Heading north today today for a South Pole boot camp. We’re driving to Skye in the LandRover. Skye sadly probably won’t be as sunny as last time I was there. But I’m excited about it anyway. I love these training sessions. We tend to do stuff like this:

and this

and this

and this

as well as plenty of this

and this

But there’s also time for curry and good laughs.

There doesn’t often seem to be much of this though:

We’ve now recruited Martin Hartley to the team which should make things a little more gentle and sane. Or maybe not:

Good times ahead.

Related posts:

1. Why do you ride?
2. Microadventure Reading List
3. No fridge required. The travails of the modern travel writer

Imagine this: it is dawn and completely silent. The only person you can see is a man in a reed coracle casting his fishing net. As it hits the water the net breaks the mirror-smooth reflection of sunrise’s glowing pink clouds. You are far from the nearest town, a long way from anywhere, on the banks of the sacred Kaveri River in southern India.

Or imagine this: it is noon and noisy. Your crampons crunch as they grip the cold glacier. A bitter wind bites your face and you turn your back on it, hunkering deeper into your mountain jacket. You stare down the ice cap, far down to the magnificent desolation of Iceland’s highland plateau. Nobody on Earth knows where you are.

And finally: it’s dark and you’re feeling the pleasure of solitude and self-sufficient isolation. But you are not alone. Far from it. You watch a streaming torrent of headlights rushing past, a never-ending flow of red and white lights streaking through the night. Once again nobody knows where you are, but this time you wouldn’t take much finding: you’re walking alongside the M25 just miles from central London.

Walking is not cool. It’s not sexy or hardcore. It’s what old people do, people with big beards, trousers tucked into socks, slurping from a thermos of tea. And yet walking has led me to some of the most remote, beautiful, exciting, challenging and unusual places I have ever been to. Some very cool places indeed. I have walked across India from coast to coast. I followed the Kaveri River from the mouth in Tamil Nadu up to its source -a holy temple- high in the Western Ghats and then continued down to a deserted palm beach on the coast of northern Kerala.

On another occasion I walked halfway across Iceland, lugging equipment and a month’s food in a 40kg pack. From the cold northern coast I climbed high into the centre of the country, up and over a remote glacier, and on to the source of the Pjorsa, Iceland’s longest river. I could not have reached that spot by road: only walking can get you to the heart of a wilderness. I stopped walking at that point for in my bag I carried a packraft, a small inflatable raft that I used to negotiate the river downstream to the country’s southern coast.

And I also walked a lap of the M25. Yes, the M25. The road to hell that encircles London. I walked a lap of it to test my hypothesis that you can find adventure everywhere, so long as you are willing to look for it, push yourself and travel with curiosity and an open mind. I walked for 12 hours a day, cross-country, through January snows, camping wild beneath a plastic tarpaulin. What unfolded was an extremely interesting, arduous experience. I call these little trips microadventures: adventures deliberately and provocatively small and mundane designed to illustrate that you don’t need a lot of time, money or expensive equipment to set yourself a difficult, rewarding challenge.

There are three aspects I enjoy about walking: it is slow, it is simple, and it is miserable. Slow is good. Slowing down from the frantic busy-ness of our daily lives. Recalibrating our minds to think that 10 or 20 miles covered in a whole day is a decent effort, and more satisfying than just a quick twenty minute car ride. Walking is the speed that most humans moved for most of the history of mankind. It is the pace of Roman Legionnaires. Last year I walked a good chunk of the Fosse Way, Britain’s longest Roman Road, purely as an excuse to draw a straight line between two arbitrary points and go out to discover what lay along that line.

I like pain and a bit of suffering too, though I fully acknowledge that most people do not. Persevering despite sore feet and aching shoulders is very rewarding. But you can always walk at your own pace and to your own drum: you don’t need any skill or expertise and you compete only against yourself and the path before you.

Simplicity is what I like most about walking. My trek across India was a treasured adventure that will remain in my memory for ever. Yet it cost just £500, of which £300 was spent on the plane ticket. I travelled only with hand luggage, carrying two sets of clothes, a thin sleeping bag and a camera in an old rucksack I’ve had since school. That’s all you need. There really are no excuses or inhibiting factors in going for a walk.

Perseverance, patience and a pair of good hiking boots can get you to any spot on the planet. Don’t dismiss walking merely as slow and boring. Your feet can carry you to extraordinarily remote and beautiful places, such as the glacier I crossed in Iceland having walked there from the coast. Staring down into black crevasses, terrifying to contemplate was definitely not boring walking.

The final aspect of walking I will advocate is how easy it is to get started. A 30 minute walk round the park at lunch time won’t burn as many calories as a 30 minute run, but it burns a lot more than no exercise at all does. You can do it in your work clothes. It clears your head, helps you relax, unwind and make plans. A few more 30 minute walks and you can step it up, little by little, until you’re ready to take on challenges like the women’s Cancer Moonwalk marathon, the Oxfam 60 mile Trailwalker, or whatever challenge you’re inspired to attempt. The longest journey starts with a single step, runs the old proverb. With walking this is quite literally true and there is no excuse or barrier not to begin today.

This piece originally featured in Healthy For Men magazine.

Related posts:

1. Walking home for Christmas
2. Walking the Amazon – book review
3. Try Travelling With A One Way Ticket

How to Train for an Ultramarathon (or a Marathon or a Fun Run).

I usually shirk from “how to” posts, particularly when I am not an expert. But I had a conversation recently with a fit, young guy who had run a marathon (in a respectable 4 hours) but was ridiculously awestruck that I had run the famous Marathon des Sables ultramarathon. I tried to persuade him that anyone who can finish a marathon can step up to an ultramarathon (swap, if you like, the words ‘marathon / ultramarathon’ with ‘half marathon / marathon’ or ‘5k fun run / half marathon’).

I ran the London marathon a couple of years ago in a time of 2 hours 58 minutes. I was really pleased with this. I had trained well and the race day went to plan too. If I ran it again I could probably lop a few minutes off my time, but I don’t really feel the need to do it again. I made my 3 hour target and I ran pretty much to my full genetic potential.

Unusually for me I did a lot of research into training methods, diet and so on prior to my marathon. I distilled what worked for me here. For a good summary of cheap, effective race nutrition click here. In terms of training for a marathon you need to get good at three things:

1. Running fast
2. Running far
3. Running far, fast

You can probably add two more helpful categories:

1. Remaining injury free and supple: stretching, yoga, pilates. Definitely all very helpful, but I can never be bothered with any of them
2. Learning to suffer. Being fit is easy. It’s being hard that’s hard.

When I decided to run a sub 3-hour marathon the prospect seemed daunting. The mistake in my thinking was one I am for ever banging on about on this blog: looking at the end result, not the first tiny little step I needed to move me in the right direction. All you actually need to do is put on your trainers and go for a run.

But that is easier said than done: once the initial enthusiasm of training has worn off the only way I can keep training is by having a schedule to stick to. I printed one from the internet and stuck to it religiously. It is the only way I can stop myself believing my own excuses on those dark, cold, rainy mornings, turning over for an extra snooze, and then despising my feebleness for the rest of the day.

My training schedule was roughly the same each week, though the duration and the intensity of the sessions increased steadily. You need to do three basic types of run.

1. A slow run, two or three times a week, of gradually increasing mileage. Speed doesn’t matter: it’s about getting miles in your legs and growing accustomed to spending a long time running.
2. Once or twice a week is speed work: hill-reps (yuk), intervals round the track (yuk), bleep tests (yuk) etc.
3. Once a week is a long, fast run, building up towards being able to do long distances at your race pace. This is the most important part of marathon training and the least important for ultras.

And that’s it. Repeat all this for a few months (with a blend of increasing distances and judicious resting) and you’ll nail a marathon.

So what about the enthusiastic but doubtful fellow I met at the start of this blog? He has already run his marathon. How can he turn that into his first ultramarathon?
Putting it very simply, all that is required is more of the same. You need more mental determination to train for a longer period of time. Your long runs will build up to being longer, and I would suggest doing longish runs on consecutive days, which is not traditional in normal marathon training. Speed work is less important than long hours on your feet.

Weekends yomping through the hills carrying a heavy rucksack will be invaluable- for building strength and endurance and toughening your feet, but also for teaching you to suffer, to persevere, and not only to survive but also to thrive when you are tired, hurting and miserable. For you should not underestimate the pain factor.
During one ultra my team-mate, who should remain nameless (Andy) had such terrible chafing between his buttocks that he was in agony. The only remedy we could think of involved him squashing a banana to puree and shoving it up his bum! Desperate measures for desperate times. Do not underestimate either the power of comedy. I was also having a tough time until my nameless mate (Andy) was forced to shove a banana up his bum. I laughed till I cried and my pains were temporarily forgotten.

And that’s about it. Train long and slow, get decent shoes fitted, stretch more often than you can be bothered to stretch, be prepared to suffer, and find a way to laugh about it. If you can do that you can do the Marathon des Sables.

Related posts:

1. 12
2. New training programme
3. Marathon des Sables race report

This year is my year of British microadventures. A year of seeking out challenges, new places and new experiences in my own country. In order to try to encourage a wider span of people to sample a microadventure for themselves, I am going to cover a range of different types of microadventure. I’m kicking off with adventures that are ready-organised for they are the simplest to commit to, get a flavour of, and perhaps be tempted to try a bigger and bolder adventure next time.

The first category of microadventure for this year is to enter a race. Races are excellent because they cater for every capability. Everyone on Earth can push themselves to their very limits in a race, whether it be a 5km run in the local park, the London marathon, or a 24 hour mountain bike race. Don’t think you have to enter a race in order to win: I’ve never won a race in my life! Enter for fun and for a challenge.

The Strathpuffer (a 24 hour winter mountain bike race in northern Scotland) is a race that illustrates this well. I entered the Quads division, which is the least taxing as you share the burden with three team mates, alternating laps throughout. If that is too easy you enter as a Pair. And if you are well hard you enter as a Single, looping round and round without stopping for 24 hours. But even that is too easy for some people. A mad minority rode the Strathpuffer on singlespeed bikes (bikes without gears) and are the daftest of the daft!

Here’s a brief account of my time riding the “Puffer”:

“50% icy terror, 50% fun,” was how I described my first lap of the Strathpuffer.

My final lap felt more like 10% fun (for zooming downhill on a bike is always fun) and 90% exhaustion. After a day and a night the novelty of the 7 mile loop had worn off somewhat.

As the hours and laps and riders passed a good deal of the ice had been scuffed from the trail. So mud replaced ice. Night replaced day. After 15 hours of night riding, day once again replaced night. And as the clock ticked over to 24 hours and the race ended, the waves of weariness were replaced by a warm feeling of satisfaction, an enormous appetite, and a yearning for my bed.

The Strathpuffer had everything that I look for in an endurance race: it is tough, it’s a bit daft, it’s in a beautiful landscape, and the organisers and competitors are all friendly.

In between laps I drank tea, ate voraciously, and compared horror stories of icy crashes and muddy punctures with other riders. Music from the PA system kept spirits high throughout: the race began to Springsteen’s “No Retreat, No Surrender” (followed by the equally apt “A little less conversation, a little more action, please”). In the evening a live band (The Mystic Shoes) kept muddy legs tapping and stopped heavy eyelids from slipping closed.

The route began with a long climb up a track slick with ice. After 20 minutes of constant climbing, slipping and crashing I hated the course. A skeleton wearing a bike helmet and perched on a rusty bike looked on as I cursed the leaden skies. But the rest of the course compensated for the harsh winter conditions. There were stretches of technical rock slab to negotiate, a steep muddy singletrack slalom through gorse bushes, and a long exhilarating swoop down through a forest which provoked whoops of delight from me even at three in the morning. Or perhaps I should say “especially” at three in the morning.

For I was acutely conscious, in those long, dark night-time hours, of the absurdity of what we were all doing. Hundreds of mud-caked idiots riding as hard as they could round and round in circles while the rest of the world were enjoying their Saturday night and then their Sunday morning lie-ins. I was wet, cold, hungry, muddy, sleepy, bruised and a bit scared as I rode hard downhill, focussed on the pool of light from my headlamp picking out the patch of track ahead of me. And yet there was nowhere I would rather have been.

I encourage you to enter a small event as you will find it friendly and non-intimidating, even as a complete novice.

Rather than entering a normal marathon or half-marathon have a go at something a bit different for once. A vital part of the microadventure ethos is trying something different.

Enter a cross-country race, or a mountain bike race, or an adventure race. They are held all over the country (here are 10 Great Races to start you off). Low-key, gently eccentric events that will push you as hard as you wish to be pushed, taking place in beautiful parts of the country that you may never have visited before, and for a pretty reasonable price. The Strathpuffer cost £45. Divide this by 24 and you get your fun for under £2 per hour! So go on: sign up for a race today.

Don’t be intimidated – have a go. You may surprise yourself.

Related posts:

1. Video: 24 hour Winter Mountain Bike Race
2. Mountain Microadventure Video
3. Patagonian Expedition Race

Whenever I slump towards laziness, when my training’s lacklustre, or I sense I’m becoming less ambitious and more accepting of mediocrity, I turn to Mark Twight. His caustic writing is not to everyone’s taste. But it’s certainly a good, honest wake-up call.

Mark trained the actors for the film “300″. I haven’t seen it and it doesn’t matter if you have or not. All you need to know is that his gym trained the actors. And the actors have received a barrage of criticism that their muscles were all CGI, make-up, steroids, etc. Mark is clearly annoyed that no one has said, “those guys worked really hard and had the self-discipline to control what they put into their mouths.” Here he goes on a rant which I loved. I couldn’t care less about body-building, but much of this applies to whatever you want to do in life. It’s about doing things well, honestly, and without cheating yourself…

The guy who earns my scorn is the ass who tries to disguise his drooping belly with a baggy t-shirt and pushes his chest out whenever a girl walks by because he has convinced himself he’s “not like the rest.” He’s the guy who offers free advice about training just because he’s one step ahead of the poor guy who has to listen. And the most annoying pricks are the ones who say, “I’ve tried to get that ripped (muscular, lean, fit, fast, whatever) and I can’t do it so it’s impossible that anyone else can do it without chemicals.” Those who aren’t the real thing always find an excuse for their failings when confronted by the real thing. Or they cast the accomplishments of anyone further up the food chain as having been achieved by cheating.

Even in the small world of mountain climbing a few guys were convinced that their betters were using EPO, “because there’s no way they could be that much faster than me.” Ski mountaineering racing is the same. Cycling is the same; the best guy in the country goes to an international level race, finishes below the 50th percentile and before checking into his own training/diet/recovery/stress-management/genetics/etc the ego goes into self-preservation overdrive and imagines all sorts of doping practices to be responsible. This is a natural consequence of having been told from childhood, “you are a unique snowflake.”

Well you’re not and I’m not. If you weren’t given the gift you can’t get the gift so the best you can do – if your goal is important – is work as hard as you possibly can, pay attention every hour of every day and then maybe, maybe if you’ve done enough and been smart enough you’ll emerge from the muck of mediocrity to shine a bit brighter than you shone before. Then, upon reflection you might decide your goal is a bit more important so you’ll start paying attention every minute of every hour of every day. You’ll find people who are better than you and you’ll take an empty cup when you meet them. Their example will destroy or inspire you and if it’s the latter you may stay and learn. You might imitate, doing as they do because you’ve already accepted that you do not know best – if you did you’d be leading the group they were trying to join. Perhaps being exposed to their superior ability will drive you to work harder than you thought possible, or necessary. Maybe you’ll overcome your self-imposed (or worse, society-imposed) limitations and shine even more brightly. Wow, you’re getting it: positive reinforcement for hard work and suffering. So maybe you give your goal even more significance and you begin cutting away the ideas and the expectations and the people who you believe prevent you from achieving it. Now you become a real selfish prick, and you begin paying attention every second of every minute of every hour of every day, and you sustain your awareness for weeks and months at a time. You no longer think yourself a unique snowflake, you’re a steel-edged blade shaped like a snowflake and you’re spinning at warp speed. You’re the biggest fish in the pond. You’re a badass. Now you have options.

1) If you think you haven’t yet done enough, and you could do more, you might begin to understand that, the more capable you become, the higher the mountain rises ahead of you. At that moment you may recognize the existence of a legitimately serious group, ahead of you, above you, somewhere you’re not. They are silent, implacable, constantly improving and evolving and because they are truly capable they are accessible to those who are genuine. Among them there’s no defensiveness, no posturing or pretending, and they aren’t interested in anyone else’s. Selection for such a group isn’t based on physical performance alone. Issues of character and commitment, and discipline and persistence balance physical talent. Because you clawed your way out of the muck, were “up all night, dedicated” and maintained interest for long enough to differentiate yourself from the short-attention-span sporting dilettantes who commonly brush up against this group they might accept you as an apprentice. If you empty your cup your chances are better. If you redouble your efforts your odds improve again.

2) If however, you think you’ve done enough or you decide you have “arrived” then you’ll stay in the small pond and stagnate. And when the rot is complete you’ll be just a little bit better than those around you – your initial example will have driven them to reach higher levels of performance – and there you’ll sit, an intellectually bloated, pontificating fuck who once had the juice to work hard but having done so feels entitled to coast on past success all the way to the grave. That’s when you’ll start offering opinions based on the certainty of your own short-lived, amateur experience.

3) And if that limited practice has convinced you anyone better than you is so because of drugs or because they won the genetic lottery or they have better equipment, you may be right. But it’s a lot more likely they are better than you precisely because of your cop-out opinion, because you are lazy, or confused about the meaning of hard work and diet control. Maybe you think self-discipline means drinking two beers instead of six. Maybe you think (OTC) supplements can end-run a bad diet and inadequate recovery. Maybe you think 3×8 of something, anything, is the apogee of training theory. Or maybe you think intelligent training means competing in the gym or on an Internet forum where people are as fit and capable and talented as they anonymously pretend to be. Maybe you read about a workout, do it, think it was easy and exclaim that anyone who found it hard is not as good as you. Well wake up, everyone is a geek to someone and maybe the “300″ workout you found easy has been done with more weight, or faster, or with longer range-of-motion. Maybe that named workout doesn’t matter. Maybe the person you compare yourself to doesn’t share your definition of fitness, or happiness or health. Perhaps his or her objective is altogether different. Perhaps, an honest self-assessment would reveal all of your pretense and blind obedience to a particular ideal. Maybe you need self-destruction to lead to self-creation, or reinvention.

How many of you know where you want to go? And where you are now? And how to get from here to there? How many will start on the path, but fail? How many will settle for less? The answer to these questions, based on “your own experiences (and common sense)” is that very few know, and very many will settle for less.

Are you even curious?

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