Marathon tunes

"Other people may not have high expectations of me, but I have high expectations for myself." 

Shannon Miller

I've put together a playlist of my favourite running songs so far. If you have Spotify, you can have a listen here. If not, here's a list of the tracks:


The Beep Beep Song / Simone White
Gimme Some Lovin' / The Spencer Davis Group
Many of Horror / Biffy Clyro
Counterpoint / Delphic
Back in Black / AC/DC
Queen Bitch / David Bowie
The Orange Theme / Cygnus X
It's a Hit / We are Scientists
Spitfire / Prodigy
Hysteria / Muse
Enter Sandman / Metallica
Last Resort / Papa Roach
Full Throttle / Prodigy
Joker and the Thief / Wolfmother
Waters of Nazareth / Justice
Traffic / Tiesto
Eye of the Tiger / Survivor
Holding out for a Hero / Bonnie Tyler


What do you think? Anything you'd add or remove? Can't beat a cheeky bit of Bonnie Tyler at the end :) I always think of Short Circuit when that comes on...


I also love John 00 Fleming's podcast - Global Trance Grooves. These are 2hr mixes of absolutely banging trance and progressive trance from around the world, with a 1hr guest mix most of the time. For anyone who likes seriously good dance music, I can highly recommend it. Old Mr. J00F has kept me running through many a tough run.


Training is going great at the moment - long runs are up to 16 miles now, and I reckon I'm well on track for my target time of 3:30. 


This weekend I have to fly out to Malta with work, and I'm going to miss my wife and son like crazy. I'm hoping to keep occupied with a few treadmill runs in the hotel, or maybe even a quick jog around the island.


Let me know what needs to be added to the playlist, and I'll consider putting it on!

Snow Run

"Top results are reached only through pain. But eventually you like this pain. You'll find the more difficulties you have on the way, the more you will enjoy your success." 

Juha "the Cruel" Väätäinen

I wanted to share my experience of a winter run, which I undertook in the middle of a very heavy downpour of snow on a Saturday during December. You can view the route here. It was slow going, and exhausting. Towards the end it was the biggest test of resolve I have experienced so far. I hope it gives an idea of the ups and downs I'm experiencing, and what it feels like on those long, lonely runs:

I'm about to run 13.5 miles through a blizzard. Leaving the house, I'm feeling taut with excitement and apprehension for the journey ahead. My legs seem to have electrified currents of nervy adrenaline shooting up and down them.

The thoughts which go through my head are: do I really want to do this? It's freezing. I can do this. I hope I don't get injured. Eventually, I abandon myself to just do it, let go of those worries and excuses (aka stop whining), and set off.

I warm gently into the run, pass crawling cars and dash into free, open fields. My legs move methodically and cautiously. The whole country has been wrapped up for Christmas in a thick white coat, and it's not coming off any time soon. One minute I'm running on good, solid ground, the next I've clumsily dunked my foot in a hidden puddle of ice. The snow has blanched the bare ground, disorienting and overwhelming my senses. Swarms of snowflakes fly to the back of my throat, choking each breath and stinging my lungs.


I waver: this is worse than I expected - is it sensible? Possibly not, but 26.2 miles in April require a steely resolve, so no more questions. I've climbed a steep hill already, and drift into deep, white woods. The empty peal of silence rings in my ears, broken only by the crisp pat of feet landing gently below. 


Legs take the strain of a long climb. I've found rhythm and cadence now, which carries me up and on. The cluttered thoughts of daily life are slowly settling down. Shelter and warmth are long gone. Fortunately, I'm well warmed in my winter kit, keenly steaming along. Snow hangs on branches like an invading flock of plump white caterpillars. Trees and bushes are smothered in the pasty parasite. 

6 miles in, another section of road punctuates the route. I plod, head bent in gritty determination, unable to look up for fear of icy eyelashes. Even cars are humbled by the conditions - hushed engines carrying them chastely along. I can feel the surprised stares from passing passengers. A window opens, and the driver breaks the silence with an encouraging shout of: "Go, Rocky, Go!". I laugh to myself and then oblige with a series of quick jabs and uppercuts to show my appreciation. I'm buoyed by the hilarity, and run chuckling on. Naturally, my pace quickens as soon as other people are in sight... the fast-fading speed of the showoff! A few miles later, I'm glad I didn't fall over. That would have made his day.


8 miles in, I've reached the Thames now; cold grey water oozing through the snowy ground. Bumps and divots are hidden in the snow, and my ankles take the strain as I stumble blindly through a field. One slip and I'll be hobbling home for hours. I've made it safely to the bridge: about halfway. I cram several bright red and orange jelly beans down my gullet, little sugar bombs, and chew them greedily. I half-gasp, half-eat, desperately and dizzily meandering along.


My route map has become  a sopping, sludgy flannel, and is now useless. Everywhere is uniform white. By miraculous fortune, I find the path I need. Realisation of how far I've travelled helps me pick each step up and bounce merrily on. The sugar helps, too. 

The relentless weight of effort is taking it's toll. Clothes are soaked and heavy - patches cling uncomfortably and chill the skin. Knees are rusty hinges, creaking and fused. Each step registers aching fatigue. This is hard - it would be so much easier it is to stop moving. Anything to distract the mind is welcome now - anything which passes painful time and brings me closer to home. The thought of giving in and walking hovers enticingly, a half-formed idea which I can't afford to acknowledge. 


3 miles left, I check the time - I'm late. I'm cold. My legs appear to be made of concrete. The next 5 minutes are an age of tiresome, persistent effort, one foot placed weakly in front of the next. I clamber my way up grudgingly, and reach the final hill. At last! My breathing is easy, since my body's too tired to exert itself. A last downhill, trotting cautiously down. I'm too tired to whoop, but with warmth, comfort and hot chocolate minutes away, a weary smile returns.


Run done. I know I'll remember this. All the worry and hesitation is gone, replaced by happy achievement.


Hot chocolate, boiling bath and a cosy fire will have me thawed out in minutes! Bliss!

The bitter taste of injury

"If you're going through hell, keep going."  Winston Churchill


Injury has to the most frustrating and motivation-draining challenge I've encountered so far. Having been out of training for 3 weeks with 2 separately sprained ankles, how can I find the positives and deal with the blow to my best laid plans?


The sinking feeling I got from free-falling headfirst down a muddy, leaf-laden, stony path was bad enough. The humiliating hobble home, past clusters of curiously amused golfers, was chastening. But the waiting, and the lack of control, that's the real killer. 


I had managed 2 miles of the 10 1/2 mile run I was planning that Saturday, when a devious tree root sprung up, flung my ankle aside, and sent the ground hurtling towards my face. I've twisted ankles before, but this really hurt. I spent a good 5 minutes groaning away (à la Peter Griffin from Family Guy), grabbing my ankle, wondering when my Mum was going to turn up and make it all better. Realising eventually that I'm 32-year-old man and should be able to handle this on my own, I picked myself up and made a hopeful effort to continue the run. No chance. I got about 500 metres up a hill before I realised I was defeated, and started heading home. 


That's the worst part of getting injured - the sense of defeat. You can get as motivated and as mentally ready for a run as you like, but if you're physically unable, unlucky!


For the last 3 weeks, runs have been few and far between, I've been frustrated, I've injured myself twice in a row, my fitness levels are all over the place. So, even if I can make it out for a run, it's suddenly a lot harder to put in those miles, because I'm out of shape. 


Woe. Is. Me. I'm determined to find some positives in there.


My runs are few and far between. I slope around like a caged animal, with all this unused energy and nowhere to put it. I also find those cakes and beers a lot easier to come by when I'm not exercising, so it's a double-whammy. So, as soon as I'm feeling better, I must appreciate those runs when I get the chance. I can enjoy the time off and put all that energy into coaxing smiles from my son.


I've been frustrated. Even when I get all geed up and ready to train, I know that I shouldn't because I'm not physically able. This should be a reminder of me how keen I am to train. When the time comes and I'm all better, I should be grateful for the opportunity to run and enjoy every second.


Double-injury. Twice in a bloody row. Both times on tree roots, both times going down hill, both times painful. Second time around, I gawped at my ankle in disbelief and groaned 'NOOO' several times into the empty woods. It was very dramatic. I crashed to my knees, like Willem Dafoe in Platoon. Why God, Why? There's an easy lesson to learn here, isn't there? Watch where you're treading, you nana.


Those fluctuating fitness levels? Well, not running for 3 weeks has done a rather good job of highlighting the effects my diet would have if I wasn't running. I think there might be some room for improvement there. So, as I work my way back into training, perhaps I can swap a few cakes and beers for peas and orange juice.

My ankles do seem to be healing, and in the last few days I've made it out for a few runs in the semi-frozen countryside. The sense of relief is huge - I take this marathon very seriously and don't want training to slip - must make it round!


There has been one huge positive of late, which was the receipt of my marathon starter pack - a cover letter and copy of the booklet which every marathon runner receives. This was a real morale booster and has got me very excited thinking about the big day. I've already indulged in a little bit of daydreaming about how it will feel - picturing the crowds, hearing their support and imagining the community spirit which I'll enjoy on the day itself.


It's great to have a reminder to think of the long term - that final, fantastic achievement I'm aiming for.


So - take the positives, learn from the negatives, repeat as desired. And, tree roots are evil. Be vigilant.

Definitely Daunted Donal

"Fear can sometimes be a useful emotion. For instance, let's say you're an astronaught on the moon and you fear that your partner has been turned into Dracula. The next time he goes out for the moon pieces, wham!, you just slam the door behind him and blast off. He might call you on the radio and say he's not Dracula, but you just say, "Think again, bat man."

Jack Handey

During the past few weeks, the daunting challenge of the marathon has motivated me to get out there and keep my activity rates high. The more often I run, the easier each run becomes– start missing a few sessions, and your fitness disappears, along with your ability to comfortably complete a distance. Part of my training involves a long weekend run, which cuts seriously into the time when I’d like to be at home with my wife and son, and when they would like me home so that they can have some support from me. I have to weigh this against how important it is to keep the training going, and to keep my distances up. I couldn’t do any of this without my wife, and I hope she knows how grateful I am.


I’ve also had a reminder of the value of the organisation who I’m raising money for. I read this article about the efforts of SJA to save a runner who collapsed during the Nottingham Half Marathon. This was a seemingly fit and healthy young guy, who was resuscitated and saved by the mobile SJA volunteers who were helping at the event. I’m more aware than ever of the need to be in good shape.  A recent conversation with a supplier at work  has led me to believe that my target time of 3:30 or below is pretty ambitious – I think it’s achievable but I can’t afford to take the training lightly..


So, it’s all a bit tough – luckily I have a plan. A three-pronged megaplan with gnashing great teeth.

• Make a plan: My aim until December is 4 runs per week, including a distance of 15/16 miles twice a month by December. 
• Keep the activities up: My colleagues are running out of ‘red-faced chump’ jokes to use on me when I come back to the office from my lunchtime run. That’s got to be a good sign.
• Get some uber-kit: I finally took the plunge and purchased a pair of Ron Hill running trackers. For anyone not familiar with them, these are the running equivalent of skinny jeans, which make you look part court jester, part 70s-batman-villain gone wrong. These little beauties are going to stop my thighs from being lacerated to pieces; they’re also shamelessly garish, and all runners love shamelessly garish kit.

In the midst of all this uncertainty, my legs are carrying me round some fantastic runs. October has sent some superb weather for me to run through, lighting up the fields and valleys with crisp autumnal sunshine. I recently ran the Marlow half marathon route with a friend (Ben) who is running the race on 7th November (good luck, Ben!). I think it might be my favourite route so far; a country road winds through lush green fields, leaf-laden woodland and long, snaking valleys. There's a real sense of scale, with commanding views on the downhill sections. It also features a signature ‘hill of death’ at mile 8- 300 ft of continual climb. We got a real morale boost from passing 6 lumbering cyclists, who were inching their way up the hill. 


So, enough worry, I'd better get back to my training. Just a reminder to please visit my justgiving page and sponsor me  – the SJA is a very good cause and they need your generous donations! I promise to write a more interesting post if you do. 


Thanks for reading.

A new centre of gravity

Don't worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you.  

Robert Fulghum

At 10 minutes past 6 on Wednesday the 8^th September I went out for my last run without a child to care for. We covered 5.37 miles of the Buckinghamshire countryside in gorgeous, early autumn sunshine, and I was entirely unaware of the new way of life which lay in wait around the corner. My world then was a little haphazard, but generally I felt composed and in control of my destiny. The sun sank, the shadows grew, and I ran confidently on.

My wife was already a week past her due date, so we ordered an Indian takeaway as a treat to keep ourselves occupied and to distract from our mounting anticipation. Our house sits on a precipitous little track, one side of which cuts away to leave a mini-cliff-edge. This is the side over which the delivery man reversed his car, leaving his rear left tyre spinning helplessly in mid air and our road completely blocked. It was fortunate that, aided by two helpful neighbours, we managed to shove his car back up onto the road, because approximately 90 minutes afterwards my wife pointed out to me that her waters had just broken.

Having successfully flooded a labour room in the hospital birthing centre, legs creaking under the back-breaking weight of our 7 overnight bags, thoroughly sleep-deprived and emotionally charged, I suddenly found myself standing in a brightly-lit operating theatre, arms full of my precious newborn son, eyes locked onto his vulnerable and inquisitive gaze, as I initiated a 3-way superhug with Mum, Dad and baby.

When I imagined this moment, I had anticipated an explosion of heady joy; instead I felt profound, immovable love, which existed in everything around me and within me in the same moment. For the first 2 days of his life, I held myself together pretty well; carried bags, stuffed baloons into cars, changed nappies, and did what little I could for my wife. I felt exhausted but fulfilled. 3 days later, looking at a photo of myself post-emergency-c-section in vivid blue scrubs and hat, I sobbed tired tears of relief that my wife and son had come home safely.

So we were home, and tired, and very emotional. It can be tough, but it’s always amazing. Something new happens every day. I told my wife that it’s like showing a visitor around your hometown – except that we’re showing him around the whole world! My days of living life on a whim are gone – everything I do from here is answerable to my son, Harry William Phipps. I am the luckiest man alive.

Since the birth, we’ve been the epicentre of optimism – a newborn baby brings out the very best in people, and we have loved introducing him to friends and family.

I even dragged myself back out for training soon afterwards. Ouch. My theory that baby=stress=weight loss didn’t quite come through for me. Instead, I gobbled my way through a lot of cakes during those 2 weeks of paternity leave. My legs are extra tired, my eyes much heavier, but I’m finding my way out again into this terrifying and wondrous new world.

Bright & breezy

“Today is your day! Your mountain is waiting. So... get on your way.”

Dr. Seuss

This week’s activities
Monday: 9.5 mi bike ride
Tuesday: 7.3 mi run
Wednesday: 2 mi canoeing
Thursday: 3.85 mi run
Saturday: 12.6 mi run


If I could use one word to describe my current disposition, it would have to be: zealous. Zealously zipping up hills and down valleys, zealously logging each run on my shiny new phone. Zealously (& geekily) re-reading routes on Runkeeper and being buoyed by what I’ve done.

As my parents are avid ramblers, I’ve been on many a lengthy hike. This early period of training reminds me of the first stage of a long mountain walk – the pleasant, easy parts. The sun’s shining away, it’s soft underfoot and that imposing summit is but a distant destination. My world is brimming with optimism.

I’ve added some pictures of the longer run I did this weekend, which took me and 2 good friends (Ben & Barn) through Knotty Green, Beaconsfield and some lush woodland in the fantastically named ‘Great Beard’s Wood’. It's the sort of deep, canopied woodland you'd expect an ancient race of tree people to be stalking, furtively gathering nuts and sticks with which to whittle giant, primitive weapons, to be thrown at the heads of unsuspecting runners. In their language, we are called 'Uungh-Hak' (Travel Man). Uungh-Hak bad.

This was the first time of running this route, and I can see it becoming a regular favourite – we wove our way through plenty of hills and clocked up a decent distance of about 12 miles + 1200ft of climb. The photos don’t do it justice – the section through Great Beard’s wood is especially scenic.

Inspiration is easy to come by at the moment. In just a few days, possibly weeks, I’ll be holding my baby and beaming at every wonderful inch of him. I want to be in the best physical and mental state, so I can cope with all the challenges life will throw at me. As I see it: the fitter I am, the better chance I have of keeping my eyes open and experiencing every moment.

His imminent birth also means that I am on a mandatory alcohol-free diet, as I'm now a driver on call. I have discovered the wonders of Becks Blue (non-alcoholic beer) and can’t recommend it highly enough to anyone who needs an affordable alternative to methadone. I’ve now sat through several football and cricket matches with Becks Blue as my trusty partner, quenching that habitual thirst.

I’m already feeling the benefits of non-alcoholic life - it’s much easier to concentrate, I feel more sprightly and I’m convinced that training is easier. I’m into my third month of training now, and the miles I’ve logged are starting to pay off. 
Runs have become enjoyable, not painful. Hills, which were once arduous trials to be cautiously approached are now appealing diversions for me to bound over. I’m finding a natural cadence which carries me up, over and round my routes.

The one daunting aspect is my fundraising target - £1500 for the St. John Ambulance. I’m planning on getting in touch with them soon, to find out more about my local organization and to get some fundraising tips. This week I’ve made my first dent in the £1500 target. I baked and sold some butter-laden brownies to my work colleagues. I’ve had a couple of weeks of doing this now and have raised about £20 so far. Not much, but if I can keep doing it regularly, it will help bring that total down, bit by delicious chocolatey bit.

So, zealously on I go; merrily bouncing along, discovering new routes, finding form, and scaling the nursery slopes in this mammoth challenge. The reality of that marathon distance is looming in the background, reminding me to take it seriously. If I can maintain this sort of routine, I should have a good chance at reaching the finish line.
For the time being, there's fun to be had, sunshine to bask in, and lethal-log-launching tree elves to flee.

Long is the way, and hard

The marathon is a charismatic event. It has everything. It has drama. It has competition. It has camaraderie. It has heroism. Every jogger can't dream of being an Olympic champion, but he can dream of finishing a marathon.

Fred Lebow, New York City Marathon co-founder

Over the next 8-and-a-bit months I'm facing England's winter weather, grizzly evening runs, probable injury and a test of character to get myself into shape for the Virgin London Marathon 2011. I'm expecting a tough time all the way, but I'm thrilled at the thought of participating. To run a marathon is something I have dreamed about; I'm absolutely intimidated by the challenge, but can't wait to go for it. 

I'm doing this in aid of St. John's Ambulance, a very valuable organisation who I'm delighted to be raising money for.  You can donate on my JustGiving page - no donation is too small.

A little research has taught me that a marathon training regime should feature:

• 1 long run per week, where you get in as many miles as you can and as much running time as possible. This is the run to be most committed to, as time on your feet is crucial for marathon training (especially for a marathon first-timer like me).
• A regular mix of varied running training and cross training (e.g. biking, to help prevent injury) through the rest of the week.
• Carbohydrates, carbohydrates, carbohydrates.
• Not very much chocolate or beer.

My aim is to run at least 4 times per week, and to cross train at least once. I'm very aware that even finding the time to train will be a challenge. My target time is sub-3:30, but it seems a tricky thing to predict. First and foremost: finish.

I also have the small matter of our first child being due on 2nd September. In between the nappy changes, sleepless nights, piles of unwashed muslin and treasured moments, I somehow need to find the time to get out there and train. Nothing will be more important to me than looking after our son and my wife, but I'm hoping that running will be a good way to stay healthy and stress-free (ish). 

I've deliberately started my training very early (most marathon training plans start about 3-4 months before the race date) in the hope that I'll keep some sort of fitness level through those tricky early months, and keep my training on track. 

At the moment I'm running about 11-13 miles for my long run, exploring the very pretty countryside around where I live and work (the Chilterns). My other runs are between 4-10 miles, squeezed into lunch breaks or straight after work, while we still have light. I take my phone out with me for some much needed music, and to map my routes and times. 

I really, really prefer running on paths compared to roads. Getting out there has been great fun: within 5-10 minutes the roads are long gone and it's just you, the countryside and your inappropriately short running shorts.

You can view my training runs and x-training at runkeeper. I've seen a few benefits from the training already - there are a couple of pairs of old jeans which I can just about squeeze back into and I don't feel the need to suck in the old spare tyre quite as often.

I'd like to keep a photo diary of some of my runs, as I think we have some very special English countryside around these parts, and I'm hoping to capture it through the seasons. Whenever I read the description of Hobbiton I always think of home - rolling green hills, pretty farmland and small people with hairy feet smoking pipes.

I'm at the foot of a very large, very steep mountain. Somewhere in the distance I can just about make out the top, but there's a long and tough road to run.  

Still, the best way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time, and elephants are a great source of carbohydrates, so I'd best get going.