Greetings from Krakow - that's in Poland which is also the answer to question 4a on your MENSA exam booklet, page 3 - 'Mexico is to America' as '____ is to Britain' .
At the risk of turning off all the young ladies reading this blog I've always had a fascination with military history. Did you know for instance that the Gatling gun centered around a cyclic multi-barrel design which facilitated cooling and synchronized the firing/reloading sequence?
Erm...anyway, I've always wanted to visit the Auschwitz concentration camp so we have popped over to Poland for a few days. Once again, finding myself speculating on the similarities between the interior of the Ryanair flight cabin and transportation during WWII.....anyway, I digress.
The camp was nothing like I had imagined. It's essentially divided into two remaining camps - the original Auschwitz which prior to its notoriety was a Polish military barracks and Birkenau which was built specifically for death and forced labour.
Within its walls were hundreds of thousands harrowing stories but the general vibes it emitted were, and forgive me for saying this, more 1980's school trip than anything else. Of course, this wasn't helped by our ridiculous Polish guide who just wouldn't shut up. By the end if was beginning to feel like having the Krankies provide the music for a state funeral.
The people operating the camp were guilty of genuine depravity but the distinct impression I came away with was it was run so much like an efficient factory that within a few days I bet the whole extermination process had become so dehumanised it meant nothing to the people running it. The victims were systematically stripped of property, dignity and life in the same way you'd bang out a sheet of metal, drill the holes and rivet something together. I have to agree that with an author I am reading - that it's arrogant for any of us to look back and say we wouldn't have been a part of it, because the majority of us would have done as we were told like we do in life today and been as much a victim of circumstance as those in the ovens.
On that cheery note I foresee travel chaos on saturday, our departure day, as the Polish prime minister will be buried in Krakow and apparently the airport is going to be an interesting experience with President Obama requiring something like 6 planes! I bet he wouldn't be carrying that much luggage with a budget airline.
Thursday, 15 April 2010
Friday, 9 April 2010
Walk Like An Ethiopian
Susannah Hoffs - now there's a woman I would have married in an instant. Unfortunately she has nothing to do with this post apart from having a tenuous link to an already contrived title which makes the whole thing a little desperate. Like my life.
Another trip back to the master physio, Mark Buckingham, yesterday. My knee pain, which was primarily making itself known below the kneecap, had changed location. The pain was circulating in the tendons around and above both knees - but of more concern was the regular pain underneath my left knee cap. This was actually preventing me from running sometimes, coming as it did upon straightening my leg. It got so bad on one run along the river that a pirate ship docked and asked if I knew how to splice a mainsail.
Apparently though this is all part of the process as learning a new running style will inevitably lead to more stress on tendons that had previously been taking it easy.
Hopping back on the treadmill again showed I'd made really good progress in my technique - which was further improved by concentrating on every step. (Having to concentrate on 180 footfalls a minute soon makes a 60 minute run seem a tad knackering by the way). Once we'd got the technique nailed via the video - my mental visualisation being Japanese soldier minus bayonet, Seppuku and rice packed lunch - I was sent packing with more of the same plus some kneecap stretching exercises. Apparently my kneecaps themselves are a tad George Michael (a tad gristley and don't point in the right direction).
As I was leaving it was also pointed out that I also walked poorly and need to work on that also. I'm starting to feel like a beginner, I'll be brushing off my school uniform next.
Another trip back to the master physio, Mark Buckingham, yesterday. My knee pain, which was primarily making itself known below the kneecap, had changed location. The pain was circulating in the tendons around and above both knees - but of more concern was the regular pain underneath my left knee cap. This was actually preventing me from running sometimes, coming as it did upon straightening my leg. It got so bad on one run along the river that a pirate ship docked and asked if I knew how to splice a mainsail.
Apparently though this is all part of the process as learning a new running style will inevitably lead to more stress on tendons that had previously been taking it easy.
Hopping back on the treadmill again showed I'd made really good progress in my technique - which was further improved by concentrating on every step. (Having to concentrate on 180 footfalls a minute soon makes a 60 minute run seem a tad knackering by the way). Once we'd got the technique nailed via the video - my mental visualisation being Japanese soldier minus bayonet, Seppuku and rice packed lunch - I was sent packing with more of the same plus some kneecap stretching exercises. Apparently my kneecaps themselves are a tad George Michael (a tad gristley and don't point in the right direction).
As I was leaving it was also pointed out that I also walked poorly and need to work on that also. I'm starting to feel like a beginner, I'll be brushing off my school uniform next.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Watford Open Meet #1 3k
Running is a sport of lessons. Lessons that you only have to learn once (don't 'box the jesuit' before running when the temperature is well below zero), lessons that you have to relearn every single season (when it's wet and you're wearing a cotton t-shirt always grease your nipples) and lessons that you never really learn (if something hurts take a few days off).
Racing 3k's is a lesson I have to learn every single season. Whenever I wear a watch and run to splits my race always turns into a tedious, sterile experience with a disappointing outcome. This race was no exception. My adherence to my splits left me between two groups, effectively time trialling on my own. I managed to close on a couple of athletes at the end but I felt more like the guy who joins in at the end of a pub fight and kicks someone when they're already lying on the floor. Standing there growling in the middle of the pub shouting "come on then" when everybody's already left because the police are coming.
So, on a perfect evening I left with a decidedly average 9:15.92 to my name. Only 5 seconds slower than my best last year, but well behind the point at which I hoped to be. Lesson learned.
Racing 3k's is a lesson I have to learn every single season. Whenever I wear a watch and run to splits my race always turns into a tedious, sterile experience with a disappointing outcome. This race was no exception. My adherence to my splits left me between two groups, effectively time trialling on my own. I managed to close on a couple of athletes at the end but I felt more like the guy who joins in at the end of a pub fight and kicks someone when they're already lying on the floor. Standing there growling in the middle of the pub shouting "come on then" when everybody's already left because the police are coming.
So, on a perfect evening I left with a decidedly average 9:15.92 to my name. Only 5 seconds slower than my best last year, but well behind the point at which I hoped to be. Lesson learned.
Wednesday, 31 March 2010
Redemption On The Track
In troubled times you increasingly turn to your running to offer relief and encouragement. That had been in short supply recently, given the training missed due to illness and knee problems. Every now and again you have a workout planned that could potentially make or break you.
The workout that is either so depressing you feel the season starting to slip or encouraging enough that any fears over fitness are allayed. Being old and gnarled enough I now recognise these in advance and today's was such a workout.
The workout was simple enough: 4 * (2 * 400m) @ 1500m pace with a 100m jog between reps and 400 jog between sets. According to my pace schedule these should be done in 66 seconds in the month of March. The day wasn't particularly great with fairly strong winds and pretty hot (I don't breathe well in hot weather) but the adrenaline was certainly pumping. It was one of those days when the legs weren't that fresh, breathing was a bit congested but I'd got into a rhythm which proved to be enough. Averaging 66.8 per 400m was nothing special, but done in flats after the couple of prior weeks it was enough to convince me that I'm back - or had never really gone away.
The Watford Open meetings start next week and I will be competing in the 3k. Slowly but surely I'm approaching race distances at which I have a modicum of talent....but we're not quite there yet.
The workout that is either so depressing you feel the season starting to slip or encouraging enough that any fears over fitness are allayed. Being old and gnarled enough I now recognise these in advance and today's was such a workout.
The workout was simple enough: 4 * (2 * 400m) @ 1500m pace with a 100m jog between reps and 400 jog between sets. According to my pace schedule these should be done in 66 seconds in the month of March. The day wasn't particularly great with fairly strong winds and pretty hot (I don't breathe well in hot weather) but the adrenaline was certainly pumping. It was one of those days when the legs weren't that fresh, breathing was a bit congested but I'd got into a rhythm which proved to be enough. Averaging 66.8 per 400m was nothing special, but done in flats after the couple of prior weeks it was enough to convince me that I'm back - or had never really gone away.
The Watford Open meetings start next week and I will be competing in the 3k. Slowly but surely I'm approaching race distances at which I have a modicum of talent....but we're not quite there yet.
Monday, 29 March 2010
"Duck!"
I've had food poisoning twice in my life. One resulting in an in-flight argument with a stewardess who insisted I vacate the toilet and the other this past weekend as a result of braised duck at PENANG'S RESTAURANT, BETHESDA. Both particularly unpleasant experiences involving a simultaneous pincer attack from both ends.
This bout was particularly distressing given I was resident on my living room floor in a cheap Target sleeping bag - alternately sweating and shivering my way through the weekend. All I could think of was the training I was missing and the painting that needed to be done (and plotting revenge on the motherfuckers who didn't cook the canard).
Upon regaining mobility I decided to take expert rehydration advice at the local CVS pharmacy. The language barrier (she being Korean) meant it took 5 minutes of bellowing in front of the whole shop (in true Brit style - shout louder if they don't understand) that I wasn't suffering from poison ivy. Desperate times called for desperate measures so I had to resort to a charades-like description of my symptoms - at which point comprehension was reached that I was suffering from a shaving rash. For fuck's sake.
At this point I'd started to experience flashbacks from my 18th birthday party with a furious Chinese waiter bellowing "one pint lager, one pint lager, one pint lager" into my face at point blank range and decided to go home. What a miserable trip.
This bout was particularly distressing given I was resident on my living room floor in a cheap Target sleeping bag - alternately sweating and shivering my way through the weekend. All I could think of was the training I was missing and the painting that needed to be done (and plotting revenge on the motherfuckers who didn't cook the canard).
Upon regaining mobility I decided to take expert rehydration advice at the local CVS pharmacy. The language barrier (she being Korean) meant it took 5 minutes of bellowing in front of the whole shop (in true Brit style - shout louder if they don't understand) that I wasn't suffering from poison ivy. Desperate times called for desperate measures so I had to resort to a charades-like description of my symptoms - at which point comprehension was reached that I was suffering from a shaving rash. For fuck's sake.
At this point I'd started to experience flashbacks from my 18th birthday party with a furious Chinese waiter bellowing "one pint lager, one pint lager, one pint lager" into my face at point blank range and decided to go home. What a miserable trip.
Saturday, 20 March 2010
He's Only Human
It looks like my USA trip will have to be extended - as getting tenants has been trickier than hoped. There are plenty about but they appear distinctly more fussy which, at the very least, means I have to get rid of the ludicrous garden murals in the basement - a legacy of previous ownership.
Normally an extended stay in the US would be welcomed, but running is a sport of consistency and consistency is a by-product of routine. To be honest returning to the US has been a bit of a disappointment. Similar to meeting an ex-girlfriend after 10 years, all your nostalgic feelings come crashing down when you see her flabby arms, cigarette stained fingers and wizened face.
So, what do you get when you combine an unwanted stay resulting in missing the British Masters Indoor Champs, an inordinately long list of jobs to do at the house, appalling traffic, bad knee problems and a meeting with old friends in a pub called Molly Malone's?
After 166 days the no-drinking streak was broken. Bloody hell it was fun though....
Normally an extended stay in the US would be welcomed, but running is a sport of consistency and consistency is a by-product of routine. To be honest returning to the US has been a bit of a disappointment. Similar to meeting an ex-girlfriend after 10 years, all your nostalgic feelings come crashing down when you see her flabby arms, cigarette stained fingers and wizened face.
So, what do you get when you combine an unwanted stay resulting in missing the British Masters Indoor Champs, an inordinately long list of jobs to do at the house, appalling traffic, bad knee problems and a meeting with old friends in a pub called Molly Malone's?
After 166 days the no-drinking streak was broken. Bloody hell it was fun though....
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Charm City Run 5k
The charm city run was held in the Baltimore harbour area (or harbor for you 'septics' out there). Baltimore, like most US cities, has the charm of medusa. There are parts of it that are very beautiful and enticing but they are usually surrounded by a poverty stricken den of snakes.
Running, being an activity principally undertaken by white middle classes, was naturally held in the nice area of town. Nice of course, unless you suffer from bad knees. Suspicions were first raised when I learnt the course was of certified distance but not ratified for records. My fears were concerned when confronted with a very steep downhill for the first mile or so of the race. I don't dislike downhill running per se, but it makes my knees twat and is of questionable merit when setting PBs.
There are some races in which you have your mojo and others in which it just seems to desert you. This was one of the latter - I was never really going very well and was unable to run a good first mile as it felt as though someone had removed my shins. I struggled home in 16:21 which, while a PB, must remain asterisk adorned given the nature of the course.
Surprisingly my miserable performance was good for 2nd place in my age group which I couldn't collect because the band kept playing crappy covers and I had to show my house to prospective tenants. There was one post-race highlight however. The band, put on as part of the St. Patrick's Day celebrations were heard to announce - "here's a song for all you Irish out there....
....I'm gonna be (500 miles) by The Proclaimers". Someone buy the bloke a map.
Running, being an activity principally undertaken by white middle classes, was naturally held in the nice area of town. Nice of course, unless you suffer from bad knees. Suspicions were first raised when I learnt the course was of certified distance but not ratified for records. My fears were concerned when confronted with a very steep downhill for the first mile or so of the race. I don't dislike downhill running per se, but it makes my knees twat and is of questionable merit when setting PBs.
There are some races in which you have your mojo and others in which it just seems to desert you. This was one of the latter - I was never really going very well and was unable to run a good first mile as it felt as though someone had removed my shins. I struggled home in 16:21 which, while a PB, must remain asterisk adorned given the nature of the course.
Surprisingly my miserable performance was good for 2nd place in my age group which I couldn't collect because the band kept playing crappy covers and I had to show my house to prospective tenants. There was one post-race highlight however. The band, put on as part of the St. Patrick's Day celebrations were heard to announce - "here's a song for all you Irish out there....
....I'm gonna be (500 miles) by The Proclaimers". Someone buy the bloke a map.
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