My first half marathon

This afternoon I ran 13 miles through the parks to Kensington Palace then back via Southwark Bridge. I felt pretty strong most of the way.

I'm feeling it now, though!

A beheading at Whitehall

On 30 January 1649, 365 years ago today, a man stepped from a first floor window of a building on Whitehall and onto a scaffold that was draped in black cloth for his execution. It was a bitterly cold winter's day, so cold that the Thames had frozen over. He had put on two shirts under his doublet so as to keep warm enough to stop him from shivering: King Charles I did not want the assembled crowd to think he was afraid to die.

The king told the crowd: " I go from a corruptible to an incorruptible Crown, where no disturbance can be." He then knelt and placed his neck on a block, prayed for a moment, then extended his hands to indicate he was ready - and the axe came down.

Banqueting House today

My regular running route via the central parks takes me across Whitehall: at its corner with Horseguards Avenue stands the very building from which King Charles stepped to his death. Today, it's again shrouded in scaffolding, this time for renovation work.

It's the Banqueting House: the only surviving remnant of the royal Palace of Whitehall - the main residence of English monarchs in London from 1530 until 1698, when the palace was destroyed by fire.

Banqueting House c1810

The Banqueting House was built in 1622 for Charles I's father, King James I. After Charles came to the throne in 1624, he commissioned Reubens to paint huge panels for its ceiling, where they remain today. These six massive paintings are a glorification of monarchy, their themes representing Charles' belief that kings have a god-given right to rule and are answerable only to God. It was his uncompromising adherence to this belief in the Divine Right of Kings that more than anything else led to his own destruction.

The interior of the Banqueting House

During Charles' lifetime Whitehall Palace sprawled over a large area. It was more a royal town than a palace, extending from Northumberland Avenue in the north to Downing Street in the South.

Palace of Whitehall in 1680

Today, a statue of Charles I stands below Nelson's Column at the top of Whitehall, looking down toward the Banqueting house and the site of his execution.

The story of the statue is a good one. It was cast in 1633 for King Charles' Treasurer, Charles Weston, who wanted a statue of his king for his garden in Roehampton. After the Parliamentary army defeated Charles' forces in the Civil War the statue was sold to a Holborn metalsmith called John Rivet, along with instructions from Parliament to destroy it. Rivet disobeyed the instructions and hid the statue on his premises - it's said he buried it. He produced some broken pieces of brass as evidence that he had followed his instructions, and for some time he sold brass-handled cutlery to both Royalists and Parliamentarians which he claimed was made from the remains of the statue.

John Rivet was clearly an enterprising man.

After the Restoration of the monarchy, the truth about the statue came out; Charles II eventually bought it, and in 1675 had it sited where it still stands at the head of Whitehall.

So Charles I's statue would have been there 23 years later in 1698, looking on as Whitehall Palace burned down, leaving only the site of his execution untouched.

Fitness roundup *** Dull post alert ***

Miles run since training started	139
Days since training started	59d
Days left until the Marathon	89d
Nicotine free	23d
Booze free	12d

My fitness is picking up now. I've got much more energy, particularly on my runs. I feel lighter, quicker, better toned. 

I'm just starting to work on my speed with some shorter, interval sprint runs. Ugh - painful. I'd much rather just plod along, but speed work will make the difference for my time on the day.

I haven't thought much about smoking over the last couple of weeks. There have been no urges to go out and buy cigarettes. No doubt the break from alcohol is helping, but I do occasionally feel like I'm a hermit living in a cave in the desert. 

It's all to the good though, and the benefits are really coming through now.

I googled for pictures of hermits but instead found this great photo of a hermit crab. Enjoy.

The New River

The towers of Docklands from Muswell Hill

This morning's run took me on a 9.7 mile loop via 4 north London parks: Clissold Park, Finsbury Park, Alexandra Park and Queen's Wood at Highgate. 

The last two thirds of the route is the most pleasurable as it is mainly downhill (!) and off-road as well.

On Parkland Walk towards Finsbury Park

But the first third of the route has interest too, because it broadly follows the line of the New River. The name "New River" is misleading as it's neither new nor a river. It's an aqueduct that was constructed over four hundred years ago, between 1609 and 1613, to bring fresh water into north London. 

London’s population was at that time growing quickly, and the existing water supply for the city was inadequate and increasingly polluted. Most of it was pumped up from the Thames.

Construction of the New River was the biggest engineering feat of its time. It involved designing and digging a channel from the River Lea at Ware in Hertfordshire to Islington, ending next to where Sadler’s Wells is now. That’s 20 miles as the crow flies, but the “river” is actually 40 miles long after the idiosyncrasies of the landscape were allowed for, as the design relied on gravity to bring the water in, and so the channel had to skirt any rising ground. The channel drops 5 inches per mile, which proved to be enough. Over 400 workmen were employed.

From the final reservoir at New River Head in Islington, the water was carried - again by gravity - via elm-wood pipes down into the City. Water connections into individual houses (belonging to the better-off - the poor had to collect their water from wells and pumps) were then made via lead pipes from these wooden distribution mains.

London from Islington Hill c1740. New River Head is centre left

Water continued to be distributed in London using wooden pipes for around two hundred years, until they began to be replaced after 1810 with caste iron pipes, to reduce leakage and contamination and to increase pipe capacity. In the final decades of the 20th century metal mains have in turn begun to be replaced with plastic pipes - again to reduce leakage.

Today, the New River continues to supply a good proportion of London’s water, though the water no longer travels as far as Sadler’s Wells: instead it feeds reservoirs just north of Clissold Park, from where it enters the London Ring Main system.

Some good things about running

It gives space, for you to work through a problem, or just to reflect

It takes you away from your computer and TV,
out into the world

It can take you to beautiful or interesting places

You ALWAYS feel better after a run, however reluctant you may have felt beforehand

I know all that - so why am I on my third coffee, and putting off my run?

6 mile lunchtime run

I'm very happy running alone.

Apart from anything else, until you gain some fitness it's quite hard work holding conversation while running. And once are fitter - as I'm now starting to be - part of my enjoyment comes just from letting the mind roam, or from looking at the world and people passing by, or just from listening to music.

But today Nisha came with me for a run around the parks, and it was good to have her company.

It was another lovely cold winter's day - giving us perfect running conditions. It was an enjoyable run, and it's encouraging that I can now do this kind of distance without feeling tired.

A day out on Creag Meagaidh

UPDATE: I've added a video of Nick on the summit of Meggy, below

When I started this blog I promised to update my Fundraising Page, every now and then, with a new Embarassing Photo from my past. Well, I've posted up a new one.
Here's the story of how I came by the frosty eyebrows and the Thousand Yard Stare.

It starts in a curry restaurant in Fort William, a town on the West coast of Scotland, on the evening of 1st March 2010. My friend Nick and I were halfway through a winter climbing trip. Earlier that day, in glorious sunshine, we'd climbed Buachaille Etive Mòr, a mountain overlooking the vast Rannoch Moor and which stands at the head of Glen Coe. From its top, the crystal clear air gave us views of snow-covered mountains for tens of miles all around.

True blue. Little did we know what the following day had in store

In the restaurant that evening, over an extremely rich curry and a pint or two of lager we hatched a plan to do another climb the next day. Our objective was Creag Meagaidh ("Meggy"), a complex mountain on the northern side of Glen Spean, which takes the form of a flat summit plateau at 3,710ft from which five ridges radiate. Our target was Smith's Gully, a prosaically-named route up the cliffs forming its north-eastern face.

As we left Fort William at 0600 next morning, low cloud cover was signalling a return to normal Scottish weather service after the sunshine of the previous few days. The forecast had been reasonably good though, so we had no inkling of what lay in store for us.

Dreich

It's quite a long walk up to the base of the mountain, of just over 2 hours. We soon found out that rich curry doesn't provide good fuel for an uphill slog carrying heavy packs: we were sluggish for the first hour and a half up the path. But slowly we got in our stride as the huge Meggy crags loomed up out of the mist and cloud.

As we were putting on our harnesses and sort outing our climbing gear in the shelter of some boulders, another climbing team passed us, heading toward  the base of Smith's Gully. We threw our gear on and set off in pursuit, overtaking the pair. They confirmed they'd been intent on the same climb, but after we explained our objective they decided to do another route rather than follow us and so risk being hit by ice dislodged by our axes.

Standing at the base of the climb, it felt more serious and committing than anything we'd done on the trip so far. At grade V(5), Smith's Gully is one of the harder Scottish gully routes and now, the wind, cloud and spindrift snow blowing in our faces added to the intimidating atmosphere in this remote and wild place. 

But once we'd started, we found the climbing continuously varied and interesting, and relatively easy for the grade with a decent snow/ice buildup. The climb continued for 3 long rope pitches: I led the 2nd, eventually belaying with ice screws at the very end of the 60m ropes. The 3rd pitch was supposedly the most difficult section of the climb but because of the good ice conditions it felt pretty straightforward.

As we arrived at the mountain top, very pleased with ourselves, the wind was still building, and buffeting snow into our faces.

meggy from Jim on Vimeo.


We were in thick snow cloud - a complete "whiteout", visibility down to a few metres and worsening. After we'd packed our gear Nick sat down with map and compass to take a bearing. Then we set off to find our way off the mountain, Nick was in the lead and me close behind. I could only just make him out, from just a couple of metres ahead.

Taking a bearing

After fifteen minutes of plodding through the increasing murk and driving snow,  Nick suddenly disappeared with a yelp. He'd fallen through a cornice - a self-supporting shelf of snow formed over a cliff edge by the wind, the edge of which had been completely invisible to us. Luckily he fell only a few metres, landing on an easy snow slope and coming to a halt. It could have been a lot worse. He climbed back up, shaken. After sitting down for a moment to collect himself, we moved back 50 metres from the cliff edge, before turning again to follow our original compass bearing.

A couple of hours later we were back in the car, heading back to Fort William and the pub.

Lesson 1. Take a more detailed map than a 1:50,000 if there are cliffs about and there's a chance of bad weather 

Lesson 2. Treat forecasts in Scotland with a pinch of salt 

Lesson 3: Give yourself LOTS of leeway from a cliff-edge in a white-out
Lesson 4: A rich curry does not make for good climbing fuel...

To Limehouse Basin

 This afternoon I ran 11 miles: to the Thames at Limehouse and back.

It was a beautiful day, but cold. Smoke was coming out of the chimneys of many of the canal boats.

Since I last ran the route, someone has painted JE SUIS CHARLIE in large white letters across the bridge over the canal at Mare Street.

My calf strain is healed, which makes me very happy.

Like fish, except worse

I've no idea what distance I've run in my old running shoes, but the cushioning isn't what it was.
On Saturday I went to Run and Become, an excellent running shop on Palmer Street near Victoria station, to buy replacements. 

wtf? Are there 3 year olds on Asics' design team?

Running shoe design has tended toward  garishness in recent years. This makes buying shoes a bit of a lottery, because the really important thing for distance running is not the look, but the fit - and how well they support your running action.

You REALLY don't want to be running 26 miles in shoes that don't fit you well.

So, if the stylish pair you see on the shelves doesn't fit as well as the pair that makes you look like you've got tropical fish strapped to your feet, you swallow your pride and go with the fish. 

The fish wins on points

After trying on several pairs and running up and down the street by the shop while the assistant inspected my gait and bombarded me with questions about pressure points etc, I bought these. 

I think I got away lightly. 

Giz a kiss, darlin'

First 100 miles

Or to be precise: I've run 102 miles since I decided to run the Marathon.

That may sound quite a lot, but it's 50 days since I jogged my first slow, wheezing steps back at the end of November. (That long? How time flies when you're having fun!)

That means an average of just 14 miles per week which isn't actually that much at all. But I started from a low level of fitness and have had a couple of setbacks on the way which have slowed me down - most recently a calf strain, which I decided not to bore you with.

Still, it's a milestone to celebrate.  I feel a lot fitter now.

And with 98 days to go until the Marathon I've still got two thirds of my training time left. I'm over the calf problem, the work I've done so far has put a spring in my step, and I feel ready to increase the mileage now.

Booze and fags: update

A confession: I haven't been completely booze-free since 4 January. There were a couple of family get-togethers, at which it would have been just plain rude to be drinking orange juice...

I haven't had any whisky though, and I've stayed off the fags.

Days nicotine-free: 14 days
Days since last whisky: 14 days
Days since alcohol last imbibed: 3 days

Blogging as displacement activity

I'm feeling a bit reluctant to start my Insanity workout this morning. So I'm lying in bed with a coffee and updating the blog, as a way of putting it off. You mustn't rush these things.

UPDATE 11:40: the deed is done.
One good - and bad! - thing about Insanity as an exercise routine is that it never really gets any easier. It helps you to build fitness quickly, but as your form and fitness improves, it simply means you are able to put more effort in.
(But at least there's no nausea any more. I'm very happy about that.)

Lunchtime run

At lunchtime I varied my basic riverside route by running the wide pavements of Pimlico and Belgravia to Hyde Park Corner, then back via the Parks.

Palace of Westminster

Lambeth Palace, entrance tower built 1490

A Sphinx on the Victoria Embankment

Embarrassing photo no.1

I promised when I started to write this blog that I would regularly add new embarrassing photos to my fundraising page.

Here's one I posted up earlier. On the back of the photo is written "Bangkok January 1965" which, if correct, would mean I was almost 3 when it was taken. My parents were working in Thailand, and we lived in a house that was then in the outskirts  but has since been swallowed by expanding urban sprawl and is now pretty central in the City.

I don't remember much about Thailand at that time, just isolated memories such as when a cobra was found and killed in the garden. Another time the khlongs (canals) flooded in the monsoon and left fish stranded across our lawn. I remember, too, family holidays to Pattaya - now a centre of the sleazier side of tourism, but then an idyllic beach fringed by palm trees and wooden bungalows.

I'm told - but don't actually remember this - that around the time this photo was taken, I somehow became separated from my parents during a visit to Bangkok zoo. Lost and increasingly desperate, I was found by an American soldier (who must have been on R&R from the Vietnam War) who picked me up and put me on his shoulders, then walked me around until I spotted my parents.

I wonder who he was, and what happened to him.

Dawn run, Southwold harbour

The puddles on the bunds were frozen over and there was a strong cold wind from the north-west. It was bloody parky, actually, but worked to blow out the cobwebs. 

Nicotine Withdrawal Day 3

How times have changed

This is my last post about stopping smoking, I promise. Just a couple of observations:

1. Apart from my good friend C, who is also giving up smoking - and putting me to shame with her cheerfulness while doing so -  everyone I have encountered this week is happy, healthy, laughing, relaxed...and smoking. I've not seen so many people smoking cigarettes in my entire life as I have over the last 3 days. Where on earth have they all come from..?

2. Contrary to the impression given by my last 2 posts, giving up smoking is not all plain sailing. The "cravings" sneak up on you: in the middle of doing something, you forget you aren't smoking any more, and just have time to think: "mmm, time for a cig" before a hollow and needy desire to smoke fills your being.

The best thing about these cravings is that they are fleeting - gone in a few seconds, especially if not accompanied by alcohol - and become less and less frequent with time.

So, I stand by my earlier statement: giving up smoking is easy, if you really want to.

Newington Green, and Victoria Park

This morning I ran for 9 miles to Victoria Park and back. My route took me south through Newington Green, on the west side of which London's oldest surviving terrace of houses stands. They're dated 1658. 







On the south side of Newington Green, Henry VIII had a hunting lodge, which he and the royal parties used as a base for forays into the surrounding woods and forest to hunt stags and wild boar. 

It's quite a bit different now. 

From there I ran south through de Beauvoir Town to Regents Canal, turned left and ran along the towpath to Victoria Park, which I looped before heading home. 

I'm quite pleased I managed to squeeze a picture of HenryVIII into a blog about marathon running.

Nicotine Withdrawal Day 2

Oops, quite rude.

Thankfully the little bouts of irritation I feared would continue through today have actually been few and far between. And when they do happen I've kept them to myself, not snapped at people. Phew.

My ability to concentrate is shocking though. Mentally I'm very vague.

Tomorrow will be better.

Nicotine Withdrawal Day 1

Current symptoms:

• An increase in energy levels - slightly edgy energy
• Inability to concentrate
• A feeling of being somehow separated from the world
• Occasional little bursts of irascibility or grumpiness 
• Enhanced appetite

It isn't actually all that hard to give up smoking once you've made up your mind to do it.  But oh dear me - my peevishness makes me utterly unfit for civilised company just now.

From past experience the first 2 days are the worst - and aren't actually all that bad, really. It's harder for those around you! After the first couple of days humanity returns.

I'm so happy not to be smoking!

2015: Year of... Less Whisky

In February 2014 a good friend and I went on an ice climbing trip to Central Norway. The trip was marked by temperatures that averaged well above zero at sea level. Where we were based - in a fjord-side village a couple of hours from Bergen - all the low-level icefalls slowly turned to waterfalls before our eyes. 

It was colder, up high

Undeterred, we went higher and higher in search of good ice: driving further up the fjords day after day, until in the last few days we were climbing in valleys up in the great high plateau-wilderness that extends across much of central Norway. We found plenty to climb in the end.

All of the above is just by way of scene-setting for the true subject of this post: whisky.  On our way out to Norway, at a duty free shop at Gatwick airport, we bought a bottle of whisky,  a 12-year-old Japanese single malt.

Sipping it slowly in our fjord-side cabin each evening after the day's climbing, we began to understand why Japanese whisky is now considered an equal of Scotch. I'd always enjoyed the odd dram but this was something new: a beautifully balanced product of Japanese whisky-making craft.

To cut a long story short, that bottle of Japanese whisky sparked an interest in me - bordering on obsession - to learn more about this varied and complex spirit. And yes, to taste a lot of it. 

In the months after our return from Norway I tasted whiskies from Sweden, South Africa, Canada, the U.S., India, England and Ireland as well as a wide variety of types of Scotch. 

Thalassa

At the height of my obsession, in June, I sailed around the western islands of Scotland in the 3-masted sailing ship Thalassa with a group of slightly mad, mainly Dutch whisky enthusiasts, having a whale of a time and stopping at the distilleries of Islay, Jura, Arran and Campbeltown. 

A bewildering variety of whisky was tried: peated and unpeated Islays, sherried Speysiders, whiskies from the Highlands and Lowlands and the Islands. We tasted a 1970s Ardbeg, and a rare and beautiful 1979 Dallas Dhu which we drew straight from the barrel in a dunnage warehouse at Springbank distillery on the Kintyre peninsular.

I've bought quite a lot of whisky this year, too. Really quite a lot. Enough to keep me in drams for some considerable time. 

Why mention all this in a blog that purports to be about my preparations for the Marathon? The reason is that, partly to help me stop smoking and partly to give my liver a well-earned rest, I have resolved that from tonight I will not drink any whisky or any other alcohol for a month. 

So the next post will be written by a non-smoking, non-drinking James. 

Another low-mileage week

I managed to give myself food poisoning on New Year's Eve. I'll spare you the details, but it took me out of action for a couple of days.

Miles run this week: 12.57 miles
Total miles run to date: 68.6 miles

I'm off work next week (hoorah!) and will be upping the mileage.