Project Five O-ver

"This was me aged two and a half in December 1963, 47 years ago. Cute, wasn't I?  OK, dodgy haircut I agree but cute in spite of it. It is now 1st January 2011, and I'm finding it hard to comprehend how quickly the intervening years have passed, but nevertheless here I am on the verge of a half century's occupancy of planet earth."

These were my opening words when I launched Project Five O just under a year ago. Well today is 28th December 2011 and 48 years have now passed since I waved coyly to the camera dressed dressed in my stripy pyjamas. I've actually made it to 50 (and slightly beyond), and the time has come for my final Project Five O post. It's a post I've approached with very mixed emotions. Writing this blog had been great fun, and has undoubtedly enabled me to feel much more positive about reaching 50 than I would have done without it. I am going to miss it tremendously, and in the month since my previous post following the Florence Marathon more than once I've toyed with the idea of keeping the blog going. But to do it well is time consuming, and my work year ahead is going to be even busier than the hectic lead up to Christmas I've just been through. Also Project Five O has had a definite focus, a central thread running through it, that 2012 won't have even though I fully intend to carry on running and taking part in events well into the future. Therefore, with a slightly heavy heart, I'm sticking to my original plan. This will be my final post, the natural end of Project Five O.

I'd like to think the blog has been a modest success, and if it has, it's because I've had such a great year in all respects. There's been plenty to write about. Running-wise, I haven't quite achieved my Project Five O targets. Apart from in the 5K, I haven't recorded new PBs, although the margin by which all of my 2011 times have been faster than those I achieved in 2010 has given me great pleasure and made me very proud of my efforts. On it's own, the ecstasy I felt at the end of the Florence Marathon has made it all worthwhile. I certainly trained hard during the year, and I'm delighted with my overall fitness. As I wrote back in July after the Regents Park 10K, I think the one area where I could have perhaps shown more dedication in is in my diet. Wine and chocolate have continued to prove too much of a temptation, in spite of the good intentions I articulated at that point. It's all about balance, though, isn't it? Lot's of exercise, and a reasonably healthy diet with the occasional naughty but nice element. Or in my case, substitute occasional with regular!

Just one more bit of running to report on. Florence wasn't quite the end of my running for the year. Two weeks later I took part in the Jingle Bell Jog, a 5K run through St Albans along with a few hundred others dressed in Santa costumes. The great thing about a 5K is that, being only a fraction over 3 miles, you can just go for it from the start, no need to worry too much about pacing yourself. For the purposes of authenticity in my role as Santa I downed a glass of red wine before the start, and sped off along St Peter Street as soon as Toyah Wilcox sounded the starting siren. Negotiating Christmas shoppers and having to wait to cross a number of busy roads makes this event very much a fun run rather than a serious race, but nevertheless I was very pleased to cross the line in just over 31 minutes, a full 4 minutes faster than last year although a couple of minutes slower than my Beat the Banana run back in May this year. Fantastic Fun! Sweaty too, thanks to the outfit!

The important requirement to take on fluid before the start

As well as the running, many other events have contributed to making 2011 such a wonderful year. Visits to four fascinating countries, a fantastic afternoon in the Sky Sports box at the Valley, busy times at home, interesting projects at work, I've loved it all. I've also enjoyed mining the photographic archives for the occasional nostalgia drenched trip down memory lane.

Thank you to everyone who has shared in these events with me, either by being there or by reading about them on my blog. I've greatly appreciated your kind feedback on my efforts. Thank you, it's lovely to know how much you have enjoyed reading about my adventures throughout the year. In particular, thank you to Juliet and Hannah, who have supported, encouraged and humoured me before, during and after my big Five O. It's alright being 50, it really is!

Best wishes to you all for a fabulous 2012.

The Florence Marathon

Finding a burst of speed for the final bend

I knew it was going to be a special day as soon as I arrived at the start area of the Florence Marathon. The place was buzzing. Effusive Italians were everywhere, hugging and kissing each other. It was cold but the sun was shining; another glorious day in the making. The excitable announcer was building up the excitement and counting down to the start in a range of languages. I had decided to attach myself to the official 5 hour time pacers, three lovely Italian ladies whose guarantee to finish under their allotted time would provide me with a real chance of setting a new personal best for the marathon. To enable runners to keep track of them during the race, they each had four helium filled purple balloons attached to their back.

My excitement increased further when a group of lively mature Japanese ladies in fancy dress also congregated around the purple balloons. Regular readers of this blog will know how fond I have become recently of the Japanese. This was going to be fun. Unfortunately, though, after greatly enlivening the pre-race atmosphere, they quickly slipped off the five hour pace, never to be seen again. I hope they made it around OK and enjoyed the experience.

The Japanese contingent prepare for action

An overseas marathon is measured in kilometers, and whilst there are more (42k as opposed to 26 miles) there is less distance between them, which seems to help as they pass by at a faster rate. The route headed out of the city and meandered around the lush Parco delle Cascine before heading back towards the historic centre as the half way stage approached. Apart from a few gently sloping underpasses, the terrain was completely flat and for the first 15k I kept up fairly comfortably with the pace makers. They were great, offering plenty of encouragement and maintaining metronomic progress. I was on schedule for my PB and feeling strong, but slightly concerned that the pace being set was just a little faster than advertised. If maintained it would see me comfortably achieve my best time, but could I keep it up? It was faster for longer than I had run at any time this year.

After the 18k marker, very very gradually I found myself losing touch with the purple balloons. By the halfway mark, they were still just about in sight but very distant. Try as I might, I just could not close the gap. Nevertheless, I had reached the half marathon point in 2:25:17, two minutes faster than my fastest time of the year at Bath. I had only covered this distance faster three times before ever, and in theory I was still on track for a Marathon PB. However, I could feel my muscles beginning to tighten and, realising deep down that the second 21k would take longer than the first, I refocused and set myself a new aim of beating my second best ever time of 5:08, achieved in the 2006 London Marathon. Even allowing for a slower second half, this was still very much on.

For a long time I remained on schedule to beat 5:08, even after the pain arrived, in most of my left leg and groin (strangely not the right one that had caused me such trouble a few weeks ago). After a while it became clear that the agony was there to stay, but I somehow kept going purely by the dual power of positive thinking and my magic support pants, which somehow held my flailing parts together.

Each one only slightly slower than the last, the km markers continued to be left behind as did the refreshment stations every 5k. These welcome oases were remarkably well stocked with water, isotonic drinks, cups of sweet tea, bananas and other fruit, a variety of energy bars and, bizarrely at 30k, rock hard lattice style jam tarts, the strangest thing I've been offered on a run since the gherkins that I politely refused in the sweltering heat of the Stockholm marathon.

By 37k we were back in the city centre again, and the final 5k involved an amazing sightseeing tour around all of Florence's major sights. The Ponte Vecchio, the Duomo, Piazza della Republica. You name it, we passed it, and all whilst running on cobblestones, which although quaint to look at, pull suffering muscles in every direction except the desired one. More pain, no gain.

Negotiating the cobble stones

Crossing the Ponte Vecchio, 2.5k from the finish

There were still decent crowds at this stage, cheering us runners on with generous Italian warmth and flamboyance. I felt I could barely stay upright and every stride brought new levels of pain, but I was somehow swept along by the magnificent surroundings and atmosphere.

Rounding the final bend into Piazza Santa Croce, the finishing line almost in sight

Crossing the finishing line

Eventually I rounded the final bend into to the Piazza Santa Croce passing in front of the magnificent Basilica. I picked out Juliet's face in  the crowd cheering me on and taking some action photographs. Magically the pain disappeared and I approached the finishing line feeling strong and lengthening my stride, but also struggling to see clearly as emotion overcame me and tears welled up in my eyes. 5:08 might have slipped away from me a little while back, but the Florence Marathon had nevertheless been the most exhilarating running experience of my life. A fantastic effort. Everything had come together. Running well, not so far off my best ever in fact, the magnificent surroundings, amazing atmosphere and just the great buzz that comes from being healthy and fit enough to complete a marathon at the age of 50. 

My finishing time was 5:13:32, my fastest for over 5 years. Sadly again not a PB, but I was still very very pleased with it. I had finished a long way from the back of the field. This was my seventh marathon; I've only ever run two faster. In order to achieve this I've trained hard, especially over the past two months; it's been gruelling at times and I'd kind of made a pact with myself that this would be my final marathon - that I'd stick shorter distances from now on. However, all of a sudden I wasn't so sure. I'd certainly wouldn't rule out having another go at this marathon. Never again had suddenly changed to never say never!

My exhilaration wasn't entirely down to the marathon, though. It had been a fantastic weekend in every respect, but now it was time to head for home. The hotel owners, Emanuel and Barbara, had kindly kept our room available to us until 3:00pm, even though there were new guests waiting to take our place. This allowed me to take a much needed shower and change into fresh clothes for the journey home. Because the city centre was still closed to traffic as the final runners finished and the tidying up operation got underway, I had to endure a slow and painful walk whilst dragging my suitcase over the cobbles to the edge of the city centre before we were able to hail a cab to the airport. At the time this was a real ordeal, but by keeping my muscles active it had the very positive effect of enabling me to move relatively freely the following day.

We were surprised to find ourselves sitting in the small business class section at the front of the aeroplane for our flight back to London City Airport, our every need attended to by a flight attendant who looked and moved like a young and slighter version of David Walliams. Being allocated these seats was purely down to good fortune; there were too many economy passengers for the available seats and we were the lucky ones to get an upgrade. The benefits of flying business class on a short haul flight don't really amount to much, although the extra leg room and unlimited supply of wine were especially welcome after the day's events. This small but unexpected bonus right at the end just added the final bit of lustre to what had been an amazing weekend.

A Room with a View

View along the Arno from Piazzale Michelangelo

E.M. Forster's novel, "A Room with a View" begins with young Lucy Honeychurch and her overbearing chaperone, Charlotte Bartlett, complaining that instead of the rooms with a view of the river Arno they had been promised, their rooms instead looked over a courtyard. Ummm, it's probably a good job they didn't have the view of the quiet, but extremely scruffy, backstreet visible behind the net curtains in our Florence hotel room. Can you imagine what Charlotte, played by Maggie Smith in the Merchant-Ivory film adaptation, would have had to say about that? Unlike Lucy and Charlotte, though, we weren't on a promise of any kind, and in fact we are very pleased with the reasonably priced and comfortable Hotel Privelege. It's right next to the river, no more than a 15 minutes walk from any of the main sights and, very helpfully, only a few hundred metres away from the start line of Sunday's Marathon.

A room with a view? Well, sort of!

It's Saturday evening and it's been an absolutely fantastic visit to Florence so far. Even the journey here was enjoyable. My first experience of the slick operation at London City was followed by a fleeting aerial glimpse of the Valley from my seat with a view, and a mere two and a half hours later we were being whisked by taxi across the four and a half kilometers that separate Florence city centre from its airport.

Charlton Athletic's Valley from the air.

Before starting to take in the sights, there was business to attend to, namely collection of my race number and timing chip from the Luigi Rudolfi Athletics Stadium, about a twenty minute walk from our hotel. After all the drama earlier in the week getting a doctor to sign the medical form, I'm not sure whether it was amusing or galling that the result of all my anguish and careering about merited barely a cursory glance. Nevertheless, it was exciting to see my name appear on the screen as I walked past clasping my hard earned requisites for entry.

I'm in - it's official!

There is so much to see and do in Florence, that even a week would be woefully too short to take it all in. In just over 24 hours so far, though, we don't think we've done too badly. We've certainly put ourselves about! The weather has been amazing. With not a single cloud in the sky, the City's treasures have been bathed in a startlingly clear light.

Our first adventure was to climb the 414 twisty turny stone steps to the top of the Campanile, Florence's 14th century bell tower. With 26 miles to run less than two days later, this was probably not the wisest of excursions. However, the view from the top was wonderful compensation - the adjacent Duomo, the world's fourth largest cathedral completed midway through the fifteenth century, all of central Florence and the autumnal shades of the surrounding Tuscan countryside. Breathtaking, in more ways than one!

The Duomo and adjacent Campanile

The colourful neo-gothic (so I'm told)  facade of the Basilica di Santa Croce looked particularly striking in the glorious late afternoon sunshine. We haven't found time to look inside yet, it houses the tomb of Michelangelo and Galileo Galilei, but hopefully I will be taking a much closer look at it's exterior mid-afternoon tomorrow, as the finishing line for the Marathon is immediately in front of it. 

The neo-gothic facade of the Basilica di Sante Croce

As the daylight began to fade we made our way towards the famous Ponte Vecchio with its multi-storied shops. Until the late sixteenth century the shops were primarily butchers, but since a Medici edict in 1593 the only goods on offer have been gold and jewellery.

Ponte Vecchio

Prettily lit up, the bridge was crammed with sightseers like ourselves but retained an enchanting atmosphere. As dusk fell, the sunset along the Arno to the west was magnificent.

Sunset along the river Arno

An early start this morning enabled us to beat the crowds to the Galleria Dell' Accademia and enjoy a long and tranquil look at Michelangelo's astounding David. Seeing famous works of art close up and for real can sometimes disappoint. I was distinctly underwhelmed as I jostled to get a good look at the surprisingly small Mona Lisa in the Louvre a few years back, for example. My reaction to Michelangelo's masterpiece, however, could not have been more different. It is without doubt the most beautiful work of art I have ever seen. It's sheer size (516cm high) is striking, but the attention to detail carved out of hard marble is amazing. Not only is the beauty of the body awesome, but so too is the sense conveyed of David's quiet strength and serenity as he prepares to slay Goliath with one throw of his sling. The Galleria Dell' Accademia was built specifically to house this statue and its placement in an airy high domed space adds greatly to its impact. Photography is rightly forbidden, although an excellent replica erected outside the Palazzo Vecchio provides a compensatory photo opportunity.

Not quite the real thing.

As the day has proceeded we have taken in many more of Florence's famous sights and ventured into the stunning interiors of some of its enormous churches. The vast light-filled space and coloured marble inside the Basilica di san Lorenzo and and the amazing frescos on the ceiling of the Chiesa di Santa Maria del Carmine in particular stood out. We stopped for a coffee (for Juliet; I had tea) and a delicious cake at the ornately decorated Gilli. As is the Florentine way, we consumed this standing up at the bar. Next to us two smart young Italians each ordered an espresso, which they downed in one and then they were off. They were alongside us for no more than a couple of minutes.

As lunch time approached we took a taxi across the river and up the hill to the Piazzale Michelangelo. In normal circumstances we would have walked but by now I was starting to develop a mild sense of panic about the effect all of the walking we were doing might have on my legs tomorrow. In the Piazzale stands another copy of David, this one cast in bronze, overlooking panoramic views of the city and along the Arno. The whole area and the stunning cityscape reminded me very much of Montjuic in Barcelona. Previous Florence marathons have started up here, with the first couple of miles downhill, but this was adversely affecting the status of the race as the altitude gap between start and finish did not comply with international standards. Therefore the start this year has been moved to a less lofty location beside the river.

The Duomo and Campanile viewed from Piazzale Michelangelo

We meandered down from the bronze David and had a late lunch in a fantastic restaurant in the Oltrarno area. All of our meals since arriving in Florence have been great, but the fare in this cosy rustic osteria was the best of the lot. For just 10 Euros I enjoyed an absolutely delicious pesto lasagne followed by a traditional Tuscan dish of roast pork and potatoes. Accompanied by a smooth Chianti at a perfect temperature, it really was a superb dining experience at a very reasonable price.

We explored this side of the river for another hour or so before calling it a day and getting a taxi back to our hotel at around 4:00 pm. I could have quite happily continued for longer, but it was time to put my legs up and save them for the morning. It's been a fantastic couple of days. Hopefully I will be equally as glowing in my praise of Florence after pounding its streets for 26 miles tomorrow! Expect an update probably around Tuesday.

Medical Drama

I've taken part in three marathons and two half marathons overseas in the last few years, and the procedure has always been the same. You register online and pay the entry fee well in advance to secure a place and then set about making the necessary travel and accommodation arrangements. Later, a couple of weeks before the event, an email arrives with full instructions for the race and an official looking attachment which you present at the race headquarters a day or two before the race to collect your race number and timing chip.

Having followed the first part of this procedure for this Sunday's Florence Marathon, I grew increasingly anxious as last week wore on and I had still not received anything at all from the organisers. On Wednesday I sent an email, but by Friday evening it remained unanswered. I decided to search through the event website for any information about the whereabouts and timing of any joining instructions. What I discovered did not make good reading!

Tucked away, a little obscurely I felt, was a statement to the effect that confirmation letters, necessary for collection of race numbers and entry to the start line, would only be issued upon receipt of a completed medical certificate. Oh no, I thought, there's not much time left to get that sorted. But the situation quickly got a lot worse. Scanning anxiously down the page, my eyes alighted on the deadline date for submission of the certificate, Wednesday 15th November. I glanced quickly at my watch to confirm the date, it was Friday18th. I was already too late.

What to do? First step, beg for clemency. I immediately fired off another email apologising for having only just realised that a medical certificate was necessary and stating confidently that would have one by the middle of the week. Having invested a lot of money in arranging my trip to Italy and many months of hard training, I continued, would they please, please, please forgive me for being a few days late and let me fax a copy of the certificate next week and bring the original with me.

It was at this point, however, that I printed off the medical form from the website and discovered that obtaining medical clearance was going to be far from easy. The wording on the form was Draconian. I was going to have to persuade a Doctor to declare him or herself "fully responsible and accept the consequences for falsely declaring" that I am "in good health and fit to compete in a 42,195 metre marathon according to current laws" based on a "sport physical exam" carried out by the Doctor. Eek, if I was a doctor I'm not sure I'd be prepared to put my name to that based on a five minute consultation with a patient, even if I did have access to their relatively robust looking health records. What if they keeled over on the finishing straight, I'd be thinking? What do they mean by consequences? I've seen those Godfather films. Would I be in danger of waking up one morning with a blood-stained horse's head on my pillow?

Still, I had to give it a try, and even though there was a 10 day wait for the next available appointment at my local surgery, the very nice receptionist managed to squeeze me into a recently cancelled appointment for Wednesday at the practice's sister surgery on the other side of town. A few hours later I received further good news - an email from the race organisers containing my entry confirmation, conditional on presentation of the medical certificate on my arrival in Florence. Things were looking up, but that wasn't the end of the drama. Oh no!

Earlier today I arrived at the surgery across town in good time. Sitting in the waiting room five minutes before my appointment was due, I casually pulled the form out of my pocket to have it ready to hand over to the Doctor. Except it wasn't the medical form! I had picked up the race entry confirmation letter by mistake. The medical form was still on my desk on the other side of St Albans, at least 10 minutes drive away even in the unlikely event of no traffic hold ups. I hurriedly explained what had happened to the Receptionist, and asked whether she could possibly jiggle the appointments around and let the next few people in early while I rushed home to get the right form.

"I can't guarantee anything, but as long as you're no more than 15 minutes, it might still be possible for the Doctor to see you", she remarked rather sternly.

15 minutes! I'll be lucky to get home in that time, let alone back here again I thought, but kept to myself.

"OK, I'll be quick. See you in 15 minutes." I replied over my shoulder as I ran to the car.

Twenty three minutes later, I was back facing the Receptionist.

"How can I help you?", she asked.

"It's me, Martin Crisp!" I gasped having covered the distance from my car to the surgery even faster than Usain Bolt would have managed. "Am I back in time to see the Doctor?"

"Ah yes, Mr Crisp, take a seat. The Doctor will see you next."

Phew!

The Doctor was young, female, gorgeous and sympathetic to my situation. Unfortunately, though, she was a locum, and said she would have to check with one of the permanent doctors whether it would be OK to sign the Italian form or issue something a little more general saying that I am generally in good health and that there seem to be no obvious medical reasons why I should not attempt to run a marathon. But first, I needed to undergo a couple of basic checks, pulse, chest and blood pressure. And yep, you've guessed it, as a result of my frantic certificate-chasing dash across town, my blood pressure came out a little on the high side.

"Just relax, take a few really deep breaths", reassured the Doctor, "you're bound to be a bit uptight after all that stress and rushing around."

So, after a short break she measured my blood pressure a second time. And guess what? It had gone up even more, and I was in danger of trying to chill out so hard that I was achieving exactly the opposite effect. It was third time lucky, though, as I finally relaxed sufficiently to produce an acceptable reading, and I was pronounced to be in good general health.

I left the form with the doctor; the surgery would call me when there was something ready to collect. I hoped it would be the official Italian form, but realistically a watered down declaration seemed more likely, meaning that uncertainty would remain until my arrival in Florence. So when I returned to the surgery later in the afternoon, I was delighted to discover that, undeterred by the possibility of waking up next to a horse's head, the lovely doctor had gone ahead and signed the official form. I would be making it to the start line on Sunday after all. Mind you, I had to pay £25 for the certificate, but after such a big pallaver to secure my entry, right now I consider it money well spent.

Trussed and OK

Well, the compression shorts arrived in the post on Tuesday, and very unyielding they are too. Believe me, there's very little scope for a groin to misbehave when under their iron grip. Furthermore, when I read the accompanying leaflet, I was delighted to find out that not only do these shorts offer firm support to troublesome groins, they also have very effective "moisture wicking qualities" to help keep the area in question dry and fragrant. Things are definitely looking up!

Add caption

I gave the shorts an initial try out on a two mile treadmill run at the gym on Wednesday morning, and was very pleased to make it through with not even a hint of a twinge. More than that, though, my whole running action felt a lot more efficient than it had for a long time. Somehow I felt more upright, which in turn made me feel lighter on my feet and this in turn placed less stress on the knees and hips. Not content with providing compression, these are "go faster" pants too. 

On reflection, I think perhaps the injury that surfaced last weekend has probably been bubbling under for a while, as in spite of covering a lot of training miles in the past couple of months I have struggled to show the improvement in performance that you would normally expect to accompany them. At least initially, shoring up the injury seemed to have had a much more holistic effect than I'd hoped for.

Putting this hypothesis to the test, I set forth with gusto on a four and a half mile run on Friday morning, and kept up a good pace to the end to beat my previous best for the route by a minute, and again I felt that I was running much more efficiently. This morning I was up early to set off before sunrise on a 17 miler. After last week I needed to complete a lengthy run but with Florence only two weeks away, the 20 miles I had intended to run last week would have been too much to recover from in such a short space of time.

Sunrise over the outskirts of St Albans

Apart from the health benefits, one of the things I enjoy most about my running exploits is getting out in the open air and taking in the beautiful countryside. As dawn broke today on a glorious mild autumn morning it was fantastic to be outside breathing it all in. The run went well too, especially for the first fifteen miles. In the final couple of miles, though, all of my leg muscles tightened up significantly and felt almost at breaking point. However, nothing that a rigorous sports massage won't be able to address, I feel. I've had similarly taut muscles before, and a visit to the physio has always made a massive difference. I did encounter one unexpected and, for me, unusual problem on today's run, though. Blisters. Two whopping great big ones, one on my left big toe and another on the instep on my right foot.

I'd like to think this was caused by my blistering pace......

Why I've suddenly succumbed to them, I've no idea but I don't see blisters as a serious threat to my performance in Florence, and although last week's difficulties have set undoubtedly my preparations back a little, I'm now feeling much more confident about my prospects. Bring it on!

Injury Time

I set off at 6:20 am this morning for my final long training run for the Florence Marathon on 27th November. 20 miles was the aim, but after less than one mile I started to feel a disturbing soreness in my right groin area. It's often possible to run off this kind of discomfort and so I pressed on optimistically, but by the time I had covered three miles the pain had become so sharp and insistent that I was left with no choice but to stop running and endure a very uncomfortable two and a half mile limp home, feeling increasingly disconsolate.

An injury free groyne at Worthing, West Sussex

A very similar thing happened to me at exactly the same point, three weeks, before my first London Marathon back in 2006. Back then it was my right knee that suddenly and very painfully gave way. After some treatment, treading gingerly in subsequent training and the use of a knee support, I was able to take part in the race and even finish with a respectable time, although not without pain. Ever since I have been wary of any knee twinges, and this year in particular I have been careful not to place too much strain on them. So far they have done me proud.

This is the first time I've ever experienced groin problems from running. I did need an operation to patch up a protruding hernia on the left over ten years ago, but this was in my pre-running days and apart from the occasional dull ache it hasn't bothered me since. I found out yesterday that, whereas with careful handling, it is often possible to continue with a dodgy knee, the groin area is so pivotal to the action of running that grinning and bearing the pain for this this type of injury is not an option.

What to do? Well after resting it up for a number of hours, it's feeling a lot better, so I'm going to take a complete rest from running for a few days, try a couple of gentle treadmill runs towards the end of the week and then attempt another final long training run next weekend, although probably a little shorter than 20 miles. I was planning to go for a sports massage next week anyway to revitalise the legs in time for Florence, so if the groin is still playing up at that point I can ask Stan to have a go at manipulating the old nether regions.  I have also discovered a product, compression shorts for the prevention and treatment of groin injuries and I think I'll give them a try. Hopefully they will offer more support than the lycra I often wear under my shorts (and I was wearing lycra tights yesterday) without the compression element of their design adversely affecting other components of that particular body region, if you know what I mean.

The therapeutic effect of writing this blog has increased my confidence that I'll be OK. In addition I've been feeling very tired since returning from Japan, so a few days enforced rest from running may be no bad thing.

Great South Fun

Landmark time. This is my fiftieth Project Five O entry, although regrettably I'm writing it a number of days after the event, the Great South Run, which took place on Sunday 30th October. This lateness is a result of a combination of feeling completely exhausted after driving home on Sunday evening and the urgent need to make significant inroads into the backlog of work that awaited me on my return from Japan.

Portsmouth's iconic Spinnaker Tower

I've now taken part in the Great South Run six times. It's one of my favourite running events for a number of reasons:

• it's very well organised
• there's always a great atmosphere with big crowds and lots of bands playing on the course
• the course passes a number of interesting sights, historical and modern
• it's almost entirely flat (although this benefit is negated a little by the strong headwind that usually prevails for the final two miles along the seafront)
• ten miles is a great in-between distance; long enough to require training reasonably seriously but short enough to enjoy without being able to walk properly for days afterwards
• taking place in October, the temperature is usually in the mid-teens, ideal for running

All of these factors combined in 2005 to help me complete the race in 1:37:33, a time which I haven't got close to since and which, looking back, I sometimes have to pinch myself to believe I was able to achieve in the first place. However, it's in the record books, available for anyone to find on the Great Run website. Although I'd started the year hoping I might just be able to better this, reality has since prevailed and so I set myself the aim on the day of further steady preparation for Florence, and to come in below 2 hours, ideally even challenging the 1:50 mark.

I stayed overnight in a travelodge in Hampshire and drove to Liss, where I boarded the train in order to avoid the monstrous traffic jams that have plagued my departure from Portsmouth after previous GSRs. Overall this proved a successful strategy, although the walk from the station to the start took considerably longer, half an hour plus, than it looked on the map and felt even more of a slog to my tired legs on the way back.

The start area was buzzing by the time I arrived. I think most of the 24,000 starters were already there. Any event of this size brings with it an invasion of portable chemical toilets, the quality of which (if quality is indeed the right word) has definitely improved since I started taking part in this kind of event. It did amuse me, however, that every single one of the hundreds of portaloos available on Sunday was proudly displaying a misplaced apostrophe.

Pedantic, me? What do you mean? Now, where did I put my copy of "Eats, Shoots and Leaves"?

A funny thing happened a few minutes before the start. I was surprised to be approached by a fellow runner who looked vaguely familier asking whether I was Martin Crisp. "Umm, Yes" I replied a little warily before he introduced himself as someone I had worked with at Midland Bank in Bromley nearly 30 years ago. I'd already been working for the Bank for three years when he joined around 1982. He was on a special scheme, in which he worked at the Bank for a year and was then sponsored through University before presumably having to work for Midland Bank for at least a specified length of time after graduation. A very cushy arrangement, and he was a nice enough lad, although perhaps bordering on the arrogant side of precocious at the time. The over-confidence of youth and all that. We caught up briefly before the race began. My self-deprecating final comment was that in terms of my running career "my best days are probably behind me" to which, rather uncharitably I feel, he replied "let's be honest, your best days were behind you when you were at Bromley" before sprinting off ahead of me as if to prove a point. As I said, on the arrogant side of precocious, and clearly having failed to move on in the meantime. What he thinks of me is of little or no interest to me, but I must admit I was rather taken back by his rudeness, more so by its stark contrast to the friendliness and civility I had experienced in Japan in the preceding days. How I would have loved to catch up and pass him in the later stages of the race, but sadly I dont think I did. Even in such a large field I think I would have noticed.

I started the race smoothly and steadily, as always enjoying the historic dockyards section of the route nothwithstanding the short stretch of cobblestones that demand extra careful foot placement.

Nelson's Flagship, HMS Victory

My time at the half way was 54:10, a little under 11 minutes per mile, and on course for sub 1:50 if I could maintain even a marginally slower pace. The second half of the race is less scenic but still fairly well supported and, although I could feel myself slowing slightly, I was still feeling fine and really enjoying myself but once again the final two miles into a very strong wind finally took its toll. I kept running, and eventually sprinted strongly along the final two hundred metres, but all along the seemingly endless seafront I felt like I was running with a length of strong elastic attached to my back. A real struggle.

Fighting the wind along the seafront at Southsea

My finishing time was 1:54:10, which was in line with what I'd hoped for and I was pleased with it. Some way off my PB, but also considerably better than my slowest finish at this race. In fact it was my third fastest time in six attempts, and my best since 2006 so all things considered a good day's work.  Once again the Great South Run had proved to be a fun and fulfilling experience - I was nowhere near the back of the field, and in the closing metres overtook a lot of runners much younger than me and, always pleasing, even a few 'proper' runners wearing official running club vests. There's just one more chance left  to achieve a PB this year. It's all or nothing now for the Florence Marathon, and if I can just build a little more on where I am now, there's a small chance I may still do it.

(Photographs of Spinnaker Tower and HMS Victory were taken on a visit to Portsmouth with Hannah in July 2009) 

Taking a bow

Wow, what a hectic week it's been. I'm starting to write this at my seat waiting for the aeroplane to begin taxiing it's way to the runway. In just over twelve hours we will be back at Heathrow after a fascinating, whirlwind five days in Japan. Here are just some of the highlights.

Perhaps my overriding memory will be the amazing politeness, good manners and hospitality of the Japanese. Their culture is much more formal than any I have experienced before, and took a while to get used to but everything is done so cheerfully and with a level of humour that took me by surprise that it was impossible not to fall in love with them. There is a lot that we in the UK could learn from the Japanese about respect, humility and good service. I found the custom of bowing to greet, say thank you or to bid farewell particularly charming, but after meeting so many people in such a short space of time, my neck felt as though it had extended to giraffe proportions.

Professor Hideo Nakata organised our schedule in Japan and accompanied us throughout. He  has spent much of his academic career fostering cooperation between Universities in different countries. One of his recent collaborations has been to support teacher trainers in Afghanistan to write their own training manual for special educational needs. Hideo loves british detective and spy novels and we spent a lot of time discussing Ian Rankin, Len Deighton and John le Carre amongst others.

In total we visited five mainstream schools, two special schools and the Board of Education at Tsukuba City Hall and ran a worksop at Tsukuba University. Everywhere we were treated almost like royalty. In addition to the already outstanding Japanese hospitality, we hadn't realised just how much of a big thing it was for them to receive two lecturers from England. They really considered it an honour to have been chosen, and wanted to give us the very best possible impression of their schools. Beautifully presented food and drink awaited wherever we went.

Two types of persimmon, beautifully presented

We were subjected to paparazzi levels of photography wherever we went, and soon found ourselves being featured on the schools' websites. Click here to catch us in action. Shoes worn outside are not permitted inside the school buildings, and on arrival we would be presented with a pair of slippers to wear indoors. Again, a lovely custom, but unfortunately even the largest pair I was offered was at least 3 sizes too small causing me to hobble around the schools like a penguin with corns. The children we met were delightful, ever ready with a "konnichiwa" (hello) and a beaming smile. My favourite was the nine year old who with a mischievous grin asked via our translator "How is Prince William doing?"

At one school, a Kindergarten, the outdoor area was set up to provide a place where the children could play and explore in natural surroundings. This school was towards the north of Japan, and although still some distance away from Fukushima, site of the nuclear reactor disaster, between 30 and 90cm of the topsoil had had to be removed from the outside area due to contamination from radiation. Another reminder of the environmental dangers ever-present in Japan was the slight but clearly felt rumble  during one of our interviews with a teacher. Hideo immediately identified it as a tiny earthquake. Sobering.

Skyscrapers in Ginza

Although we were fortunate to have such a wonderful introduction to the Japanese people and their culture, there was very little time for sightseeing. We did manage to squeeze in a couple of hours in the Ginza area of central Tokyo en route to a school visit. Ginza is Tokyo's upmarket shopping, eating and entertainment district, and looks spectacular with a very similar feel to midtown Manhattan. I would love to return to see it all lit up at night. It's certain a very cool and buzzy place, and my desire to come back was stoked further by the rather dreamlike experience of watching "Lost in Translation" at 2:00am one morning after downloading it in response to my jet lag induced insomnia. There is some absolutely stunning cityscape photography in that film.

Street signs in Ginza

An older part of town.

Tsukuba, on the other hand has the relaxed feel of a University city with plenty of green empty space and many people travelling by bicycle.

The area around the University guesthouse felt especially peaceful. The guesthouse didn't do breakfast so we would buy ours from a local store and eat it sitting by the small lake on the campus. The temperature, reportedly milder than than usual for the time of year, made this a very pleasant experience in a tranquil setting. We were joined for each of our five mornings by a beautiful stripy spider, whose web remained undisturbed and able to accumulate a growing horde of food as the week progressed.

Our stripy breakfast companion

We were treated to a wide range of traditional Japanese food during our visit. I was surprised to find how much I enjoyed the raw fish and the tuna was especially exquisite. I was less keen on the horse meat we were served one evening. It would have been rude not to try the raw horse kidney in particular, and although it didn't actually taste too bad it just didn't feel right and I won't be rushing to repeat the experience in the near future. All of the food was freshly prepared and felt healthy. For our Sayonara (farewell) dinner we sat around a low table and were treated to Shabu Shabu, wafer thin slices of beef that are boiled very briefly in a bubbling pot in the middle of the table and served with dipping sources and fresh vegetables, which are also boiled in the pot. Accompanied by copious amounts of beer, sake and another delicious drink distilled from sweet potato (I'm not sure of its name), this meal gave us a wonderful send off, albeit making getting up early for the journey to the airport the following morning far from straightforward.

Fresh looking accompaniment to our Shabu Shabu

What a week! I loved what I was able to experience of Japan, and it has left me desperate to return with more time to explore all of the country and Tokyo in particular. For now, though, the really hard work begins - we've got to write up the research.

(Please note that this is an edited version of my original post)

Happy Birthday Hannah

It's exciting being in Japan, but nevertheless I'm feeling a little sad this morning. For the first time since Hannah was born on 25th October 1999, I won't be there to celebrate her birthday with her. Thanks to the wonders of modern technology we should be able to link up by video, whcih will be great but it's just not the same.

20 minutes old - she hasn't changed much, has she?

I'm sure you'll have a lovely day Hannah, even without your Dad there to share it with you; just make sure you still have some energy left to enjoy it after your sleepover with the girls tonight. You were a gorgeous baby, and you're even more gorgeous now that you're (nearly) 12. Have a fantastic day!

Loads and loads of love,

Dad xxx

七五三

After a long but relaxing 12 hour flight flight, we landed at Tokyo Narita International Airport at 9:15 am (1:15 am UK time) on a muggy Sunday morning. Instead of trying to get some sleep and becoming fidgety and frustrated by failing to do so, I kept myself entertained by reading, watching a movie and partaking of the regular food and drink provided by Virgin Atlantic, some of which was almost edible and the red wine positively zen-like in its effect. At one point, when the cabin was at its darkest, I closed my eyes and may have even nodded off for twenty minutes or so. I would guess that around 70% of the passengers were Japanese, and they seemed to be very quiet and calm travellers resulting in a much more serene on board atmosphere than I have experienced before.

Minutes after touching down in the Land of the Rising Sun my phone pinged courtesy of Charton Casual with the fantastic news that whilst I was airborne, Charlton had beaten Carlisle 4-0 at home. A great result, and in line with what usually happens when I'm unable to make it to the Valley. I always seem to miss the most enjoyable games!

We were met at arrivals by our hosts from Tsukuba University, Hideo and Jun, and enjoyed the unexpected bonus en route to Tsukuba of a visit to the Narita Shinshoji Temple. Shinshoji is a branch of Buddhism that came to Japan from China, and this temple was built in 940 AD, later becoming a popular destination for pilgrims. As well as the original temple, the site houses many other pagodas and similar traditional looking Japanese buildings. Following on from the aura on the flight, there was a very serene feel to the place and it felt great to be enjoying such a rich cultural experience little more than an hour after arriving in the country.

A 7 year old in festival attire

Our visit coincided with the Seven-five-three festival (七五三), a lovely event that takes part in Japan at this time of year when parents celebrate their children's growth and offer prayers for their continuing health and well-being. Children aged three, five or seven are dress up in beautifully colourful kimonos and jackets. It's a lovely, happy family occasion. Unfortunately my photograph doesn't do justice to the girl's costume, as I had handed the camera over to Hideo on the wrong setting. However, it does give a flavour of the colour of the event, which also has enabled me to learn my first Japanese character, the numeral three: 三.

 

Kieron, Hideo and me!

Whist at Narita, we also had our first experience at sitting on the floor beside a short table to enjoy some fish and seaweed themed food together with some Sake, the clear Japanese alcoholic drink brewed from rice. And when I say seaweed, I'm not talking about the shredded cabbage that goes by the name in Chinese takeaways in the UK. This was the tough and rubbery looking stuff that I remember so well from the Worthing beach of  my childhood, and was correspondingly chewy but tasty nevertheless. The Sake was smooth and delicious, but with a relatively high alcohol content of 17% it was probably a good that it was served in small cups, as by now I was starting to wilt a little due to lack of sleep and the muggy weather conditions.

A fishy and rubbery introduction to Japanese food

The journey by road to Tsukuba passed through flat and green farmland, looking a lot like England in places. Tsukuba is a new city and a real hub for scientific research. It's about a 45 minute journey by express train from Tokyo, and to the north. The city has built up around the University, and with its wide thoroughfares, extensive green spaces and sense of openness, it has the feel of a larger version of Milton Keynes.

After a late working lunch and a tour around the campus following which Jun headed back home to Tokyo, Kieron and I were ready to collapse into our beds in the spartan but clean University guesthouse. At £25 per night, it's proving very popular with our research projects' purse-holders! Hideo is such a gracious and accommodating host that we felt a little uneasy saying we needed to forsake dinner to get some much needed sleep before our 7:15 am pick up in the morning, having by now been up for over 30 hours.

After about five hours of very heavy slumber, my confused body clock caterpulted me into full awakeness at about 1:30 am local time (6:30 pm UK time). Unable to return to the land of nod, I've used the time profitably to write this post, but now I'm starting to feel very tired again, so hopefully I'll manage another couple of hours sleep before the alarm bursts into life.

Turning Japanese

"I'm turning Japanese I think I'm turning Japanese I really think so....."

OK, so the rather dubious lyrics of this 1980 song from Guildford based band, the Vapors, may have very little to do with Japan and Japanese people, but as soon as I knew about my imminent trip to Japan, I felt duty bound to add it to my "running" playlist in on my ipod shuffle.

My flight to Japan leaves Heathrow at 1:45pm today, and so with the Great South Run in Portsmouth just over a week away I had to bring my weekend training run forward from its normal Sunday slot to 6:00 am this morning. I always have my ipod in shuffle mode, so that the tracks play in a random order, and my "running" playlist includes over two hundred songs, so I was absolutely amazed when I stepped out of the front door into the darkness to be greeted by the opening chords of "Turning Japanese". To say I belted it out as I headed out towards the bypass doesn't do justice to the gusto with which I joined in the singing.

Anyway, 8 miles, a refreshing shower, and the completion of packing later, I'm shortly going to be heading to the airport. Juliet and Hannah are coming to see me off, and we are picking up my work colleague, Kieron, on the way.

Essential reading for the journey

The purpose of the visit is to carry out research into special educational needs provision in Japan as part of a larger research project. It's the first time I've been involved in anything like this, so as well as being very excited about the opportunity to experience a culture that is very different to anything I have experienced before, I'm quite nervous about the work side of it. However, Kieron has a lot of experience in this kind of work, so I'm sure I will learn a lot and everything will go fine.

Well, that's going to have to be it for now. Kieron's just called to say that he's arrived at St Albans Station earlier than expected. So I'm off. Stand by for hopefully a number of updates during the coming week, wifi availability permitting.

さようなら 

(Sayōnara)

To My Herts Content

This morning I took part in my final 10k of Project Five O, the Herts 10k. After a very encouraging time of 1:04:26 at Newham back in March, my subsequent three 10k attempts have plateaued out around the much slower 1:09 mark, and even with an increase of intensity in my training in the two weeks since the Windsor half marathon, I was not expecting today to get anywhere near my sub one hour 10k PB from 2005. Instead my hope was simply for an encouraging performance as I start to build up in earnest for the year's piece de resistance, the Florence Marathon at the end of November.

The Herts 10k starts and finishes in Harpenden, and leaving Juliet and Hannah behind in the agreeable surroundings of Caffe Nero, I walked the half mile or so to the start on what was a mild October morning following some heavy overnight rain. A trainer from Nuffield Health and Fitness led an excellent warm up that got me feeling in fine fettle for the start, even though the complete lack of coordination in my attempts at some of the aerobics style exercises could come back to haunt me if they survive the cutting room for the video that was being made about the event. The camera seemed to be pointing at me for an awfully long time.

The first (and last) km of the race was through a damp and heavy grassy field, which was easy on the knees but very hard work for the muscles. The rest of the route passed along bridle paths and narrow country lanes, except for a short meander past some very desirable Harpenden houses, for which you'd be lucky to get much change out of a couple of million. There was one moderately challenging hill around the 4km mark, but otherwise the course was not too taxing except for the opening and closing sections.

I ran smoothly and comfortably through most of the race, only beginning to struggle a little between 8 and 9km. My legs seemed to have settled on a steady pace, and whenever I tried to speed up they would not respond. It was almost as if they were saying "look make, you're not exactly Mo Farah and what's more, you're 50 now so be realistic, we can cope at this speed without too much difficulty, but don't push your luck!"

Feeling good as I approach the finish line.

And so it unfolded. I was finally able to pick up my speed for a pleasingly strong finish cheered on by Juliet and Hannah, who had by now emerged from Caffe Nero, donned their wellies and made their way to the finishing straight. My time was 1:08:38, my second best of the year, although it somehow felt quicker than this. As such I do feel it was an encouraging step along the way to Florence. However, following Windsor that's now two distances I won't achieve a PB for during Project PB. That's a  disappointment on one level but when I consider that all 5 of my 10k times this year have been faster than any I recorded during the preceding three years, that makes my efforts feel more than worthwhile. I'm fitter at 50 than I was at 49, and therefore there's no reason I can't be fitter still when I'm 51. On top of which I have thoroughly enjoyed having a go at all of the races so far. 

Bring on the final three!

Longest Mile - The Movie

This is just a very quick postscript to my account of the last weekend's Windsor Half Marathon in the form of two very short video clips. In the first clip you can see me labouring up the Long Mile at the start of the race. I'm number 1538, and appear after a couple of seconds to the left of the picture. I'm sporting a navy blue top with orange stripes on the arms and wearing a red, white and blue headband. Click on the play button to watch the clip.

I'm easier to spot in the second clip, which shows me trudging exhausted towards the finishing line.

MK Don @ MK Dons

I realised the other day that I'm an MK Don! Don't worry, I haven't suddenly and inexplicably switched my footballing allegiance to a club that didn't even exist eight years ago, and only came to be following the highly dubious process of taking over Wimbledon Football Club and relocating from South London to Milton Keynes in Buckinghamshire. No, what I'm saying is that I'm a don as in the university lecturer definition of the word, and working for the Open University, I'm based in Milton Keynes. So that makes me an MK Don in a non-football sense.

Milton Keynes is an strange place. The pretty village of Milton Keynes dates back to the 11th century, but the much larger town that has been built around it started life as one of the post-war new towns in 1967. It's famous for, amongst other things, the grid system of its roads, its numerous roundabouts and  of course its concrete cows. I've only been into the town centre on a few occasions, and have found it a grey and characterless place. Milton Keynes' outer areas, though, are green, pleasant and extremely pedestrian and bicycle friendly, with fields, lakes, canals and a wide variety of leisure facilities.

University Roundabout, Milton Keynes

The Open University, often referred to simply as the OU, is based in the parish of Walton to the south of central Milton Keynes. Walton Hall, the old manor house, is now a part of the university campus and is used as office space, including the Vice-Chancellor's office.

Walton Hall

The large campus is similar in look to many of the newer universities in the UK, but as the OU specialises in distance learning approaches, the only students on campus are the 200 or so postgraduate research students. The OU was started in 1970 by Harold Wilson's Labour Government, and has gone from strength to strength ever since, although the current changes to the funding of higher education in England are going to present the University with some real challenges over the next few years. Much of the campus has the feel of the 1970s, although in recent years it has been enhanced by a number of more contemporary and innovative buildings.

Jenny Lee Building

Each building is named after somebody important in the history of the OU. I'm based in Stuart Hall Building, which makes me chuckle every time I enter. After swiping my security card to open the automatic doors, I have visions of  a Belgian dressed in an over-sized animal suit attached to a length of strong elastic hurtling down the stairs to the accompaniment of wheezy and infectious laughter or half expect to hear those dulcet Mancunian tones pronouncing "And here we are at the Coliseum for a match of titanic proportions ..." Sadly, though, the the building is named after Stuart Hall, the eminent cultural theorist and not the loquacious broadcaster. 

Stuart Hall Building

My footballing namesakes, the MK Dons, play at Stadium mk on the outskirts of town towards Bletchley surrounded by light industrial and retail estates. Charlton were the visitors yesterday for a 7:45pm kick off, which provided me with the rare opportunity of attending a midweek away game. Not much to look at from the outside, inside Stadium mk is a spacious and comfortable place to watch football. The concourses are wide and airy, the seats padded with plenty of leg room and excellent sight lines to the pitch. As yet no seats have been installed in the upper tier, exposing yet more unattractive concrete. Stadium mk was chosen as a venue for the 2018 World Cup, and the plan was to put the rest of the seats in by then, but of course the English Football Association were not prepared to pay the necessary backhanders to FIFA officials, and consequently failed to be awarded the tournament. Therefore when or indeed whether the stadium will be finished off is anyone's guess. Even with the current capacity of 22,000, the MK Dons struggle to fill even one third of the ground with their own fans, so unless the opposition are a team like Charlton who were backed about a thousand noisy supporters last night, the ground must feel very empty and lacking in atmosphere.

Inside Stadium MK. It wasn't much fuller after kick off.

Charlton approached the game as league leaders and unbeaten in their first nine games of the season. MK Dons were only a few points behind, however, and were easily the better team in the first half playing some lively, attractive football. MK went ahead in the 21st minute thanks to a penalty awarded  for a rash challenge by Chris Solly on Dean Lewington. I was sitting behind the goal not far from the incident, and at the time I was convinced that there was little wrong with Solly's challenge and that the award of a penalty was harsh in the extreme. I must have been at just the wrong angle, because having seen the television replay there can be absolutely no doubt that the ref was correct.

A scramble in the box as Charlton press for an equaliser.

After the break, Charlton were much improved and the game developed into an exciting end to end affair. An equaliser seemed to be coming, but almost as likely was that Mk would equalise at the other end. On 75 minutes a superb spin by substitute Danny Green left his marker for dead and provided the time and space for the Charlton winger to whip in an inch perfect cross for another substitute, Yann Kermorgant, to latch onto with a powerful header that found its way into the net via the post and the motionless goalkeeper's leg. The travelling fans, myself included, erupted with joy. Further chances were spurned at either end before the final whistle, a draw probably the right result. Two good teams had produced an entertaining game, with fans of both seeming in very good heart as they started to make their way home.

The Charlton players thank the fans for their support.

A day in Milton Keynes that had combined business with pleasure was nearly at an end. Forty minutes later I was back home in St Albans after smoothly negotiating a succession of roundabouts and the relatively uncongested M1.