Running in the snow - fun or foolish?

Let's be honest, a smattering of the white stuff brings out the inner eight-year-old in all of us. It's like being transported back in time to the days when a hastily confirmed snow day meant that school was replaced with snowball fights, sledging, frost bitten fingers and day-long nasal dew drops. And so it was this weekend, when a blanket of snow greeted my family and I as we drew back the curtains on Sunday morning.

A thick carpet of snow covered our immediate surrounds and, after fighting my children into waterproof clothes, we ventured to a nearby hill, armed with a dusty sledge. Unfortunately, we were not alone. Most of the town had descended on the hill, turning a humble sledging opportunity into a coronavirus super spreader event. So we about turned and opted for a winter walk instead, accompanied by two grumpy children and a redundant sledge.

Before returning home though, I left my wife with the grumbling duo, offloaded my coat and joggers, and headed off for my Sunday long run. 

I was immediately grateful for the opportunity to have a snowy adventure of my own, revelling in the scenery created by a winter storm that had transformed familiar trails into movie-like scenes. Also grateful for my trail shoes, it was apparent early in my run that I would have to have my wits about me to judge snow depth, slippage potential and snow-covered water hazards.

The kilometres ticked by, albeit at a slower pace than normal, and - had it not been for the repeated photographic stops - I would have felt far more tired than usual. Running through snow is not too dissimilar to running on sand. Everything requires that little bit more effort and one's concentration level needs to be on a higher plane to avoid rolling an ankle or face planting into a drift. 

However, if you find a track or trail away from the crowds of snowmen-making families and sledging teenagers, a blanket of snow brings with it a magic silence and stillness that is unique to the conditions. At one point - the furthest point from home on my run - I stopped on a side-track that was, as our now recycled Christmas cards professed, deep and crisp and even. There was no one else around, no human or automotive noises to be heard and the only tracks in front of me were of the avian variety. In reality, I was probably no more than five miles from a McDonalds, but this could have been somewhere in the Arctic Circle rather than Hampshire. It was wonderful.

Thankfully, I managed to get around and home without falling foul of Mother Nature and, despite having fingers like frozen chipolatas, loved every minute of my snowy Sunday long run. As for my sledge-cursing offspring, they had spent the duration of my run creating a spectacular snowman in the back garden but, having exhausted the novelty of the conditions, were now back on a screen.

Snow or no snow, some things never change.

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

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Why I'm no longer taking running for granted

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

How hard is it to stick to the rules?

If someone had told you in 2019 that the Government of tomorrow would be dictating when you're allowed to go outside, you'd have assumed that either war had broken out or you'd inadvertently mistaken the plot of a Tom Cruise blockbuster for real life.

But this is real life, in its most terrifying form. We are living through the third wave of a pandemic that has fundamentally changed the way we live and which, on its current trajectory, is set to get worse before it gets better. 

So I am struggling to understand why, when the news is so bleak, so many of us still think that we can interpret the rules as we wish, to suit whatever circumstances we choose.

While on my long run this Sunday - alone - I found myself diving into bushes, scrambling across the uneven edges of trails and taking to the puddles in order to avoid large groups of people and children walking together. Of course, I could be wrong. They could all have been innocently walking together in their nominated bubbles, but I must have missed the societal shift that has made it common place for three sets of forty-something couples and their nine children to live together. 

Granted, some of the adults were making an effort to walk two-metres apart, but again I feel that they must have mistaken metre-rules for standard rulers in their interpretation of the social distancing guidance. Their awareness of other trail-users - namely myself - meanwhile, was non-existent.

For some reason, every group I encountered at the weekend was walking away from me as I approached. With the early encounters I would therefore either cough loudly (probably not the most appropriate tactic in hindsight) or scuff my shoes on the gravel to make the party aware of my presence. Without exception, this failed. By the end of the run, I was therefore simply shouting "behind you" in pantomime fashion to make them move. This would result in a scattering of the party across the whole trail, forcing me to stop and wait until they had the sense to move in a common direction and allow me enough space to pass.

Why is this happening? Why are people still not following the rules? 

As someone who embraces the outside and recognises its value in terms of our physical and mental wellbeing, I can’t help but feel that breaking the rules is at the least selfish, and at the most both illegal and morally indefensible. Even if the chance of you contracting coronavirus or inadvertently passing it on is as slim as Donald Trump's chance of having his Twitter ban overturned, there is still a chance. You may never see or hear of the damage that is caused as a result of your actions, but that extra trip out might just end up bringing tragedy to the door of an entirely innocent family. Gathering in groups just exacerbates this tenfold.

As the staggering number of hospital admissions and deaths continues to rise, and as Professor Chris Whitty takes to every known form of media to hammer home the stay-at-home message, the consequence of these people's actions could mean tighter restrictions for us all. 

Outdoor exercise once a week? Curfews every evening? No one wants to get to that stage. So come on people, play your part and stick to the rules. 

Stay home. Protect the NHS. Save Lives. Watch Netflix. Easy.

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Why I'm no longer taking running for granted

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

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. 

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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.

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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.

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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!]

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How to run when you just can't be bothered

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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

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