Why I won't be setting a running goal in 2021

This December 31st, we didn't so much welcome in the new year as kick the old one firmly up the arse and shove it out the door. As years go, 2020 was an absolute stinker for us all. At its very worst it tore families apart and irreparably damaged lives, it stopped us from working - or transformed us into muted Zoom zombies - and, although minor in comparison, it wiped the running calendar clean for us all. Which is exactly why I am refusing to set myself any kind of a running goal for 2021.

I was lucky. My family and I have so far managed to steer clear of coronavirus, I have remained in work throughout the pandemic and we do not live in a town overrun with covidiots. Nevertheless, 2020 took its toll in other ways. It provided unexpected challenges in the form of home schooling (an experience that reaffirmed my decision not to pursue a career in teaching), it redefined the term 'social life' to mean 'waving at neighbours once a week while banging saucepans in the street' and it brought the cancellation of organised running events across the land.

Early on in the year, as it became clear that I would not be taking part in any races and that 'mass participation' would mean a socially-distanced run with three or four club mates, if I was lucky, I set myself the goal of reaching 1,000 miles by the end of 2020. I had achieved this the preceding year and was fairly confident I could do so again, but with 250KM to go I picked up an injury that ruled me out for two months and brought a very 2020 end to my running year.

However, failing to reach my running target has given me time to think about the whole concept of setting targets in the first place. Why do we do it? Whether it's to complete a set distance, to take part in a particular number of races or to beat the benchmark Strava figures from the preceding year, all we're actually doing is applying pressure to ourselves. Yes, goals can be motivating, but at the same time they can become all consuming and take your focus away from the reason why you're running in the first place.

This is why I've decided to be utterly ambitionless in 2021 when it comes to running. The past year has shown us just how unpredictable life can be, so I'm looking forward to going into the next one with no goal in mind. Whatever I achieve will be a bonus, but my primary motivation is simply to enjoy my running again, to be thankful that I can run, to avoid injuries and see where the roads and trails take me.

I'm looking forward to running on my own during the lockdown times and with club friends once we're allowed to meet again. I'm going to run long or run short, depending on my mood, not on what any training plan or Strava statistics are telling me and I'm going to discover routes I've never run before on  runs where I have no distance or time in mind. 

So, good riddance 2020 and here's to a relaxed and enjoyable running year ahead. No pressure, no goals. Let's just see where the trails take us. 

Next step: Join the conversation in our Facebook Group

You might also enjoy...

Why I'm no longer taking running for granted

Strava's depressing truths for injured runners

Running the Christmas light fantastic

Running in a 100% polyester Santa hat is like voluntarily placing your head in a blast furnace for 30 minutes. Having done exactly this yesterday (the hat, not the blast furnace), I can confirm that the material from which my festive headwear has been crafted boasts heat retaining properties that polar explorers would be delighted with. Unfortunately for me last night, however, it meant that the level of sweat pouring down my face was in no way reflective of the weather, or of the amount of effort I was putting into my run.

The occasion for my sweaty head run was an Under 11s Christmas lights jaunt around my home town. I have been helping out at the running club – which my son also attends – since picking up the injury that I have subsequently bored regular blog readers with for the past couple of months. As it was the last run of the year, festive adornments were obligatory and the chosen 5K route took in the best of the local lights.

Having not previously toured the area’s building-related Christmas extravagance, I was taken aback at the incredible array of lights, blow-up Santas, laser displays and rooftop reindeer that residents had selflessly put on, outside and atop their homes for local groups of touring children in high-viz vests to admire. It was like Christmas had exploded over the town.

The irony that 2020 has been such a dark and disappointing year was not lost on me as the children ooh’d and ahhh’d their way around the streets and side roads. Indeed, it was uplifting to see the effort that people had gone to in order to literally brighten up the abodes in which they had all presumably spent the vast majority of the year. Perhaps it’s because of a new found appreciation of home that folks are making an extra effort this year, either that or it’s because they’re so fed up with their surroundings that they’re doing everything they possibly can to disguise them as something else. Either way, if reflected across the rest of the country, the Christmas light industry has also presumably been one of the few to have had a bumper 2020.

Our run toured much of the town and, although stop-start for large periods as we passed homes with particularly impressive displays – including one with a giant inflatable Father Christmas in a helicopter (presumably having upgraded the sleigh) – it proved to be a rare moment of group-based joy in a year that has denied adults and children the opportunity to enjoy much together en masse.

No pantomimes, no school nativities, no carol singing, no concerts…our children have missed out on performing or taking part in  traditional Christmas activities this year. Parents have also missed out on the chance to squeeze themselves into child-sized seats in overcrowded school halls in order to shed a proud tear at their little ones’ heartfelt portrayal of Sheep No.4. The lack of PTA-funded, post-performance mincepie and mulled wine, meanwhile, hasn't helped either! 

So if you haven’t toured your local Christmas lights with your little ones yet, pick an evening when it’s not raining, wrap up warm if you’re walking – or choose your headwear carefully if you’re running – and turn a tour of your local neighbourhood’s Christmas lights into a festive highlight. Just remember to take your own mincepies.

Wishing you all a safe and happy Christmas.

Next step: Join the conversation in our Facebook Group

You might also enjoy...

The dangers of predicting December weather

Why it's wrong to assume you'll always be able to run

Following an eight week layoff due to Achilles tendinopathy, I finally dug out the base layers this week, pulled on the compression socks, spent 10 minutes warming up, a further age foam rolling my calf, strapped on my trainers, locked on to a GPS signal and headed out the door. Five minutes later I’d finished my run.

I had spent more time going to the toilet beforehand but, nevertheless, the physio’s orders stated that my first rehab run was not to be any longer, so who was I to argue? The fact that I hadn’t broken a sweat made me wonder why I had bothered to get changed in the first place, but this was the first step on the road back to running, so jeans and chunky jumper didn’t seem quite right either.

The good news is that the Achilles held out and, as long as I allow 48 hours between runs and don’t increase the duration by more than 20% each time, I should be back on the trails before too long. However, this reintroduction to running has given me a fresh perspective on the activity I have taken for granted over so many years.

For as long as I can remember, if I have wanted to run, I’ve just got changed and gone. Of course, if I am honest with myself, on most occasions I haven’t bothered to warm up properly and at the end of 90% of runs I’ve swerved stretching in favour of a hot shower and something unhealthy to eat. I have never been an advert for running best practice.

Three years ago, cancer sharpened my focus in regards to looking after my body, but despite concerted efforts to improve my diet since, and at least mimic some kind of a warm up, I have still always just assumed that I would be able to run when I wanted to. My body may not always have been physically up for it, but my mental fitness would usually ensure that I got out of the door in order to at least work out the stresses of the day.

Thankfully my cancer was successfully treated, but as other survivors will likely know, six-monthly testing also puts an incredible mental strain on one’s wellbeing. My latest blood test earlier this week once again meant my wife and I were put through the ringer until the results came back - all clear, I am pleased to say. But not being able to run through it at my usual tempo has been tough and once again made me realise just how vital running has become to my mental health as well as my physical wellbeing.

At similar times over the last few years I’ve always coped with the worry of test results by pounding the pavements or hitting the trails to prevent me from dwelling on the possibility of bad news. Running has been the self-administered therapy I’ve relied on and, again, I have taken it for granted. Like the setting of the sun or Fulham Football Club’s perennial ability to disappoint, I have just assumed that it would never change.

This Achilles injury – while obviously not as serious as so many other common runners’ woes- has at the very least shown me that I can’t just assume that I’m always going to be able to head out the door whenever I want. I’m going to need to train properly if I want to ensure that I can run for the rest of my life and that means embracing all the things that I have so blatantly ignored to date: Warming up properly, stretching properly, occasional Pilates, yoga, cross-training, swimming and, perhaps most importantly, allowing myself enough rest time (I suspect a summer of five-runs-a-week may have literally been my Achilles heel). Much of this fills me with dread. In regards to flexibility, I am to bending what chocolate tea pots are to boiling water and, in terms of coordination in an exercise class scenario, I am the bloke at the back who's about 30 seconds behind the rest of the group. The thought, therefore, of dedicating time to stretching and mobility, in an effort to transform myself from Tin Man to Jane Fonda, scares me more than the thought of signing up for another marathon tomorrow.

However, the pile of Runner’s World magazines, websites and books that I’ve read all extoll the benefits of these and other routines to the average runner’s performance and longevity. So, if I want to get back to the track, trails and hills - and stay there for years to come - it looks like I’m going to have to downward dog my way to the future.

Namaste.

-----

Subscribe to Splits & Giggles, the Clued Up Runners newsletter

Next step: Join the conversation in our Facebook Group

You might also enjoy...

Strava's depressing truths for injured runners

Why not running is harder than running

The dangers of predicting December weather

Even despite the restrictions, there's something magical about this time of year; the decorations are up, the houses are festooned with lights, the kids are increasingly full of sugar and there's a general air of excitement as the advent countdown continues. In terms of running, however, the situation is slightly different.

 

To the casual observer the great outdoors is increasingly cold, wet, unforgiving and requiring of one’s ‘big coat’ at this time of year. Temperatures plummet like Donald Trump’s chances of scooping the award for 2020’s Most Dignified Loser of The Year and mobile phones across the land ping with assorted weather warnings for ice, snow, floods and gales. Those in Scotland, meanwhile, have even managed to trump the spectacle of a December snow storm by inventing an entirely new dramatic weather phenomenon of their own, thundersnow. 

 

All this may suggest to the humble runner that it is indeed time to dig out the base layers and spend Black Friday hunting for bargain thermal gloves and hats, all of which may now be needed before trainers are donned and GPS signal connected...right?

 

Wrong. This is a false dawn. December, it transpires, is a liar.

Glance out the window and the dark, grey, blustery conditions seem wholly uninviting. The neighbours are getting blown up the road as they take their reluctant dog for a walk, the rain-filled clouds are whipping across the sky at speed and the autumn leaves are being dashed against the glass. It looks bad.

 

Under such circumstances the runner does what any sensible person would do after peering through the curtains, he wraps up for the weather. Squeezing into running leggings, sliding on an Under Armour top and accessorising with hat and gloves, he heads out for his Sunday long run prepared for the arrival of the next ice age at some point over the following two hours. The thing is, it never arrives. In fact, by the time he gets to the end of the road he already realises he's made a terrible mistake, as I did this weekend.

 

Three minutes into my Sunday run and my head was already too hot. My hands, meanwhile, were enjoying the warmth, but in a 'this is nice, but not really necessary' kind of way, while my legs were embarrassed to be wrapped in glorified stockings.

 

Yes, it was cold and yes December is cold, but it's amazing how quickly one forgets that the act of running makes you hot. The appearance, five minutes further into my run, of a fellow runner in nothing more than shorts and t-shirt, only made matters worse.

 

"Morning," he said as we passed, the smug look in his eyes betraying his real thoughts; "what's this loon thinking, dressed up like we're in Siberia? He'll regret that!" And I was regretting it. I had the prospect of a further 17KM ahead of me, either overheating or having to carry my redundant hat and gloves, looking like a cross between an amateur athlete and a Victorian squire.

 

Damn you December!

 

So my advice to you all at the tail end of the year; look after the extremities (in my case gloves and a hat to keep my ears from freezing), but don't worry too much about the rest, unless you're in Scotland, in which case take a shovel and a week's rations with you, just in case.

 

[Adapted from a post first written in December 2018, when I wasn't injured and could run 17KM in the wrong kit!]

Next step: Join the conversation in our Facebook Group

You may also be interested in...

How to run when you just can't be bothered

Are you a Clued Up Runner? Here's how to submit a guest post

Do you run in kilometres or miles?

A little while ago I ran a simple, Saturday-night Twitter poll that inadvertently divided the running community into two passionately distinct camps; those who loyally run in kilometres and those who incomprehensibly run in miles.

I was certain upon undertaking the aforementioned social media survey that the vast majority of the world's runners would confirm their metric allegiance. However, with echoes of the Star Wars universe, the rise of the Imperial masses seems to have overpowered the rebellious metre masters. Those running in kilometres are in the minority as milers, it transpires, now dominate the world's Strava metrics. Kilometre-runners are the Ewoks to the Mile-runners Stormtroopers.

This result surprised me, to say the least. As someone who has always run in kilometres, I unconsciously map and measure every run in this way. I have my favourite 5K and 10K routes, I mentally map my long runs with around 15-20KM in mind, I'm happy if my pace averages anything below a five minute kilometre and my goals are all metrically-minded. 

Changing to miles is something I have never even contemplated and the thought of heading out for a quick three miles, instead of 5K, just does not compute with my brain. I have no concept of what a good mile pace would be and setting my weekly, monthly and annual goals in miles would be as alien as asking me to type this post in Spanish.

But running is a strange world, where kilometres and miles live oddly side-by-side. Our shorter races are always run in kilometres - the 5K and 10K bread and butter - while our longer races are always run in miles - the 13.1 mile half and the 26.2 mile marathon. No one thinks of a marathon as 42.19 kilometres and no one approaches a 10K thinking of it as 6.2 miles.

While training for the marathon, I ran more to time than I did to distance, but I still measured the runs in kilometres. Indeed, I believe the link between time and distance is the reason why runners are so loyal to one measurement over the other. Whether you run in kilometres or miles, if you have done so for a prolonged period of time, your body knows how long one unit of that measurement is. You become so familiar with the distance that, on those days when, heaven forbid, your watch battery has died, you can guesstimate how far you've run with relative accuracy. Like a natural odometer, your legs record a tally that is unconsciously recorded in your brain in either kilometres or miles.

Of course, for me, as someone who runs exclusively in kilometres, my brain has blessed me with the added complication of hypocritically computing all non-running distances in miles. I drive in miles, I travel on trains and in planes in miles, and I measure points on a map in miles. Ask me to do any of these things in kilometres and my brain simply shuts down, in much the same way as it does whenever my children ask me anything vaguely scientific; Dad, why's the sky blue? Dad, what's the difference between fog and mist? Dad, why do you sweat like a horse when you run?

So, what is the right unit with which to measure your running accomplishments? The answer, of course, is kilometres, and here is my justification; You get more of them in every run, meaning that the clocking up of KMs - and the reassuring buzz of your watch as you pass each one - provides a more frequent psychological boost to the average runner. Furthermore, kilometres are made up of metres, a simple unit of measurement that anyone who has ever sword fought with metre-rulers at school will be familiar with. The fact that there are a thousand metres in a kilometre is also simple to compute. Feet, inches and miles, however, are an entirely different and bewildering kettle of fish. How many of you know how many feet there are in a mile (no clues, you'll have to look it up)? And how many running tracks on earth are measured in feet over metres? Precisely none. 

With pun fully intended, this is a debate that will run and run. However, while I respect those of my fellow runners whose allegiance is imperially-driven, I'm proud to be a kilometre Ewok. After all, remember what happened to the Stormtroopers on Endor?

Enjoyed this? Check out my new book: The Running Drug

Available in ebook and paperback from Amazon.

From cancer diagnosis to marathon medal, via gloved fingers, blood tests and black toenails,  The Running Drug tells the personal story of how Tim Beynon’s running addiction helped him to overcome cancer, finish his first marathon and discover a fitter, healthier future.

REVIEWS

"Tim Beynon found himself in a situation nobody would want, and he ran and wrote his way out of it with searing honesty and a self-deprecating wit. It's a practical, morbidly fascinating and inspiring read. It made me want to get myself checked out."

Paul Tonkinson, Runner's World columnist and comedian 

"Tim’s 16-month journey is filled with worry, hope, belief, determination and achievement. Relatable and even funny at times, Tim overcomes so much and will hopefully help many other people think twice about the importance of health checks, at whatever age. The Running Drug made me smile, as well as think about all my male family and friends. The included information could be really helpful to them and may even save someone’s life. It’s a great book, highly recommended."

Nell McAndrew, 2.54 marathoner and model

 Next step: Join the conversation in our Facebook Group

You may also be interested in...

Could your lucky socks boost your running performance?

Strava's depressing truths for injured runners

The value of a virtual physio

Whether Zooming, FaceTiming, Microsoft Teaming or old school Skypeing, we’ve all spent a large proportion of the past eight months engaging with other human beings via a screen. From once being an occasional novelty, the video call has become a central part of our professional and personal lives, with “you’re on mute,” now replacing “good morning” as a daily greeting to colleagues, family and friends.

However, while I have largely embraced this technological leap, I found myself approaching my first ever virtual physio appointment last week with a large degree of scepticism.  For starters, the session – held at my dining room table – was going to cost me the same as a visit to the actual clinic. 

Arranged in order to find out whether I can finally progress to running after spending eight weeks side lined with an Achilles injury, I would – for over a pound a minute - have usually expected at least some degree of massage or manipulation. Like taking your car for a service and getting a free valet, in usual times I would expect my physio’s sound advice and guidance to come with a value for money crack of the back or loosening of muscle tightness. After all, without that it would just be a very expensive chat.

But in lockdown times, physical contact was off the table, literally, and I was left with no option but to go 100% virtual with my follow-up appointment. So one morning last week I found myself logging into a Zoom chat with my physio, Ian, to discuss my Achilles, armed only with a notepad and pen. As is the case with every Zoom-based encounter – whether it’s an interview I see on the news or a call with a colleague – the first thing I did was to immediately judge his background and set-up. 

Choosing not to hide behind a blurred background or green screen image, Ian was sat in a busy room where shelves bulged with what looked like computer and camping equipment. His cat, meanwhile, was busying itself climbing across boxes behind him. It was all a million miles away from meeting in the sterile clinic, but it oddly put me immediately at ease and we soon got to chatting about my ailing Achilles.

What followed was a brilliant 45 minute discussion about the best way to get back to running, how to approach warming up and cooling down, how to make best use of a foam roller, when to do eccentric exercises and what to consider when choosing trail running shoes. While contradicting a lot of what I had been reading on the internet, this was advice that was specifically tailored to me and my injury. Ian knew me, knew my injury and was able to advise based on the fine details of our conversation.

I came away from the session with detailed notes, a good idea of the road I would have to travel in order to recover properly and, for the first time in a while, a positive outlook as to my return to running. Okay, I had missed out on a sports massage, but this had been a thoroughly worthwhile virtual appointment and provided as much value for money as an in-person session.

The physio practice is also a small business and, like all other small businesses during Covid-times, has been struggling to make ends meet. So I would urge any runner reading this who may be injured and in need of the advice of a good physio, or any such specialist, to reach out, support your local practice and book yourself a virtual appointment. 

As for me, I may not be about to break any Strava records, but I’m nevertheless looking forward to my first five-minute run in a few days’ time. Thanks Ian.

 Next step: Join the conversation in our Facebook Group

You may also be interested in...

Could your lucky socks boost your running performance?

Strava's depressing truths for injured runners

 

Could your lucky socks actually be boosting your performance?

Sir Mo Farah shaves his head and drinks a cup of espresso before every race, David Beckham lines up all the drinks in his fridge so they face the same way and Roger Federer has a thing for the number eight, taking eight spare rackets to each match, asking for eight bottles of water and serving eight aces in every pre-match warm up. I, meanwhile, always have to touch the same part of the same bridge every time I run past it and tap the same spot on the crossbar of a net-less goalpost whenever I run across a nearby football pitch.

Running is the only part of my life where I have traditions like this. I have no lucky pants, I don't wear my socks inside out (like goalkeeper Iker Casillas) and if it wasn't for the fact that the Government has instructed me to do so, I wouldn't usually be washing my hands every five minutes. However, these running traditions are bizarrely comforting and frustrating in equal measure.

On the one hand, tapping the bridge and the goalpost evokes a sense of achievement and familiarity; another run chalked up on a familiar route that I love. On the other hand, though, I am always aware as I approach each of my personal landmarks that I will have to tap them. If I try and tell myself not to bother, the compulsion to tap them becomes even stronger.

I once put this curiosity to the test and ran past the aforementioned goalpost before instantly regretting it, battling the desire to turn around and finally - half a mile later - about-turning to head back and make amends with the inanimate object. To this day, I have no idea why I did that.

What on earth is going on here? I do not have similar relationships with any other objects in my life and when I'm either walking or driving by the same points, I don't find myself stopping the car or diverting my walk to tap in. 

Ten minutes of Google research later, I find that this is not Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD), as I had first thought. According to the NHS website, OCD involves unwanted and often unpleasant thoughts that are relieved by compulsive behaviour. While annoying, none of my running habits are unpleasant or overly intrusive, so after reading further I think I firmly sit in the superstition camp, at least according to Psychology Today.

Superstitions apparently form in the same part of the brain that believes in ghosts and essentially include rituals that you partake in to achieve a specific outcome. The science behind this is fascinating, especially when it comes to professional sport. It has been repeatedly shown that superstitious conditioning - wearing the same lucky shirt, sitting in the same seat on the team bus, tapping the club crest before entering the stadium - can positively influence performance. Conversely, forgetting to tap the crest or losing the lucky shirt, can see a significant decline in performance.

Brazilian football legend, Pele, is a great example of this. He once gave his shirt to a fan after a Santos match, before subsequently experiencing a dry spell in front of goal. As a result, he asked a detective to search out the fan and ask for the shirt back. It was found and Pele's form soon returned. However, it later transpired that the shirt was never actually found and the detective had simply given the world's most famous footballer an old shirt from a previous game, telling him it was the one he'd given away.

So, if Pele can fall foul of these oddities, I am not going to beat myself up over my running superstitions. Even if it is all in my head, my form is erratic enough without worsening it by denying my superstitious bridge tapping habits.

However, I would be interested to know if I'm alone in this peculiarity or if there are other runners out there who tap a bridge, run around the same tree or wear lucky shorts for every race? Have you noticed a dip in your performance if you don't follow your usual pre-race ritual, or have you ever regretted throwing out a special t-shirt?

Is this you? Let me know if so, but hands off my bridge.

Enjoyed this? Check out my new book: The Running Drug

Available in ebook and paperback from Amazon.

From cancer diagnosis to marathon medal, via gloved fingers, blood tests and black toenails,  The Running Drug tells the personal story of how Tim Beynon’s running addiction helped him to overcome cancer, finish his first marathon and discover a fitter, healthier future.

REVIEWS

"Tim Beynon found himself in a situation nobody would want, and he ran and wrote his way out of it with searing honesty and a self-deprecating wit. It's a practical, morbidly fascinating and inspiring read. It made me want to get myself checked out."

Paul Tonkinson, Runner's World columnist and comedian 

"Tim’s 16-month journey is filled with worry, hope, belief, determination and achievement. Relatable and even funny at times, Tim overcomes so much and will hopefully help many other people think twice about the importance of health checks, at whatever age. The Running Drug made me smile, as well as think about all my male family and friends. The included information could be really helpful to them and may even save someone’s life. It’s a great book, highly recommended."

Nell McAndrew, 2.54 marathoner and model

-------

Subscribe to Splits & Giggles, the Clued Up Runners newsletter

Next step: Join the conversation in our Facebook Group

You might also be interested in:

Are you a Clued Up Runner? Submit a guest post today.

Strava's depressing truths for injured runners

Join the Clued Up Runners Facebook Group

Having spent a fair bit of time trawling Facebook of late, I've found that most of the running-related groups on Zuckerberg's mothership actually prohibit the sharing of blogs. So, to counter this stifling of runners' creativity, I thought I'd set up a Clued Up Runners Group that is entirely dedicated to the sharing of runners' blogs, articles, films, podcasts and any other creative outlets you may have. 

Social media, by it's very definition, should facilitate the sharing of ideas, so while there is ample space for cat memes, the Kardashians and pictures of food, there should also be space for great content, written by folks who may not have a publishing contract, but who can nevertheless string an entertaining sentence together.

So please drop by, join, share your content or something that's caught your eye, read others' contributions, comment and be part of what I hope will become a repository for blogging brilliance. Whether it's entertaining, informative, controversial, witty or just silly, share it with the rest of us and I'll post highlights each week.

Clued Up Runners Facebook Group - see you there.

You may also be interested in:

Join us on Twitter: @clueduprunners

Join us on Instagram: @clueduprunners

Remembering the runners of World War One

Sam Mendes' epic film 1917 told the story of two soldiers charged with delivering a vital message to the front line. At a time when communications technology was in its infancy, the most reliable way to get such messages from unit to unit across battlefields was by hand. The role of runners in the Great War, on both sides, was therefore central to each army's plans and, as Mendes depicted so brilliantly, saw the fate of thousands lying in the hands, and feet, of a few brave souls.

"The runners' job was the hardest and most dangerous" of all jobs in the infantry, was how World War I veteran Lt. Allan L. Dexter recalled them in an article from 1931

Here are the stories of a few of these bravest of runners:

Their story - taken from BBC History Magazine

Private James Miller - taken from Find My past

From the London Gazette: "Private Miller was ordered to take an important message under heavy shell and rifle fire, and to bring back a reply at all costs. He was compelled to cross the open, and on leaving the trench was shot almost immediately in the back...in spite of this, with heroic courage and self-sacrifice, he compressed the gaping wound, delivered his message, staggered back with his answer, and fell dead at the feet of the officer to whom he delivered it. He gave his life with a supreme devotion to duty."

Major Robert Edward Cruickshank - taken from Find My Past

His official war citation: “The platoon to which Private Cruickshank belonged came under very heavy rifle and machine-gun fire...the officer in command was shot dead...the only remaining N.C.O. (a lance-corporal), called for a volunteer to take a message. Private Cruickshank immediately responded but was hit. He rose, but, being again wounded, rolled back. After his wounds had been dressed he rushed a third time and again fell badly wounded. Being now unable to stand, he rolled himself back amid a hail of bullets. His wounds were now of such a nature as to preclude him making any further attempt and he lay all day in a dangerous position, being sniped at. He displayed the utmost valour and endurance, and was cheerful and uncomplaining throughout.”

Lieutenant Alfred Robert Wilkinson - taken from Find My Past

His official citation: “Private Wilkinson...succeeded in delivering the message, though the journey involved exposure to extremely heavy machine-gun and shell fire for 600 yards. He showed magnificent courage and complete indifference to danger, thinking only of the needs of his company and entirely disregarding any consideration for personal safety.”

Next step: Join the conversation in our Facebook Group