The Joys of Farting

Well I'm feeling much better now. My elbows aren't so chaffed and the medicine seems to be working. We've also be out quite a bit which helps. The master has discovered something called Fartlek, which is less worthy of a schoolboy snigger than first imagined. Apparently it is Swedish for a training technique which consists of intense bursts of running, followed by slow, gently paced activity. Well he's got half of it down to a fine art. All he needs to do is concentrate on the intense piece. Actually it is apparently quite useful.
So the Master was reading the Daily Telegraph spread out on the floor the other day (that is, the paper was spread out rather than the Master) and whilst I was standing on it (supremely irritating apparently) I noticed a picture of a runner or two. Being a clever dog I can obviously read so I took a deeper interest and perused the article. it was by a Mr John Inverdale, a sports journalist, who had just completed the Great North Run (a half marathon) and the main tenant of his article was that there ought to be a similar race for owners together with their dogs. Well regular readers of this dog-blog will know that the Master and I suggested this to be a good idea many, many months ago. I can only assume therefore that Mr Inverdale is a reader of it as well. So welcome John. Congratulations on your sub-2hr.
See ya. Woof Tom

One border collie - stressed

Hi all, here's the latest update from my world. I've been confined to barracks with a severe skin complaint apparently picked up last time I went to my other home (the kennels). This is particularly grim as it is in my elbows and restricts my movement. According to the Vet (is it just me or does he look like Anthony Perkins in Psycho?) it could well be stress related. Well knock me down with a feather but I don't recall too much contention going on in my life. Boredom yes, stress no. Wake up, go for walk, eat, sleep, sleep some more, walk or if lucky run, eat, sleep. It's a predictable cycle but one I've grown used to. Admittedly I don't like loud noises and that can, according to Psycho, be a contributing factor. However the principle initiator of it, the other male in the household, has left, so it can't even be that. And anyway, I sort of like Megadeath and Rammstein: all that tuetonic chanting is very disciplined and suits me. So, I am going to have to get better otherwise the running stops. The Master seems to think it is an excuse for him to stop as well. He's such a lightweight. Anyway, I'll fill you in on the progress of my illness over the next couple of weeks or so. So long.

For whom the Fells toll

Well one swallow doesn't make a summer so I'm not going to get over excited, but the master has again put one foot in front of another at more than a walking pace recently. We've been out twice for the requisite jog around the block. Apparently his calves hurt again. So what's new.
He's just finished a book that I would rather like to have read if I could read of course. I know all about it because he has been boring all his friends rigid eulogising its charms. I overhear these things you see. Anyway it was recommended to him recently by another mate who clearly has the same disease of incessant wittering and obsession. But, it did sound interesting nonetheless. It even contained a couple of photos of some border collies like me, so it can't be bad. It tells the story of a journalist who becomes obsessed with fell running in the lake district and who gets such a bad dose of it that he gives up weekend after weekend to drive from the home counties all the way to the Lakes in order to compete in the trials. Though it is a book about one man's obsession, it is also a great rendering of the life and times of the hardy stock of the North who put themselves masochistically through hell and high water to run up and down fells with the energy and grace of antelope. We get to see (or I got to hear actually) of the quintessential hard men of the dales and the fells, who think nothing of setting out for 24 hour runs with little more than a ham sandwich and a pair of old trainers. These are characters, mostly eccentric and some bordering on clinical madness. One doesn't need to be a fell runner, like fells or even running, to appreciate this classic of sports writing. Indeed it is as much a social commentary of the running folk of the Lakes as it is about the art of conquering fells very quickly by foot. My master thoroughly recommends it. Here's the link to it on Amazon. Feet in the Clouds by Richard Askwith

Breaking News......

I can't believe it, but the Master has once again signed up for the London. This time in 2007. He better be more successful in his training than last year. Since he abandoned his attempt (incidently, his second but also my second as I did all the training for the first but wasn't actually allowed to run in it, which was a bummer after all the training, - and I would have shaved at least 3 hours off his time), I put on a little weight. It's all his fault. So I can't wait for the training to restart mid-September. I'll try and write faithfully from then. Over the summer the Master has been concentrating on his squash, whatever that is (at least that is what I think I overheard) and doing the odd bit of cycling. Now this is very interesting because he has found this cool piece of iron mongery which means I can go with him on his bike runs. Check it out, it is wicked. It is called the Springer and it lets me run along side his bike and yet not get in his way or collide with the wheels http://www.bikeyourdog.co.uk/ourshop_68825_5392.html. It restains me pretty well, although I have managed to pull him off once, when I saw this lady border collie in a drive way. I never knew he could use language like that. Shocking. Anyway I'll write again as soon as the training starts. Bye!

poor excuse but you'll have to buy it

Well firstly the Master has an apology to make. It's been three weeks nearly since the last post and, dear reader, if you are still logging in to read the latest, we can only thank you for your persistence. We are not worthy! So, where have we been. Well I've still be running around, chasing rabbits and barking at my canine bretheren. For the Master though, it is a different, and altogether sadder story. Having steeled himself to the rigours of training for the London, the depressing news is that he isn't gonna make it. A week ago he sustained a torn calf muscle playing squash (he never warms up properly) and is still hobbling. Even with physio I can't see him making a return to the highways and by-ways of Berkshire until at least April. Slightly too late for a mid-April race. Pathetic really. Do I warm up before we go out? Am I suffering with strains, tears and twists? No, and I'm the same age in human years as him. Now granted, some of the more delicate breeds that pass themselves off as dogs, do slow down as they advance in years. But a border collie? never. The day I can't run after vermin or lose my will to bark at horses and other dogs, big or small, is the day to take me to the vets and give me a shot of the Baxter-juice (or whichever big pharma is mkaing money out of me these days). I'm sorry, but I am bred for the hills and dales of the border country between Scotland and England, and if the best that is on offer is a run in the flat country, then I'll go with that - but anything less and you may as well lie me on a slab and say 'hasta la vista, doggo. you won't be back'.
So back to the Master. Pathetic really. Whilst he's not running I don't have a lot to report so I may hand over the lead to him and let him pontificate forth on subject innumerable, whilst I take a back-seat (not my usual position, you realise) and as soon as he's back on track, I'll be reporting again on life on the roads. However, if you want me to continue, please send a comment or two and I'll keep putting paw to keyboard for your delictation.
Woof!

Calf Muscles? More like Aged Cow Muscles

Well it's been several days since the Master put fingers to keyboard and a lot has happened in his running world since then. A long 13.5 training run was executed successfully at point of delivery. Two days later the calf muscles felt they'd been gripped by Mike Tyson and squeezed with his animal ferocity. Unable to walk properly without considerable pain, the likelihood of running anywhere with him was almost non-existent. I think it was probably a little exaggerated, as he did manage to play a squash game a day later, but he claimed it uses different msucles. I think he just didn't want to take me out again. I have to admit I was a bit of a bad boy on the long run. There was one of my enemies (i.e. a dog I don't know) virtually every 30 metres or so and whilst my behaviour doesn't allow me to be off the lead, I can still make it quite awkward for the Master. I think I actually make him faster though - he seems to speed up when we approach another dog. So I am doing him a service really.
Anyway, he didn't take me out all week so I guess I was in the dog house. Then to cap it all he disappeared on Sunday for over three hours without a bye or a leave to me. Apparently he did a half-marathon - whatever one of those is, in a local town. I have to say, he didn't look very happy when he came back, so I guess he must have missed me. Apparently he was "well outside" his PB, whatever a PB is, and he could hardly walk. I guess he doesn't train enough and of course he was missing one vital ingredient, Me. When is someone going to organise a race for dogs and their owners? I am sure we'd be pretty good as a combination. I certainly can pull him along at a fair old clip and I am sure he'd have a chance to beat his PB.

Are you going? Are you going to the Boston Tea Party?

Yesterday's run was pretty standard and uneventful - a plodding 5 miles - but the backdrop was pretty interesting. Listening to The Sensational Alex Harvey Band one was reminded of that party piece anthem The Boston tea Party which is obviously about the infamous dumping of British tea into Boston harbour in protest about the taxation that George III's government was placing on the US colony in 1773. Of course this was a contributory factor in the eventual independence of the US from British rule and makes an excellent story. It was instigated by Samuel Adams, he of the constitution and excellent beer fame. many great accounts of the Tea Party can be found on the internet. Here's a good one. One thing that you may not be aware of is that actually the amount of tax that HM Government was demanding on tea from the colonists was actually less than the tax paid by Londoners for the same goods. The protest and eventually destruction of 342 chests of tea, was not really aimed at tea but at the British Government's desire to punitively tax the colonists at every opportunity. As Alex Harvey's lyrics go

"The King has said he's gonna put a tax on tea,
and that's the reason you all Americans drink coffee"

dog, that was hard.....

well it's now Tuesday and I think the Master is doing rather well considering. However, I know he's on a tight schedule but trying to make up missed training sessions by cramming more in, just doesn't work. Except if you are a dog. Since he isn't, he's pretty foolish. A 9 mile jog around Virigina Lake on Sunday seems to have helped his mind, but not his body and a very hard squash game yesterday only exacerbated it. Taking on not just an opponent, but the squash wall itself was, in hind-sight a bridge too far, and two butterfy stiches and a very sore head, are testament to that fact. Sunday's run unearthered some interesting thoughts for the Master though. Firstly, why is it that no matter how elegant and svelte-like a runner thinks he or she is, there's nothing quite like cathcing a reflection of oneself to realise how much of a lardy one really looks to other people. This is most apparent in a gym when on a treadmill apparently. Secondly, how is it possible for the human body to do 5.5 minute miles, one after another and still end up giving completely compus mentis interviews the monment one crosses the finish line, a la Paula. It amuses me because, having four legs, I can cover a mile in way less than two minutes, but usually there's something worth sniffing so I rarely run in a straight direction.
I suppose that timing is all about elite training - a stage the Master will probably never ever experience.
Keeping the miles ticking over was a process eased by the accompanying tunes. This time out we had the rather underrated and a little maligned Velvet Revolver - Slash's new band which emerged from the ashes of Guns n' Roses. Their pile-driving rock music was probably new to the British public when they took to the stage at Live 8 in Hyde Park in July last year. Unfortunately they didn't do themselves any favours by playing three new tracks when most of the audience would have wanted to at least hear a good old G n'R tune, like Sweet Child Of Mine. Perhaps they legally couldn't. Still they were pretty good despite the lukewarm reception.

Nipple rash

No you haven't stumbled onto a dodgy blog where you need to look over your shoulder to see who's noticed. We are talking here about one of hazards of running, especially in the cold. Fortunately, being a dog, it doesn't really bother me, but it does seem to be an issue for the Master. We went out last Tuesday on a rather dark and dank evening and did the usual 5m. That was all fine and dandy but the old fella did complain afterwards about the after-effects of said nipple rash. Easy to avoid. Simply apply petroleum jelly liberally. Alternatively if you are female or a fella with man-boobs (I hereby declare that the Master does not have these), then a good sports-bra should cut it. We also went out today for a brief 40 mins or so around the park. Music over the last couple of runs has tended back to the familar - Bloc Party (again), Aerosmith (again), u2 (once more) etc. Time to play some new tunes so look out for that over the next couple of posts......

Pushed it too far I think

Well it's been a week since I met up with my German Shepherd buddy and I was half-expecting a rendez-vous today. According to the Master, the long weekend run is the cornerstone of one's training regime - although all the evidence so far points to the contrary, unless one considers 5 miles to be a long run. Anyway he was murmuring something about going up to the forest again, especially when he saw my buddy's master on Friday night. Anyhow it turns out that yesterday the Mistress squirted some sort of liquid deep into my skin below my collar. I thought nothing of it really, it happens ever couple of months or so. Well apparently it is to keep fleas off me. As if I'd be home to fleas anyway! what cheek. (I reckon I am as clean as the Master is. I don't think he's quite up to the cleanliness standards of the Mistress - at least that's what quite a lot of the arguments in the house seem to be about). So because of this defleaing liquid, I apparently couldn't get dirty for 48 hours. Well the Master became a little petulant about it but to no avail, we were not allowed to go up into the forest, especially as he never really cleaned me properly last weekend, and it was duly noted. Therefore I found myself being invited to a road run around some pretty villages in Berkshire. Well I say 'pretty' but to be frank, it was so foggy this morning that the Master could barely see 10 yards in front of him. Fortunately I have extra keen eyesight and I caught sight of one Master with 6 greyhounds, all muzzled up about 40 yards away. Well my Master has problems controlling one Border Collie so I was curious as to how the other chap managed. I barked a couple of greetings but they were pretty snooty dogs and turned their hind-quarters on me. Well I only give a dog one chance. That was it. I tugged extremely hard on my lead in the hope that the Master would be taken by surprise. Unfortunately I think he is getting wise to me now and held on for what must have been grim death. The Master with the 6 greyhounds shouted something at my Master but since he permanently has his headphones in I don't think he caught it. It didn't sound friendly though. We ran through the pack of dogs and I tried to take a bite out of one of them, but they were too quick. There was lots of barking and shouting, and I think I mixed it up pretty well.
The rest of the run was a bit mundane, although to be fair it was pretty hilly. I think we did about 8 miles which was a bit of a stretch for the Master. Lugging 14-odd stones around country lanes appears to be a tall order for him.
Music: Today's backdrop to the run consisted of 3 classic live band cuts. There was a live Aeorsmith album the name of which escapes me. The thing about Aerosmith is that they are not a poor man's Rolling Stones, as once thought, but they are more of a Madiera Cake to the Stone's multi-layered Battenburg. That is to say, you know what you are going to get; it doesn't vary much, but it is very good. That was followed by Rattle and Hum, U2's rather maligned and oft-ignored post-Joshua Tree album. It is a live one of sorts. But the thing is, the producers have cut out a lot of the audience interaction; cheering; clapping etc and therefore it makes it an odd sort of live album. Not one of their best and it is surely time for another live album from U2 to hit the streets. The final album in the triplet was the Live After Death from the mighty Iron Maiden. Absolutely fabulous to run too. Especially The Trooper, which has a great beat to keep one's legs from moving inthe right direction.

Bobby Moore - It was a heartbreaker

The slightly altered words of Rod Sewart in "Maggie May" - "The Morning Run when it's in your face really shows your age" ring true for the Master this morning. 5:30am, it's dark, not another dog about and he's wearing that head torch and daglo lycra jogging pants again. He looks such a lemon. Maybe that's why we're out at this early hour - to avoid total embarassment. I am almost ashamed to be seen with him; but then again, 50 minutes out, stretching my legs - I'll take the humiliation if anyone sees us. One thought that seems to have been running around the Master's head today is that of Mr R Moore, ESQ, England's most famous and celebrated Football (Soccer) captain. He, of course, lifted the World Cup in 1966 - the proudest moment in a proud career. but this was a man who was a fitness fanatic; didn't smoke, ate well, didn't overinduge in alcohol and of course spent his life exercising. He was often out for a run at 5:30am (which was the thought that prompted these musings) and continued his fitness regime in his post-playing days. Take a look at the shirt swapping picture with Pele at the 1970 World Cup - a physique most 30 year old would be proud off. And yet, despite the relative abstemious lifestyle and fanatical fitness regime, Bobby sadly passed away from bowel cancer aged 51. The Master was musing on this and wondering whether it really was worth the effort of trudging the streets at such an ungodly hour, even before the dawn was even thinking of making an appearance. But he decided that it is about awareness of one's body and being able to catch such horrid diseases early, and to use it as a reason not to exercise was fallacious. In fact, so preoccupied with these thoughts was he that he paid little attention to the soundtrack of the run, AC/DC's If You Want Blood, You Got it - the classic Bon Scott vocals and the Youngs driving power chords and full-pelt lead runs - surely one of the greatest live rock n' roll albums of all time. Talk about auditory masking. Riff-Raff and Hell Ain't a Bad Place to Be could both be easily used instead of anasthetic.

Post-America Run

Well the Master has been away on business for a week and so my running had basically stopped. However he reappeared on Saturday and I thought I'd been in for a really long and muddy run - but none of it I'm afraid. A gentle walk through the fields was all I got. That's actually all I had last week with the Mistress. Pathetic. Still, he made up for it yesterday. We went up the Forest again but this time, prearranged with my German Shepherd mate. Did we have a blast, or what? I found some foxes' doo-da and rolled in it. Then so did my mate and we ran off in the woods. It didn't seem to matter; the Master was regaling his running partner on the merits of Achor Steam beer over Heinekin Lager and the best way to win at black jack in Vegas. He wasn't interested in what we got up to. I got so muddy that when we got back after his 5 miles (about 25 for me) he wouldn't let me get back in the car until he'd thrown five buckets of water over me from the tap at the cafe nearby. Even so it barely dented the surface and so I had to serve my pennance back home, with a very lengthy scrubbing session with freezing cold water and that dog shampoo that smells sickly, and believe me, tastes even worse. I'm then shut away in a room to dry off for a few hours. I'm a bit like a cake really. When I'm finally done I'm let out, ready to please and entertain as always.

short days, short life?

Running is one of the easiest, cheapest and most instantly gratifying forms of exercise available. Slip into your lycra, put on a pair of running shoes and head out the front door. Before long the adrenelin kicks in, your muscles ease up and the cares of the day are blown away. But for many people who have fulltime jobs the problem is doing this safely. Waking up in the dark and then returning from work in the dark is not only a bit depressing but a real limiting factor when it comes to where and when you can run. Unless you can get out whilst at work you are left with the only option of running in the dark, unless you want to head to a gym or track. The real attraction of running is the lack of preparation required and the 'do it anywhere' dynamic. To head off to the gym requires time and effort as well as the obvious need to belong to one. So, for many it is an hour running the roads and then it becomes a battle, not just to run hard and with purpose, but also to avoid behind hit by vehicles. Keeping to lit pavements is feasible for some people but for many, especially those in rural areas, running in the pitch black becomes a regular experience. "Make yourself be seen" is an obvious requirement and there is lots of running clothing that makes this possible. Running with a head-mounted caving lamp is a good way of both seeing where you are going and also being seen by drivers. Obviously the critical point is to be seen and therefore if a vehicle has it's full beam to achieve that, then fine. But what is most irritating is the drivers who, having seen you, do not dim their lights but continue past with their full-beam on, blinding you as you stumble on. They dim them for on-coming traffic so why are pedestrians, albeit ones running, not afforded the same courtesy? Most drivers are considerate and once they have spotted you in the distance, do dim their lights and make every effort to move out to pass you without placing your life in danger. But it only takes one inattentive driver and before you know it, you are subject to a very close shave.
During a 5 mile end-of-day loosening-up run last night, the Master came very close to being knocked down. Fortunately for him my significant smattering of white fur is an additional reflective point and I am sure it helps on-coming drivers spot us. I need to do somethng though about his habit of putting me on the offside rather than inside. He says it is to give me more freedom to move about, but I reckon it is a form of self-defence.
So, to sum, in order to reduce the risk of the short days leading to a shorter life than you were planning, run as much as possible under street-lightening; wear a cavers torch and reflective clothing, oh, and if that is not enough, run with a large white dog!

In case you are wondering.......

Hi, I realised that you may be interested in my background.
My father was a Crufts Obiedience Champion six or seven years back and that was what was expected of me. But I apparently have a lazy eye (according to the dog experts) and am therefore untrainable to that level. Nevertheless in the hands of good trainers I probably could have cut the mustard. Weaving in and out of agility sticks, following scents and executing impressive fly-ball manoeuvers could have been within my grasp. But, I was cruely excluded from the training programmes and put up for adoption.

Fortunately the two dozos that own me now are as soft as my coat and I pretty much get my own way. They have little idea on control and as long as don't leave hairs in the house and keep the master company on his runs, they seem easily pleased.