Pining for the Adriatic

The last episode of this little blog was just a bit depressing, too much went wrong after so much promise, but then that typifies not just Masters Athletics (mine particularly), but also Athletics in general. You can train your boll socks off, but life has a way of saying "Ha Ha! Gotcha!", just to see how you cope and respond. Well after fu messing up the BMAF Championships, I tried to set about re-conditioning anything that seemed a bit weak, which turned out to be most of me really. Whenever I needed a prod in the right direction or to get me working out again, I only had to look as far as my good friends and mentors Glyn Sutton and John Howe. Between us we've suffered just about every disaster in the book, from injuries to no-heighting in major championships (We're all vaulters), but still we come back for more. Glyn is now the M70 60m World record holder, multi-championship medallist etc, and John has numerous UK Masters and European medals in his locker.

Taking my lead from those above, the weights built up and the fitness started to grow. Yes, with a certain inevitability, I opened the Bowmore Original to accompany the Oban, The Glenfiddich, The Strathilsa and the Dallas Dhu, not to mention the Nikka cask strength and Baille Nicol Jarvie blends, in support of the new tough training regime. I have to say the Bowmore's peaty sweetness, with a hint of butterscotch was an inspiring drink that I took to like an alcoholic, the finish is gorgeous with more lip smacking peat. It usually helps to set goals and targets, so having missed Ancona and being unable to circulate the globe to Perth due to possessing two expensive daughters in addition to my lovely wife and credit cards, I had to set my sights elsewhere. So, over a small glass of Bowmore I made my plans to go to Arhus, Denmark in 2017.

The Europeans in Ancona should have been infinitely "do-able", for a start a very good friend mine has a useful brother who owns a villa in no other spot than Ancona, making accommodation rather simple. Most of my friends had entered, meaning the parties would have been brilliant. As it was I had plenty to celebrate, Glyn Sutton took two golds in the M70 sprints also collecting a World Record in the 60m resulting in a large glass of Oban, followed by another when I discovered Glyn Price had won the M50 pole vault.  I can only guess how he celebrated this himself as he professes not to remember how he did the same in Ghent four years ago - and that was just the bronze. Pat Logan also did the M55 sprint double with my friend Paul Guest picking up a surprise bronze in the 200m, another glass of Oban for that then - oh, OK two then, thank you Paul. I also enjoyed a couple of glasses toasting Jane Horder and Caroline Powell's medals, well done ladies! If I missed someone, sorry, but I blame the drink.

Essential training kit

The injury that prevented entry to Ancona now supplemented by the BMAF pulled calf (Gastrocnemius) now found itself joined by yet another pull, this time in the Soleus. How was this spectacular situation arrived at? Training? No, I'm not THAT stupid, but a fair guess going by my previous record. No I have added to my woes by walking between vantage points around the Cardiff World Half Marathon course, cheering on my brave wife who had foolishly entered the race. The race was on our wedding anniversary so I had to put up with only drinking champagne by way of treatment instead of my beloved single malts, it didn't work but I enjoyed trying as far as I can remember.

The championships ended and the competitors gave the appearance of wending their weary ways home. Don't you believe it ! Having turned me green with envy with them posting their photos of the competition, the various medal ceremonies and a new tradition of posting photo finish pictures, all on Facebook, I then had to suffer the dubious pleasure of watching my friends disperse around the Mediterranean enjoying the sun and sea and whatever whilst I sat watching the Welsh weather tear the freeview aerial off the side of the house through the torrential rain. As entertaining as local flooding might be, it's no assistance to the rehabilitation of a double calf strain, so it was off to my trusty physio once more, and further use of the Scottish pain killers as I began planning going to Arhus.