clock reading 4:36. It took me a few moments to collect my thoughts. My watch said 4:30 and I realised I'd left 5mins after wave 1. I checked my self-time and it said 4:30:47. I had started my watch before the mats at the start and after them at the end but I knew I'd not be out by 47seconds. But I personal best is a personal best, so I didn't beat myself up to much as I staggered off to grab my bag, get changed and wait for the bus home to Katoomba.

My official time was 4:30:32 and I finished 113th. I'm happy with that, but if I'd stuck to my gameplan and made it to the river at 5:30s I would have, maybe, had my sub-4:30. Of course that little bit of extra effort might have taken a bit more out of me and slowed me in the hills - who knows? But I'm going to claim that I ran the hills exactly to plan and next year, if I get a spot, I'll be be running to the river with a cheery "we can chat at the end, I'm in a hurry!"

the go-to run

Another running post. Sorry.

To add some balance, the house is looking good and is nearly finished, the kids are great and Alex starts school next week, I've not been diving in ages despite getting a new camera and housing for Christmas. That brings pretty much everything else up to date.

I've had a go-to run for quite a long time. Sometimes I'll have a couple of different distances, or one one with hills and one without. These are the runs I do when I think I need to run but don't want to think too much. Familiar, comfortable routes that I can tick off when done, runs  that make sure my legs keep turning over even if they may not want to.

Richmond Park was a go-to run. I briefly had a loop around London's dock area. From Willoughby I would head along the bike path next to the freeway. Now I have the 11km local loop that will have me running along Manly's 1.6km beachfront, and an inland loop that takes me along the Wakehurst Parkway.

It was as I ran the inland loop last week - three times, once anti-clockwise - that I started thinking about the go-to run. And then on to what makes for a good go-to run, which is worth pondering when you consider the Wakehurst Parkway.

Frenchs Forest Road becomes the Wakehust Parkway not far from my home. Depending how I leave my house I can justifiably say it is the road I live on…if you allow a few bends and couple of name changes. The stretch I run is probably about 5km long. It has no footpaths. The asphalt peters out to rough gravel and the road, which is either quite straight or dead straight, is edged by rough scrubby trees and grasses which provide little shade and look ready to burn any day now. I've run it day and night, and in the day it can be quite warm and still, most of the air movement coming as cars and trucks go past at around 80kmh, a couple of feet from your shoulder. But usually it is warm, the asphalt seeming to retain plenty of the suns heat. It's not so bad; this stretch of road is flat enough that I can plod through the heat and make it to the water bubbler in the small park near where I turn off.

In the summer I get to hear cicadas in the gaps in the traffic that the lights at either end provide. Very occasionally, or at night, there will be no traffic in sight, but usually it is the hum-to-a-roar of traffic that I hear. There is always roadkill. Mostly possum with the occasional wallaby. There is always litter; some fly-tipped, some that looks to have fallen from workmen's vehicles and plenty of fast food packaging that has got loose or been discarded.

So there it is. A quite dangerous, reasonably featureless, hot, noisy, litter and dead animal strewn stretch of road that places me on the very border of "is committed" and "should be committed."

But.

It is local. It is easy running. And it makes me feel like a real runner, one of those runners you see in documentaries training for a twenty three thousand mile solo barefoot desert mountin crossing. You get my drift. I love the look of this stretch of road, even when driving it. I took that picture today, pulled off the road onto the gravel with my phone stuck out of the drivers windows waiting for a gap in the traffic. And yes, there is a washed out filter applied to the picture, but it can look almost like that. In my minds eye it looks exactly like that.

I think that is it. A good go-to run is one that makes me feel like a runner. One that I can do comfortably so anyone catching sight of me would think "there goes a runner" and not "what the hell is that moron doing running along the Wakehurst Parkway?!" And it is one that I need dig into a bit to find interesting, something a little left field.

Yes, that's it.

meeting a streaker

I have my brother to thank for my meeting a streaker. A few years ago Darren alerted me to Janathon, an online not-competion that I competed in. Or rather didn't. Because it isn't a competition. The idea, quite simply, was to run every day of the month, log miles and blog about it, a community-stroke-fitness-and-fun thing. Whoever did run/log/blog and ran the greatest number of miles in the month was not the winner. Because, as previously stated, it wasn't a competition. I didn't win, and neither did Gary, but he did run further than me by quite some distance. I'm not sure what word I should use, instead of "won", to describe how Gary came by his GPS or how I came to be the proud owner of a Wiggle shopping voucher; I logged the second highest mileage. I went on to not win the following Juneathon (Gary was MIA, and his blog looks a little unloved these days...) and Janathon (I stubbornly ran the same commuter miles over and over again) before my wife Sally banned me from taking part in any more. With 2 small kids (now aged 2 and 4) she thought it more important that I do some more parenting stuff in January and June whereas I thought spending my evenings in a catatonic stupor was the way to go. in hindsight I think she was probably right. Probably. And besides, Ben arrived on the scene, kid free and unencumbered by employment to push the "course record" way beyond what I'd consider doing. Not that that is important. Did I mention it isn't a competition?

Jan/Juneathon is the brainchild of Cathy, to whom, along with the other named folks in this post (and more besides) I owe a debt of gratitude for helping me become the runner I am today (a very sore one, desperate to stop - haha.)

Gary is not the streaker and neither is Ben or Cathy. Andrew is (his blog looks a bit neglected too.) For Andrew the -athon challenge is the blogging as he runs every day. His runstreak is about to break 800 days in a row. I tagged along with him, or him with me, on his first run (he ran twice) of day 791.

The -athons are mostly a UK thing with a few randoms such as me taking part from afar. Andrew lives in the UK and I live in Australia. Our friendship has been entirely online and communication overwhelmingly via Twitter, with the occasional comment on blogs and mileage-logging sites (Strava seems to be where a lot of the cool kids now hangout.) Once an -athon blog was complete the (not)competitors tweet a link to their news. Around and during my my -athons I would check Twitter. I was also using Twitter to keep tabs on my brother who was, back then, a mad keen tweeter. Darren has left Twitter - cold turkey - and I retired from -athons.

I drifted away from Twitter and have rarely returned. The app sat unopened and unloved on my PC and phone. I get emails saying such-and-such is following me, others saying people I don't know have tweets for me. It was just luck that a Twitter software update arrived at the same time as Andrew's post about his upcoming visit to Sydney. It was even luckier that I didn't ignore the update, as I usually do. We exchanged a few messages and setup last night's run.

Tuesday's promised showers had not materialised. Until about 20 minutes before our meeting, when I got a light wetting as I mooched around Hyde Park taking photos.

Quick aside; I had some time on my hands, hence the photgraphy, and at around 5pm found an open door at the back of St Mary's Cathedral. I wandered in and stood to one side as a priest and single choir boy started to sing to the mostly empty cathedral. A few people came in, crossed themselves with holy water and took a seat. There is something undeniably and beautifully moving about choral music. And that is coming from an atheist. I remember wandering around the City of London in 2010 and chancing upon a church with music drifting out. I stood for several minutes enjoying the sound and the feeling, if not the lyrics...

Anyway, I got changed into my runing gear and met Andrew at his hotel at 18:00. We bid farewell to Geoff, Andrew's suited colleague and head off into the now dry evening. Having left my GPS at home I was entrusting my mileage logging to my Blackberry. Despite being my least favorite device it showed me no ill will; GPSLogger started, discovered the device GPS and told me where I was.

I'll not dwell on the details of the run. Reading about two middle aged blokes running 16km and chatting is hardly the stuff of best-sellers. So briefly, we ran from Hyde Park to the Bridge and then took most of my usual commute route. It was a little quicker than I'd usually run, but I usually run alone and allow myself a lazy plod. At Spit Bridge, and en-route to our destination of Manly Wharf I presented Andrew the option of a lift back to the City. He chose, as I would have, to keep going to Manly. The ferry offers a far nicer trip through Sydney than my car. And besides, from Seaforth to Manly is almost all downhill, easy miles.

We arrived at the wharf in just under 10miles. To avoid a (friendly, online) flaming Andrew needed to get over 10miles. We ran around the block to the ocean-side and then back to the wharf. Andrew offered me a beer, but needing to get home (I'd ben lucky to get an evening pass on a Tuesday!) and as I am having a dry July I declined. (For the record I'm not "doing" Dry July, just having a dry July after a wetter-than-strictly-necessary June.) It was a close call; I'd have loved a beer and chat. We said our farewells and I headed back up the hill home.

I'd not got far before it occurred to me that I hadn't taken a picture of the two of us. I was carrying 4 cameras in my backpack. Yes, FOUR. Ah well, that will have to wait until next time. For now, it was a thoroughly enjoyable run with a damn fine bloke. I'll have to get back into Twitter to keep tabs on my now real, flesh-and-blood friend.

just like paradise

The blog has been neglected for a while, so I figured I'd pop back in to make sure it still exists.

This morning was one of those perfect Sydney mornings that serve to remind me why I live here. I didn't move to Sydney for the people or the sport or the work, I moved here because of the lifestyle on offer. I remember something which may or may not have actually happened but is what I tell people is the reason I decided to move here. About 13years ago, while on a work trip, I was sitting on the deck of Skiffies, a small boating club at The Spit that looks out on middle harbour. It was winter, I was wearing shorts, drinking beer that cost under a pound-a-pint while watching yachts sail past. Decision made. It was relatively early in my scuba days and here was a city where I could dive every weekend. As it turned out I would dive every weekend and often after work.

Anyway, before we get too misty-water-coloured...I now go over Spit Bridge each day on the way to and from work. And so it was this morning. Rewind Two hours and i was up at 5:15 and walking the dogs at 5:30. Blue skies, a few fluffy clouds being lit pink-orange-golden by the sun coming up over the ocean was my intro to Friday. Back home I shared some too-brief-moments with the ladies before hitting the road for work at about 7:20. It takes about 4mins for me to get my first view of the harbour and the ocean, from the top of the hill that Seaforth, the new home suburb, sits on. Then it is down the near-vertical Gallipoli steps before I get to Spit Bridge. middle harbour this morning was pretty damn flat; hardly a ripple and the reflections of the yachts and tinnies were picture perfect. On the south side I loop under the bridge, which is a whole lot better than crossing over the busy road, and takes me to sea level, depending on the tide.

As I head towards Skiffies I typically see three of four pelicans perched on poles at the end of the jetties. Occasionally one will be lazily swimming past. Past Skiffies, which is closed for renovations at the moment, I head away from the main road and up Parriwi. It is a bastard of a hill. However, it does have a few things going for it. First there is the view you get to the left (east.) Middle harbour, the heads and the ocean. Yachts go past, kayaks, the odd small fishing vessel that still goes out from this part of Sydney. Lovely. Then there are the houses. This part of Mosman sits atop a big pile of money, and although there is some old housing stock left there is plenty of evidence oh architects having had a bit of fun. The eastern side of the road drops away very sharply, and it is incredible to see what it is possible to build up in the air. In training terms you get the opportunity, every so often, to race bikes up the hill. The guys on their road bikes usually fly past, but some of the more casual cyclists on their mountain bikes can be beaten. And finally, today, being in an unusually good mood, i had Dave Lee Roth's "This Must Be Just Like Living in Paradise" stuck in my head. In short, it was a good start to the day and the run.

At the top of Parriwi I joined Military Road. The run keeps going up, albeit at a far gentler gradient, right the way to Mosman Junction. It's a bit of a slog, and you're running with the buses and nose-to-tail cars, so not as much fun. But every so often you get another glimpse of the ocean if you look down the side streets. At mosman Junction I caught up with a road-biker and we had a chat. He's broken a gear cable and was therefore now on a fixie - which was why I'd caught him. but up on the ridgeline he had the advantage and once the lights changed he was off, legs spinning a bit more than he'd like.

I was idly musing upon the "Just Like paradise" thing when, for no apparent reason, the Guns N Roses cover of "Mama Kin" displaced Diamond Dave. Maybe because the road and the cars were a little less easy on the eye than the harbour and the yachts. That said, I did have a sulphur crested cockatoo to follow for a while as he flew along parallel with the road.

I was fairly sure I was out-pacing the traffic but started to concentrate a little too much on my right knee that had been feeling a bit stiff. My form was pretty ordinary, especially on the downhills where I felt I was putting the brakes on a bit too much. Ah well, I was approaching 64k for the working week, and I'm old, so it's to be expected. I pulled off of military Road at Neutral bay junction, running down Wycombe Road (a road name the locals have an inability to pronounce correctly.) This takes me within about 400m of my first proper residence in Sydney, once I'd finished dossing. I moved out when the tax breaks stopped.

As I approached the bridge, after dropping down to sea level at Anderson Park, I checked my time and it was, as expected, slow. I wasn't too concerned as I knew I was tired. I decided to take it easy over the bridge and try to enjoy the fact that I was running over Sydney Harbour Bridge, something I do every day and therefore take for granted. That lasted until almost half way when I spotted another runner in the distance and decided I should overtake him. Rather than pip him at the post I overtook with a few hundred yards before the end of the bridge (from steps-to-steps is 1.5km) and had decided that if he wanted to have a race then I'd go for it. He didn't but I kept the pace up and got over in a respectable 6.11 - in fact very respectable considering I'd dawdled (relatively) the first third.

Off the bridge it takes only a few minutes to get to the office...and that is how the day started.

Mustn't grumble.

bollocks

Woke up felt awful. Ran feeling awful and got to work feeling awful. Looked at a blister, noticed foot skank, chopped foot skank off of foot - well THAT toe - iffy. So didn't do a second run. Wrote a long angry blog post instead of doing much work. Flickr said it had posted the post here but it didn't. More bollocks. In fact today has just been bollocks and I'm not happy. Ran 11km. Really fucking pissed off that something this small keeps me off the road. Suppose I can take some solace in the fact that I didn't run again and completely fuck myself up. That's it for today.