Fare thee well 'The Flying Scotsman'

The Flying Scot: Michael Whalley in the
Bermuda Day Half-Marathon in May 2011

We were both doing something we had loved most of our lives when we first met - running.

Michael Whalley was an approachable, friendly Scotsman who would always take an interest in how you were. His talent and competitive spirit was evident even though his advancing years had slowed him down, as happens to us all. 

In his prime he was given the nickname "The Flying Scotsman", and in 1981 he achieved a top three spot in Bermuda's signature race, the May 24 Marathon Derby (now known as the Bermuda Day Half-Marathon).

Mike's regular appearance at races meant he was an important fixture of the tight-knit community of runners who share the pain and pleasure of the good, and the not so good, race days. Through those encounters we kept up, to a degree, with one another's lives.

His wide circle of acquaintances continually expanded during his more than 50 years in the island running scene.

I appreciated his welcoming attitude, his candor, and the way he gave support. I have lost count of the many times he called out support from the other side of the road as a race route double-backed. I'd call back. Those mutual calls to one another as we battled our way to the finish line were important sprinkles of encouragement. 

Mike was an outstanding example of friendship, humanity and acceptance. It is hard to think that he is gone, at 74, and that he will no longer be there on race days. I thank good fortune that I was able to have known him these past 15 years. Fare thee well, my good friend.

After a race: Mike Whalley, Otis Robinson and I relax at the post race breakfast following
the 30th anniversary Fairmont-to-Fairmont Race in January 2007

Milestone: Mike Whalley, at 70, finishing the Bermuda Day Half-Marathon in May 2016. Behind
him are Poole Runners' Carole and Paul Ingham. A third Poole Runner (me) can be seen near the
top left watching. Mike's last finish in the famous race was the following year.

A life lesson from my fastest half-marathon

Thirty years ago: crossing the finish line of my fastest half-marathon.

Five miles into the race and with another eight remaining, I was having doubts about my ability to stick with the group of runners directly in front of me.

Up ahead the lead runners were out of sight. I was tagging along in the chasing group - and I do mean tagging along.

The group of five were doing consistent six-minute miles. So was I. The difference was I was hanging off the back of the pack, relying on sheer willpower to prevent myself from being dropped. Yes, I had a degree of confidence to stick with the pace, but it was wafer-thin.

Three months earlier I had barnstormed a half-marathon in 1 hour 19 minutes - taking 13 minutes off my previous best. However, that confidence boost had been dented when, two weeks before the current race, I'd run another half-marathon while recovering from a bad cold. I finished in 1:28 - not bad by previous standards, but way off my new record.

Now I was struggling to stay with the six-minute mile pace. I mentally set myself a target of reaching five miles in 30 minutes, after which I'd allow myself to fall back to a more comfortable pace. But there was a problem.

The group of runners were taking it in turns to act as front man - taking on the pace-setting duties for the others then switching over after a mile to let the next man do his bit.  I'd been so preoccupied trying to keep up at the back of the pack I didn't notice that I was next in line to pull my weight up front.

The conditions were perfect for long distance running. There was virtually no breeze, it was cool and the open countryside was shrouded by a thin mist. We had reached five miles bang on target. That's when the others called on me to get in place up front and do my shift. I had a choice to either buckle and fade away like a douche bag, or step up and lead the group through mile six.

Who's next? I'm hanging at the back of the chasing group,
shortly before taking over the paceman duties at five miles.

So there I was, very much feeling like the odd man out at the back. Doing your fair share of the pacesetting duties when required was an unspoken rule of the sport. I moved to the lead and decided that as bad as I'd been struggling, I would put in my one-mile shift to keep that six-minute mile canter going, even if emptied my reserves and punished me for the remainder of the race.

I concentrated on my running gait and cadence, making sure it did not slip from the pace I'd been following. There was a sense of honour in fulfilling the lead runner duty; carrying the group one mile closer to the finish. I didn't want to let them down, or require them to take over before I had fulfilled my mile. It would hurt but I'd stick it out, come what may. Then something happened.

As I pushed on, eager to be as competent a pacesetter as the others, I began to feel better. My running gained a bit more bounce. Before I knew it, the six miles marker appeared and I prepared to relinquish my spot at the front to allow the next man to do his pace shift.

Two things had happened during that mile. My watch showed I'd gone faster than a six-minute mile, it was about 10 seconds quicker. I glanced over my shoulder to see who was preparing to take the lead duties and saw the group of runners were no longer in a pack. They had started to string out, they were breathing heavier and none were near enough to take over the pace. I was feeling better, so I stayed at the front and added a second mile of pacesetting.

What had happened was the opposite to what I had feared. Rather than slowing down, I'd found the experience of being in front had lifted me. From somewhere inside I'd been able to tap into extra energy. It was a similar sensation to taking part in team relays, where a sense of duty to do all possible not to let down the others resulted in a level of effort that many times surpassed what might have been achieved as an individual.

I'd only slightly overcooked the pace in that first mile of pacesetting. The next mile also came in at around 5 mins 50 secs. I looked around to see if the others were ready to take back the pace role, but the group was now strung out in a line. My reinvigorated legs had taken the pace marginally beyond the fixed effort of the opening five miles. I pushed on, looking to see how much longer I could sustain that level, and with each mile completed my confidence grew that a personal best could be on the cards. It was. I ran beneath the finish line clock in 1:17:25.

During the next 12 years I ran more sub-1:20 half marathons, but none as swiftly as that one exactly 30 years ago this weekend.

As for the other runners in the group; well, the race changed complexion when my pacing altered the six-minute miles to 5:50 miles. They had been settled on running the half-marathon in the high 1:18s or low 1:19s, but most of them were pulled through faster as they followed my lead - indeed, one is seen about 100 metres behind at the finish line photograph. I feel they got an unexpected benefit too.

So what did I learn from it? It taught me that even when feeling tired and wanting to back off and sit back, doing the opposite can sometimes have a cathartic effect; pushing though the barrier of discomfort led to a place of more strength than I thought existed. And secondly, I learnt that taking on a dutiful role gave an added inner drive to succeed.

Why I won't be running far, or fast, in the summer heat

When each and every mile takes a minute longer than usual on a training run, that's a sure sign something is very much amiss. But not seeing such a dramatic freefall in performance at this time of year would actually be more concerning. Now that may appear like backwards logic, but stay with me.

Running becomes next to impossible in Bermuda during the height of summer. It is little wonder all competitive racing stops in July and August, and there is a considerable tapering of events in the months either side of the mid-summer hiatus.

With July temperatures hovering around the 29C to 30C range (around 87F) daily, and humidity upwards of 70 percent most days, simply staying hydrated can be a challenge without throwing outdoor exercise, particularly running, into the equation.

No racing is one thing, but that leaves the problem of how to maintain fitness and 'tick over' in the oppressive conditions until the cooler months return.

The key indicator each day, over and above the temperature and humidity, is the 'real feel'. This is what the outdoor conditions actually feel like when the air temperature, humidity, sunshine and breeze are all taken into consideration. So far this month that telltale indicator has landed daily round the 34C mark - and that is cause for caution and commonsense.

As the summer heat arrived I had happily trained without paying much notice of the 'real feel' figure creeping up. Then, in the final days of last month, it hit me. I'd already scaled back long runs to a more manageable 10 miles, given the rising heat. But even that proved to be a goal too far, as I discovered halfway into one Sunday long run. All seemed fine until I began slowing noticeably having run only five-and-a-half miles. That shouldn't have been happening. But I recognised the warning signs and quickly figured out the most direct, least hilly, route back home. Even so, it was a case of alternate running and walking on those few miles of retreat.

When the same thing happened four days later I knew it was time to limit all long run expeditions to no more than an hour, or thereabouts. My other sessions were limited to 45 minutes or less, and even these workouts up and down the dusty trailway, overlooking the tranquil waters of the north shore, became a battle of mind over matter simply to keep going at a pace that was a minute-a-mile slower than seven or eight weeks previously.

Mind over matter only goes so far. The body has built-in failsafes aimed at ensuring it doesn't overheat. When the 'real feel' conditions are 34C or 35C there is barely wriggle room for any exercise before the body's core temperature of 37C is placed in jeopardy. Raising the core temperature above its normal range by more than a few degrees for any extended period can lead to the body literally getting cooked from the inside out. Hence the body's natural reaction to cause you to slow your pace to a level where the transfer of heat, through blood being pumped to the skin's sweat glands - allowing heat to be dissipated through sweat, is kept at a manageable equilibrium. However, this cooling process is not nearly so effective when high humidity prevents sweat from evaporating.

Which brings me back to the days of 70 percent plus humidity and 'real feel' figures of 34C (and above on some days) that are the norm for the summer.

It may not appear rewarding writing down paltry mileage and somewhat laughable times in the training diary, but the steamroller heat of summer demands no heroics, just commonsense.

However, there are rewards, and none more delicious than an ice cold drink from the refrigerator at the end of run.

A last jog for two friends

(Pictured: Chris, Sean and myself)

On the last Wednesday of October two runners jogged side-by-side around the stadium track, chatting as they made their way gently around the circuit in the evening darkness. The stadium floodlights cast areas of brightness and shadow across the scene.

I was one of the two. The other was Chris, who was there to say goodbye to his running friends and to the weekly track training sessions that he has been a part of for the past decade.

I've known Chris since I arrived on the island, both as a runner and as a friend. Only a year or so separates us in age, and our ability as runners meant we have remained very closely matched across the past eight years. So much so that on any given race day it was always tricky to predict which of us would cross the finish line first.

As we jogged around the track we chatted about life and running, and Chris reflected that as he has become older he now treats running more as a lifestyle - a chance to enjoy being in the company of others and sharing the experience, rather than focusing on personal bests or high-ranking results.

He's right. The greatest joy running gives is the camaraderie and friendship that builds through the years. A bond is created with people who become an integral and welcome part of your life.

So there we were, two figures jogging in the distance under the light and shadows of the stadium's illumination. To an outsider that's all we would have been, just two men jogging a lap side-by-side on a dark night.

But for Chris and I it was the sharing a last few minutes together, a last jog, thinking about our race day exploits and the years that have gone by since we first met. Chris is starting a new job half-the-world away. Someday he will surely return to the island for a visit - and a run. I hope I am here to join him or, if not here, then someplace else where we get to run a race together.

The runner who ran across Death Valley - twice

While on vacation at the end of last year I came across a new running book by Scott Jurek, the famed US ultramarathon man who appeared in Christopher McDougall's 'Born to Run' bestseller. It was a great read, and I so I have posted my thoughts on the book, in the form of a review, here:

BOOK REVIEW: 'EAT & RUN' By Scott Jurek and Steve Friedman

Some runners do 5K races, others attempt half-marathons and marathons, but there is another breed of runner who go further much further.

How much more?

Six-and-a-half full marathons, back to back, in a single day. That’s what ultrarunner Scott Jurek did, running a staggering 165 miles in 24 hours to set a US record. And if you’ve ever wondered what it takes to run 135 miles across Death Valley in tempartures that don’t drop below 100F even in the middle of the night, then Jurek would be a good person to ask. He’s done it twice. Jurek is one of the world’s best known ultra-runners, due in a large part to his appearance in the best-selling 2009 running book ‘Born to Run’.

But he had made a name for himself long before his ‘Born to Run’ fame, being an established champion in the ultra-marathon scene and regarded as the best in the US. That in turn led to an invitation to pit himself against the long distance prowess of the legendary Tarahumara Indians of Mexico’s Copper Canyon, as chronicled in Christopher McDougall’s ‘Born to Run’.

Jurek has now written his own book about his unlikely path to ultrarunning greatness. In ‘Eat & Run’ he traces his route from his youth, where he originally competed as a skier, to his emergence as one of the greatest ultra-distance runners of the 1990s and 2000s.

“I ran, and kept running, because I had learned that once you started something you didn’t quit, because in life, much like in an ultra-marathon, you have to keep pressing forward,” writes Jurek.

The 135-mile race across California’s Death Valley, the Badwater UltraMarathon, has been labelled ‘the world’s toughest foot race’. When Jurek took up the challenge in 2005 he was already a darling of ultra distance running. But even his impressive string of victories in 100-mile races across mountains and canyons had not tested him to the limit the way Death Valley would.

Jurek’s experience in the Badwater race is a major hook for ‘Eat & Run’, however there is much more. It traces the Minnesota-born runner’s life in fascinating detail, from his childhood troubles to his immersion into the oft overlooked world of ultrarunning and his celebrated races with the Tarahumaru runners and beyond.

Along the way Jurek became a committed vegan. The ‘eat’ in the book’s title refers to the vegan recipes that tail each chapter. Throughout the book Jurek often refers to the meals, and how he discovered them and used them as a competitor.

‘Eat & Run’ is a fascinating read that moves along quickly and reveals what makes an ultra-runner tick, and what drives them to keep running far beyond the limits of most others.

It also contains many tips for runners, whatever their standard, interested in learning how to improve style and form, how to run faster and longer, and how to stay healthy — whether they want to become vegans or not.

Jurek and his co-writer Steve Friedman have done a fine job in making ‘Eat & Run’ an easy to read, compelling page-turner that is likely to appeal to seasoned runners, beginners and even non-runners.

Farewell, Neil Armstrong

Neil Armstrong, the first man on the moon, died at the weekend aged 82. He was the Columbus of our time.

During the weekend I also finished reading the biography of George Mackay Brown. Inspired by the creativity of expression he achieved through his writing - even in letters to friends - I applied some of that to this epitaph to Neil Armstrong:

The night galleon sails through the darkness and gazes upon Earth's gardens, sighing, no longer able to see the gentle ambassador who was the first to visit.

There is magic in the way Mackay Brown weaved and juxtaposed words and images to create vivid, memorable imagery and moods.

From the biography I take many things, not just the fascinating tale of the poet-writer's life in the remote Orkney islands but also his methods and the way he set his working schedule whereby he would write for a given time each day (three or four hours after breakfast in the morning). His words were shaped and immersed in the surroundings he loved, treasured and rarely left. Also, when he was not writing, he would read regularly.

I shall apply these lessons to my own writing as I polish up, and complete, Dolphin Girl.

Today is also a special day, being the 32nd anniversary of my first recorded training run in 1980. Beneath the blazing August sun I ran along the trailway by the aquamarine and turquoise waters of the north shore, flushing countless buckeye butterflies from the grassy path near Bailey's Bay as I sweated out six miles in the 30C (85F) heat.

Running is both exercise and thinking time when I often explore story ideas, dreaming up plots and dialogue. My mind now is on Dolphin Girl.