Runners' Bug Bears - My Race March 2008

Rattling the runner’s cage

Runners are generally quite cheery people: Full of endorphins, doped up on a “runner’s high”. Right? Well, not entirely true. Although physical exercise – and in particular running – has a valid place in the treatment and prevention of some mental health problems, there are times when I think these mental health issues are an inside job. Ask any runner and I bet they could rhythm off a comprehensive list of bug bears. I’ve got a whole soap box dedicated to it.

OK, I’m probably not the most tolerant of people. I graduated from the spade’s a spade school of thought. A lethal combination used as a basis to compile a list of things that annoy me about running and racing. Yes, I’m about to commence on a rant marathon, but I bet you’ll be nodding in agreement.

So here goes. In no particular order, let’s start with general training.

Top of the pack: Dogs. Everyone’s had a situation that involves a dog. I’ve never been a big fan of the canine, namely because they like to attack me. But I’m not alone. Jill O’Neil from Garscube Harriers commented: “Why can’t dogs be kept on leads? Best still, kept indoors. It drives me nuts when owners say ‘aye, he’ll no touch hen’ or ‘he’s just saying hello’. I once ran passed a dog which went for me, but missed my leg and ripped my shorts instead. And the response from the owner: ‘well he’s never done that before’. Oh well, that’s ok then.” John Kynaston of Kilbarchan AAC also commented on his love of dog-walkers: “especially the ones who are wired up to an ipod and jump out there skin when you run by”.

Why do runners have to fight for pavement space? There you are trotting along and coming towards you there is a group walking two, three or four abreast on the pavement. They’ve seen you coming, so why can’t one of them step aside? Oh no, you’re forced to run on the road to get by. It’s even worse when it’s another running group. Shameful - they should at least know better. Or a courting couple? Is their relationship that insecure that they can’t let their hands go for a couple of seconds? And don’t even get me started on cyclists on pavements.

Kids running along beside you: Given the state of the youth today, they’d be lucky to keep it up for 50 metres. Give it up. You’re mates aren’t impressed. Get back to your alcopops and Malboro Lights. Know our limits. Then there are the various chants and jibes from local youths and the fuelled-up fraternity. My favourites are “118”, “Keep on running” and “Run, Forest. Run”. Hilarious. Really, it is.

What about people stopping you to ask for directions? No! Don’t do it. I don’t want to tell you how to find xyz street. And I’ve got no idea when the number 53 will be along. Marco Consani of Garscube Harriers said: “One person even stopped me to ask and me for a light!”

Non-runners trying to give you advice: My brother (who has never donned a pair of running shoes) was adamant that my marathon training runs should all be over 26 miles. What’s worse is advice from runners when it’s not welcome. My husband is forever trying to drown me in his worldly-wise words – change your route, your stride, your pace...your husband.

Then there are non-runners who are completely clueless: Firstly, I don’t jog. I run. Don’t tell me you saw me “out jogging”. And if you don’t appreciate what it takes to run, don’t comment on it. Ian Beattie of Strathearn Harriers said “It really riles me when people who have no knowledge of running say that Paula Radcliffe is a quitter. Go run a 2:15 marathon and win a world championship and then come back with your opinion”. Oh and don’t forget the folks that say they don’t like running because it’s so boring. An ex-colleague used to say this to me all the time. I thought it was quite ironic considering said ex-colleague was so dull he was like the human equivalent of beige.

What about “runners” who use the weather as an excuse not to go out? I appreciate there are valid reasons in abstaining if it’s stormy/icy/blowing a gale, but raining? What a whiny, cry-baby excuse. It rains in Scotland. A lot actually. If we all used that excuse, there would be an obesity epidemic. You go figure.

On the note, I do get the rage with the wind: Is it just me, or is it windy all the time now? I refer to it as runners’ wind. No not a symptom if the runners’ trot. It’s the wind that seems to follow you. Regardless of the direction you’re heading, the wind always seems to be in your face.

Then there’s the frustration of choosing the wrong gear. Given Scotland’s unpredictable and frequently changing weather system, this happens on the majority of runs. You think it is cold, so you pile on the layers. One mile in and you’re practically fainting. Or you venture out scantily-clad only to be hit with a snow-storm.

And finally: other runners who don’t acknowledge you. I’m a runner. You’re a runner. I’ve said hello. I don’t want a conversation. And I don’t want to upset your running stride. But snap out of your zone, stop being ignorant and at the very least nod your head. It’s the law.

Now, let me get stuck in to the drivers. They are so special they deserve a whole section of their own. You can pretty much guarantee that most sessions will involve a run-in with a driver or maybe that’s just me. I’ve been at the receiving end of many a fist-shake. I’ve also lost count of the number of times I’ve been blinded by full-beams. In the dark of night, I’ve got enough reflectors to light up a small town. How can you possibly not see me?

Then there are the rants and hurls of abuse from car windows. Especially from a car-full of neds. You know the delightful little blighters who try to make you jump with their beeping horns. Davie Bell of Lothian Running Club said: “I’ve had things thrown at me from passing cars. It was not so long ago that I got hit on the head with a packet of Trebor mints! When the car’s doing 50mph, it hurts. I also been blasted by a super-soaker and used as target practice by the local airgun club. Try zig-zagging on a cycle path that’s only 6ft wide. That’s what you call a good speed session.”

OK, but my favourite is the hesitant driver. Let me set the familiar scene. You both get to the junction at the same time. You think he’s stopped. He thinks you’ve stopped. He goes. You go. He waves you on. You wave him on. You both go. Both stop. Grrr. Too late, you’ve already out of your pacing and you want to throw a tantrum on the pavement. And what’s worse than that are the drivers who don’t even offer to let you go first. Not forgetting to mention the ones that cut you up at junctions, deliberately splash you, neglect to use their indicators or pull out of driveways without looking.

Now let’s move to the race circuit. And we best start at the very beginning. These days you’re lucky to actually get a place. Mark Hamilton from Prestwick commented: “I get really annoyed about the lack of racing places in big races. Why are the majority taken up by charity runners?” Now I’m all for doing my bit for charity, but I can understand when people get the hump when they lose out on the ballot. There are so many random charities these days. I don’t fancy my chances of trying to raise two million pounds for the dysfunctional budgerigar foundation, just to get a place. On the flipside, there are loads of other fabulous races to enter, so we can’t whine about everything.

When you actually do make it there, the parking situation is always a joke. Especially when participants try to get as close to the start/finish as possible. You’re a runner. Run! I have to run, as I usually need to find the nearest loo. Nerves play havoc with my bladder. Unfortunately the runner to toilet ratio is usually 5000:1. I really don’t mind being at one with nature, but you’d get an ASBO for a fly tinkle in the middle of a housing estate. So I’m forced to join the never-ending queue for the experience that is the portaloo. I may be lining up for my third “make sure”, but I get really annoyed if there are spectators in the queue ahead? Why can’t they wait until after the race starts?

Everyone always moans about runners/joggers starting the race way out of their pace. OK, I’m probably quite guilty of this therefore I’m outing myself as a pest. But in my defence, I’m not as slow as some. And chances are I will have passed most the people who raced off by the time I get to the half-way mark.

On that note, people who race off – usually wearing combat shorts and football trainers – and then start slowing down (and often walking) a mile in to the race. Then to add to their annoyance they suddenly have a burst of energy when you’re overtaking them.

People who run beside you during races: Do I look like a pacer? Either run behind me or run in front of me. Not beside me. We’re not mates. Unfortunately, even when the person next to me is in fact a mate, the same rules apply. Leave me alone. I want to suffer in solidarity.

Ian Beattie added another belter: “Marshalls who stop you to let traffic passed. Yeah, that will be right. Did no one explain that it’s a road race? The cars are supposed to stop for the runners, not the other way round”
Then it’s all over and you burst across the finishing line. You’re breathing through you ears and bleeding from you eyes, when one of your club mates is right in your face with “what was your time? What was your time?” I don’t know about you, but I have an overwhelming urge to flick them on the forehead.

Excuses for poor performance: Everybody knows someone who has a whole list of excuses - often before the race even starts. There’s the injury, fatigue, cold (or man flu) curry the night before, the wind, the heat, not wearing their lucky knickers. Just accept your time. And accept that no body cares about your time.

There’s generally a lot of annoying chatter at the finishing line. Supersonic athletes who get a PB, yet still complain about their performance. If you think you could have gone faster, why didn’t you? Of course, there’s the mandatory debate about the length of the course (always incorrect!) and the lack of prizes for specific age categories – generally when the person moaning is the only person in that category.

And after all that you get handed some rubbish goodie bag and a cheap chocolate-coin effort of a medal. What am I supposed to do with a vacuum-packed portion of pasta and accompanying sauce? And only in Scotland would you get a Mars Bar or a caramel log. What’s the story with the T-shirts? Rachel Stevenson said: “It’s one size fits no one. As a general rule, runners are pretty slim. I’ve still yet to see a runner who is extra-large.” The only thing worse, is having no medal or goodie bag at all.

At the risk of dedicating a whole issue of MyRace to my rant fest, I thought I best cover the rest as briefly as possible: getting pipped at the post by your nearest rival; getting pipped to the post by a womble or rhino; runners who stink before the race has even started; colleagues who laugh at my tights – laugh it up, fatty; dafties who run about with those silly water bottles, when it’s obvious they’re only out for a couple of miles; jogging on a track; people who think running on a treadmill actually counts; fast runners who wear sunglasses regardless of weather or daylight; whippet-thin runners who still want to loose weight to shave a few seconds of their 10K; spitting in the wind for it to come back and land on you; someone else’s spit landing on you; chaffing, cramp, stitches and emergency toilet stops. And last, but not least, photographers who capture you broken-bodied, red-faced and foaming at the mouth.

Phew, all done. It’s over and out from me. I’m off to noise up some runners.

New Year. New Plan - My Race Jan 2008

Go on…try something new this year

One definition of insanity is continuing to do the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. That could basically sum up my approach to running throughout 2007. I didn’t have a structured training plan. I ran the same sessions, on the same nights at the same consistent pace. Ironically I had the cheek to sulk when I didn’t improve my race times. After only hitting one PB in 2007 - and that was only by one second in a 10K - I vowed to make 2008 my running year.

Armed with a new training plan and new found motivation, I pledged to vary my training. Knuckling down with some speed work and trying new things is a novel concept to someone who’ss club nickname is One-pace Debs.

Even though I’ve been a member of a running club for a few years, I’ve managed to wiggle my way out of anything too tough. Namely road relays (too fast), cross country (too mucky) and hill running (my calves whimper at the thought of it). A mix of idleness, training for a spring marathon and intimidation have forced me to spend the winter months pounding the pavements at the weekend on my own.

Road relay

OK, first things first. I signed up for my debut road relay: the George Cumming. I went along feeling quite nervous, as I always associated these races with the elite. When I arrived at the cosy wee church hall in Houston, my intimidation was heightened when my mate shouted across the room: “Oi, Martin! You cannae run this at your usual marathon race pace”. Witch. As I scuttled over, I apologised to my team mates in advance. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not exactly a donkey, but I’d hardly be the first picked in gym class.

The girls’ teams were made up of three members. I don’t know whether it was the luck of the draw or vain attempt to spare the club any necessary embarrassment, but I was the middle runner. Phew! The thought of being left behind at the start or trampled on at the end scared me.

Sauntering on down to the starting line, towards the sea of whippet-thin runners limbering up, I desperately scanned the crowd looking for someone I could beat. This category was a bit thin on the ground, as I could only see the familiar fast faces from the race circuit.

The horn went and runners zoomed off in a flurry of branded vests. It was a fiercely competitive game. Faces were stern and elbows were out, as runners tried to break free from the crowd.

As I hung around waiting for my turn, I noticed that one home-owner had posted signs on his house wall stating “no spitting”, which would suggest the villagers weren’t impressed with the vulgarities of athletes. There was also a wedding taking place in the local church. Can you imagine the confetti scene, as hoards of sweating, panting runners paraded past?

The legs were only 2.7miles. I prefer to call myself an endurance runner (something to do with the distinct lack of speed), so I thought this stint was hardly worth getting out of bed for. The first home was an Inverclyde runner in an impressive 12:50. I’m sure I couldn’t even drive the route that fast. My first team mate Ailsa came back in just short of 18 minutes. A quick signal from the marshal and it was my turn. So off I went - along the road, round the first bend and finally out of sight and on my own. I passed one runner on the downhill, so at least I made up one place. The bendy course follows road, trail, town and rural with a few a cheeky wee hills thrown in. I felt quite invigorated, as I nipped up the inclines. I was amazed at how competitive you feel when you’re part of a team - especially when I heard the pitter-patter of my nearest rival behind me. I managed to lose her on the last hill. It’s a long downhill, so nice for a fast finish – with the opportunity to look quite spritely.

Most runners came in and slumped over. Or the still-vertical staggered about with rolling eyes and foaming mouths. I crossed in 20 minutes and cheerfully said: “Wow that was great. I loved it”. Now there’s a tell-tale sign that suggests I probably wasn’t working hard enough.

The race was a fabulous introduction to road relays. It was a really nice, well-organised, sociable, local event. The main thing is that it has made me want to be faster. I’ll definitely be back next year. And I’ll definitely be much faster. Hope my teammates don’t quote me on that though. So, one road relay down. Big tick.

Hill running

Next on the agenda was a hill run. Ideally I would have signed up for a hill race, but we’re out of season now. So then any normal person would have headed up their local hills for an hour or two. Oh no, not I. No stranger to a long slow run, I opted for 24 miles across the seven Munros of the South Glen Shiel Ridge. As you do.I've been a keen hill-walker for a couple years and have bagged close to 100 Munros. I could safely say that my two great loves are now hill-walking and running. So, why have I never combined them both?

In a quest to find the answer, I headed out on a crisp winter’s morning. Armed with my trusty Salomon hydration pack, far too many layers and my equally unhinged side-kick, I started on the epic route with a gentle six mile along the base of the ridge. Most of the walkers out that day were using two cars to save this part of the journey. Already slightly puffed, we started the ascent. It was mostly walking/stomping/a laughable attempt at jogging on the way up, but I was definitely moving faster. Probably down to the footwear and light load. Up to the first cairn we ran down and over to Munro number two and then on to number three. Slight navigational error and we were on our way to number four. I started to slow and wilt with the exhausting gradient. My side-kick hit the nail on the head when he said: "It's like hill-walking, but with less clothes, less food and less grip". Trail shoes aren't really the best for rocky hills. And we packed extra light with just some biscuits and oatcakes for fuel. A few hours in and it was a game of peaks and troughs. And by Munro number five it was mostly troughs and troughs. We were out there, practically naked, exposed to the elements. When the cold rain started, my mojo hitched a lift on the wind. Even the power of the oatcake (I should be an ambassador of oats) couldn't save the day. After the last Munro I had enough energy to run all the way off the hill and then down the four mile military road back to the car.So, back to my original question: Why haven't I combined running with hillwalking? Because they don't bloody well belong together that's way. They are both glorious pastimes that deserve there own special attention. I missed my sack full of protective gear, nice lunches and comfy waterproof boots. So, will I do it again? Damn tooting. Seven Munros in nine hours is not a bad day out.I came. I saw. I conquered. I'm broken.

Cross-Country.

To be honest, I only signed up for this because it involved pre-race shoe shopping. And to a girlie girl as shallow as me, that was incentive enough. One purchase of a pair of bright yellow and black Saucony and I was raring to go. I may have looked like a walking bumble bee, but I felt like the bee’s knees.

I was duly informed that this was going to make me a “stronger runner”. Apparently the benefits of cross-country are both mental and physical. The experience makes the runner more robust, more versatile and less likely to be thrown by sudden changes in the unpredictable Scottish weather. The terrain forces different stride length, leg action and foot strike from road and track running. The ups and downs, unevenness, the turns all use different muscles. I was hoping that this would improve my speed, dexterity, balance and general confidence.

Unlike road relays and hill running, I’ve always wanted to try a cross-country race. I adore trail running and love muddy terrain and was really looking forward to a new challenge and breaking free from the monotony of the same old, same old. Unfortunately, cross-country running is a glorious and invigorating activity that is in urgent need of a branding overhaul. Mention the dreaded CC words and people cower, whilst recalling humiliating images of school races. There’s even a published school textbook that refers to cross-country as “a form of child abuse that breaches human rights” and suggest it is as “damaging as bullying”. How’s that for a bad name? Now what do you think would happen if the events were rebranded as adventure racing? I bet the organisers would be turning entrants away. It even sounds more intriguing, more reckless and daring, and much more this century.

Anyway, I digress. There’s no point harking on when I haven’t even got my new shoes (I think I’m supposed to call them spikes) dirty.

Well, I think I was broken in gently when I signed up for the Dumbartonshire AAA Cross Country Relays. The ground was quite hard as the weather had behaved that week. You must remember that one dry day last year?

I ran for my club’s Senior Women’s B Team. Coincidently (or maybe not) I was the second runner or middle leg. As my first team buddy, Laura, went off, I tried a warm up. Lord those shoes (OK spikes) take a bit of getting use to. I am used to nice spongy road shoes. Those plimsolls with laces and nails were anything but comfortable.

Down by the start the second runners were waiting for their mates to appear. A while after the fast boys came in, through the trees came the red-faced Laura. One high-five cross over and it was my turn. I slid, jerked and almost hobbled round the playing fields and along the side of the river. The course then crossed a foot bridge. The blood-crawling crunching of spikes sounded like a herd of excited golfers. Back on the turf, we crossed a green, hopped a wall and then headed along a trail. I ducked trees, whilst following bits a sticky tape attached to branches. Shoes still clean, so far so good. Up and over hills, more turf and more trails. Autumn had striped the trees of their leaves, so the ground was mushy and slippy. Onwards and upwards, a marshal directed me across a road and passed a car-park. This is the bit I was warned about. Trying to run on a road whilst wearing spikes, is a certifiable offense. Thankfully this section was short lived, as I was redirected back on the trail and down some leaf-clad steps.

I could hear the distant sounds of chatter and cheering, so I knew I was close. I had abandoned my trusty Garmin for the day, so had no idea how long I was out or how far I’d gone. Just when I thought I had come home squeaky clean, the course took in a long stretch of very deep mud. I squelched, slurped and slid my way to the fence, rounded the corner and was homeward bound. I do love the terrain and the limited pressure on time. I was more focused on my feet and surroundings than I was on time and splits. Plus I can to stomp about in the mud like a big kid. It’s just unfortunate that my club vest is white. It would make the perfect example for the Daz Doorstep Challenge.

Will I be back? Auch well, now that my shoes are dirty, I may as well give cross-country another bash.


Go on, try something new today. For a full list of events across Scotland, visit www.scottishathletics.org.uk. If anything you can add to your shoe collection.



Why not compile a list of goals and aims for 2008? Write them down and post them somewhere where you can see them everyday.

Draw up your three main goals for each distance: Your achievable goal over the next three months; what you want to achieve this year; and your ultimate goal.

If you’re all out of personal bests, try a new distance. There are lots of unusual distances out there like 5miles, 10 miles and 8Ks.

Create your own blog. Monitoring and sharing your achievements and thoughts, is a fabulous motivator. Log on to www.blogspot.com and join the running revolution.

Abandon your trusty ensemble and dress up for the occasion. Still harbouring fantasies of being a superhero or your favourite cartoon character? Then 2008 could be your year.

Encourage someone to sign up for their first race. Everyone’s got a 5K fundraiser in them. They’ll thank you for it afterwards. I promise. Bring one more person to the running family.

Take a break from your usual races. And more importantly take a break from your usual race rivals. Try a race away from home. You could combine it with an overseas holiday. Or even just a break in another part of the country. It’s a great way to include your family too.

Treat yourself. Introduce a point system to your training regime. Say, one point for each mile. 20 points could be a slice of your favourite cake. 200 points could be a new running top or a sports massage.