Monday, 28 March 2011

A surprise weekend playing in the Lake District

I was too late applying for the Lakeland 100 lecture and reconnoitre weekend; it was fully booked. However, Marc Laithwaite emailed me on Friday to say a few places had become available and did I still want to go? Well, yes, but I didn't have any accommodation for Saturday night. Google searches returned the expected responses - either no vacancies or a minimum of two nights. Then I found Late Rooms. The Glen Rothay Hotel in Rydal, two miles up the road towards Grasmere, had a vacancy, and they were happy to offer Saturday night only. I applied and waited for the email confirmation on Friday evening. It came, so I went. To make the weekend really worthwhile I had searched the FRA races calendar for something to keep me out of mischief before the 4pm lecture on nutrition for ultra runners at the Mountain Rescue Team base in Ambleside.

Sat 26/03/2011. Causey Pike fell race. 4.2 miles + 1,793 feet of ascent (according to Tracklogs)

I set off early for some retail therapy at Lakes Runner in Ambleside before continuing on to Keswick then round the other side of Derwent Water to Stair in the Newlands Valley. Causey Pike, whose summit knob we would soon be clawing our way up, loomed and intimidated.

Check-in at village hall, £3 entry fee paid, check the required kit (cagoule and whistle) and I was ready. I exchanged 'How dos' with Wendy Dodds, fellow Hardmoors 55 finisher from last weekend. (Wendy must be another one who needs her weekly fix.) A few comments were received about me being a rare sight on these short, sharp, steep outings. Perhaps so, but I do indulge myself sometimes when the opportunity presents itself and I always have a blast.

As I waited for the 2pm start I wandered up the lane a short way for a gander. I elected as usual not to wear myself out unnecessarily by running like others more keen and fit than I were doing. My energy is too precious; I have to save it for the real thing and not squander it frivolously.

I lurked towards the back of the pack in the field for the start. I did not hear the start command when the throng started to move forward. (The starter gun must have had a silencer on it.) I managed to overtake a few on the uphill lane but as soon as we hit the fell it was single file with everybody walking, since it was far too steep to do anything else. Our first target was Rowling End. It soon became a hands-and-feet job, so steep was the terrain. It was more efficient to climb on all fours. For a change I did not need to carry water bottles, so my hands were free for quadruped perambulation. I was held back to about 90% of max effort, so I had a few seconds of energy burst in reserve for an overtake or two whenever the terrain eased and an overtaking place appeared.

A minor descent via a col (Sleet Hause) took us to the final climb and scramble up the rocky knob of Causey Pike. I had managed to overtake quite a few on the climb to the summit. I very nearly stopped at the summit to admire the view and take pictures, but the urgency of this 'little 4.5-miler' convinced me otherwise and I launched myself forwards down the rocky ridge before veering right down the STEEP, flagged, grassy descent. Now I was left wanting. Someone I had chased and caught at the summit was suddenly disappearing down the hillside as I 'minced' my way down, not wanting to lose control and accelerate to oblivion. A couple more descenders overtook me. Then we hit the rocky track that would take us most of the way back down to Stair. I was red-lining and could not let myself go as I wanted. My jellifying legs were at risk of losing control over the rocks and my strong sense of self preservation held me back. A few more runners overetook me, one of them tripping and sliding to a halt on his belly in a cloud of dust. He jumped back up and carried on.

We veered right off the track, steeply down the fell to a stream crossing. I ran down, on the verge of losing control, crossed, climbed the other bank, getting overtaken a bit more on the final descent to the road and left turn back to the finishing field in 50:48, a panting wreck for the next 30 seconds. That effort earned me 95th out of 148. I probably lost more places on the descent than I gained on the climb. What a blast, though. I should do more of these. We enjoyed perfect conditions - dry, mild and sunny.

Before and after pictures are here. Stuart Stoddart ('Stu Stod') also happened to be there, having just finished his own extended outing on the fells as he builds back up from injury. He took an excellent crop of pictures, seen here. The ones that show the front-of-pack runners on the return leg with Causey Pike in the background really capture the ascent we experienced.

I drove back to Rydal to check in to the Glen Rothay. The decor may be decidedly 'Rigsby' (call it quaint, charming and charged with historic intrigue) but the welcome and hospitality cannot be faulted. I was late for the 4pm lecture in Ambleside, so I wasted no time in setting off on the 2-mile walk along the coffin route to Ambleside. The lecture was interesting (confirming what I have found out for myself), well attended and finished late. A plate of chips and gravy in the local chippy saw me right for the torchlit walk back to the hotel, where I enjoyed a half of locally produced Mothbag. It went down a treat.

Sun 27/03/2011. Ambleside to Coniston L100 reconnoitre. 15 miles.

I drove to Coniston to catch the organised bus back to 'Checkpoint 12' at Lakes Runner. Compared to the last L100 reconnoitres I did 2 years ago, the care and attention to detail of the organisers was impressive. There was a roll call and everyone would be monitored to the end. Furthermore there would be checkpoints offering refreshments (CP13 at Chapel Stile and CP14 at Tilberthwaite). This is in contrast to the 'fend-for-yourself led walks' of two years ago. Informal chats with the organisers put me in high hopes for the best Lakeland 50 and 100 ever in 2011, with best ever support. I'm almost looking forward to it now ;-)

We set off if warm March sunshine. I found myself running with Tom (another fellow Hardmoors 55 finisher from last week) in the no-pressure walk/jog of the final 15 miles of the Lakeland 100. I wanted to get this final stage (which took me 7 hours to complete in the event last year) fixed in my mind to give me every possible mental advantage in my final hours of torture in July 2011. Our easy pace took us 3.5 hours. That says a lot for the suffer fest of the real event. I took a few pictures along the way.

I returned home via Ambleside for another bout of retail therapy at Lakes Runner and refuelling in Bilbo's Cafe. I may have spent a mint of money over the weekend but I needed some decent lightweight kit for serious events like L100 and UTMB to replace the heavyweight clobber I've been using for years. "All the gear but no idea"? I hope not.

What a weekend that was. I compare the Lake District to California in that it's an outdoor playground filled with sports enthusiasts and shops and cafes that cater to them. The big difference is that the Lake District is more serious, needing more care and responsibility for survival. The weekend's exertions have left my leg muscles feeling satisfyingly traumatised. It's that 'good' pain that you know is making you stronger.

Wednesday, 23 March 2011

Hardmoors 55; 54 miles with 8,200' of ascent. 19/03/2011.

Race 2 of 12 in the 2011 Runfurther series.

Finally I got to run this race this year after injuries saved me from the vile weather of last year on the inaugural running of the event. Trying a brand new event for me would add spice to my schedule. I had been responsible with my food and drink of late, I had been running to work, I was back down to my racing weight of 10 Stone from the first ever high of 10.5 Stone and I was quite raring to go. I drove over to Guisborough on Friday afternoon in beautiful sunshine with crystal clear blue skies, the pyramidal Roseberry Topping drawing me to my destination. In stark contrast to last year, a good weekend was forecast.

I had half an hour to spare before checking in at The Fox Inn so I walked an out-and-back to reconnoitre the final leg along the disused railway line to the finish at Guisborough RUFC, braving the groups of teenagers with their 2-litre bottles of White Lightning. They were quiet and no trouble, but it was still early and there was time yet. After checking where the bus pick-up would be to take us to the start in Helmsley the next morning, it was check-in time round the corner back at the pub, followed by fish and chips from the parlour next door. The landlady offered for me to eat in the pub, on a plate with knife and fork. I was impressed by such friendly hospitality. (The pub didn’t serve food in the evenings, which may explain it.) I thanked her by ordering a pot of tea to wash it down. It was the perfect pre-race fuelling as used on many occasions before The Fellsman and various other Ultras.

As I stuffed my face, Julien Pansiot, another Hardmoors runner, checked in. I would have liked to have chatted for longer but I needed to go upstairs to sort my stuff out and read my Tracklogs maps and route description before getting an early night. As I did so the first warning blast was felt, which lasted perhaps 5 seconds. The bedroom vibrated and hummed violently, followed by animated human utterances from below. No, I hadn’t farted (though I have been known to indulge in such activity on occasion, but not this violently.) I had observed big loudspeakers and big amplifiers being carted into the pub when I arrived. There would be a ‘disco’ tonight. I felt a great sense of foreboding. I received another blast of nightclub proportions, then another; just testing, obviously. My head was on the pillow and I was beginning to doze when the onslaught proper finally commenced at 20:30, then followed three hours of vibratory massage as I listened to the bass playing tunes in the room, each note vibrating a different area or item. The clothes hangers were particularly excited. I had to avoid putting my ear on the mattress to avoid deafening myself. However I did find myself smiling at the prospect of feeling the quality tunes earlier on when I heard them start, especially The Proclaimers’ ‘walk song’, but it all too soon degenerated into the inane thump-thump-thump trash which usually involves auto-tuning ‘vocoders’ and brainwashing you with a 10-second sample for 10 minutes.

Everything suddenly went quiet at 23:30, after which I got a good 5 hours’ sleep. I trust they have an in-house structural engineer to check the integrity of the building every weekend. They did not give advance warning of the disco. Now I know why they asked for full payment upon arrival. If you want an early night in Guisborough, steer clear of The Fox Inn, since night club and sleep don’t go.

The bus left from the cricket club around the corner at 06:45 to take us to Helmsley football club for registration, kit check and the start. After last year’s hypothermia-inducing conditions, the compulsory kit list was strict this year, good forecast or not. We soaked up the warm morning sunshine outside the pavilion as we waited for the 09:00 start. Race organiser Jon Steel had a lot on his plate and would need the full support of his helpers, since he was running in the race as well.

After announcements we were sent on our way a few minutes late to join the Cleveland Way to Guisborough. The faster runners would set off half an hour later at 09:30. It soon became very warm in the sunshine as we settled into our respective rhythms. I don’t know how the runners with full leg cover, long sleeves and head cover coped. I would have been walking or else I would have been on my back with heat exhaustion. I was already hot in just shorts and T-shirt.

The Cleveland Way rolled through green and picturesque countryside before emerging at the T-junction at Sutton Bank. The expansive 180-degree views from the escarpment were spectacular. Here we turned left on the out-and-back to Checkpoint 1 (9.1 miles) near the White Horse. As we ran, gliding club to the left and big drop to the right, we got to see some of the faster runners on the return leg.

The long escarpment run back from CP1 took us past the T-junction where we came in and past Gormire Lake way below to the left. Not long afterwards the first 09:30 runner came gliding past effortlessly – none other than Jim Mann [he who smashed the Winter Bob Graham Round record just 19 days earlier with a 20:39 finish (previous record was 22:08). He even had to run some of the night section solo]. We joined the Hambleton Road (track) which eventually brought us past Black Hambleton and onto the finishing miles of the Osmotherley Phoenix. The moors were less green than I am used to in July, but it was good to be running a familiar route without having to bother about navigation.

As always, we found ourselves swapping back and forth with other runners as we each experienced our relative highs and lows. I had run with Garry Scott and David Rayson for a while, then I overtook Shirley Colquhoun again on the technical descent towards Osmotherley. I recall doing exactly the same last year as we neared the end of the Osmotherley Phoenix. However this time there was still a long way to go and it would not be long before she would retake her rightful place ahead of me for good.

The route to Checkpoint 2 (22.1 miles) at Osmotherley did not have too many climbs and descents, which may have led me into a false sense of security. The village hall checkpoint was the location for our first drop bags, which were necessary in view of the minimalist runners-not-walkers-type support. I was surprised to see Chris Webb sitting down in the hall, since he’s a lot faster than I am. A sore knee made him retire to avoid doing unnecessary damage before something far more important in a couple of months’ time – a Bob Graham Round.

It felt cold as I left the village hall but I knew I would soon be hot. A couple of minutes was all it took. Cloud had already rolled in to mostly hide the sun, so it was not as hot as it could have been now. The route continued along the familiar Osmotherley Phoenix route. It felt strange to be slogging over familiar ground in such a tired state when I have only ever before run it energetically at the beginning of the event. As a result I took in more scenery and failed to recognise some of it because I have always had my head down, getting on with the job of running at this point. My slower pace also made it seem much further. After Green Bank the easy low level route familiar to the Phoenix was strictly out of bounds. We would take the steep, up-and-down high level route with three stiff climbs via Cringle Moor and Wain Stones. I had always wanted to see what this route was like but I would never elect to take a tougher route choice than necessary on the Phoenix. Now was my chance. It was tough. Some minor rock climbing was needed on the final assault of Wain Stones (CP4, 29.2 miles).

The water refill after Wain Stones was down at the road crossing and it was almost empty. I know I’m slower than most but I was not at the back of the pack. Luckily I needed hardly any, but I pitied the runners behind me. It would have been a 20+ mile leg without water, which is simply not on.

The climb up Urra Moor, still on the familiar Phoenix route, seemed weird compared to what I am accustomed to. I was alone and seemed to have the moor to myself from horizon to horizon. The day was coming to an end and shadows were lengthening. It was in stark contrast to the bright summer sunshine and line of runners I usually see around these parts. On that section, David, who seemed to have much more energy to spare at that stage, caught up with me again. We followed the ancient relics (boundary stones, engraved signpost monolith, etc.) to the self-clip at Bloworth Crossing (CP6, 36.4 miles), where we finally departed the Phoenix route with a sharp left turn towards Roseberry Topping.

Roseberry Topping had been tormenting us all day as our route along the Cleveland Way meandered randomly towards it. In the early hours it always looked conical. Now from a different angle it looked like a ramp with steep drop-off. (Apparently the collapsed face was caused by over-mining.) It has its unique signature, just like Ingleborough and Shutlingsloe.

At this point, my attempt at running was just about keeping up with David’s walking. As soon as the track eased downhill, he started to run and was soon disappearing (see picture above for proof). I had slowed seriously even though I had been eating and drinking (including Coke). I took out more food and ate and drank as others caught up and overtook, then proceeded to shuffle my way down towards Kildale.

There was still daylight left as I arrived at Checkpoint 7 (42.3 miles) at Kildale Village Hall. Our second drop bag was here and I needed mine. Although this was ‘only’ a 55-miler I treated this checkpoint as if I were doing a Hundred. My feet were getting sore and I needed to change my socks (a very good move). I needed decent food, tea and electrolyte. I took my time to take care of business, put a long-sleeved top on (only after removing the short-sleeved top otherwise I would have overheated) and get my head torch on. While I faffed, Garry arrived to say he never thought he’d be seeing me again. The world’s full of surprises, Garry. People slow down. I’m particularly good at it.

Garry and I left at the same time, by which point it was completely dark to reveal a magnificent full moonrise – a big hazy orange orb shining through horizontal streaks of high cloud. Without pre-planning, we teamed up for the final 12 miles to the finish. What a good move that turned out to be; ultra-runners’ camaraderie to the fore. Garry knew the route like the back of his hand so I did not have to worry about this most difficult of navigational stages in the dark. I just put all my efforts into running, as did Garry. He said that he would not be doing so much running if I was not there running too. We made the perfect team for a hopefully speedy final 12 miles.

The climb up to Roseberry Topping just reminded me of a Longmynd Hike scenario, where we were presented with a looming dark mass against the night sky with a head torch light at the top (belonging to the marshal) which we had to climb towards. We passed other runners picking their way gingerly down the roughly stone-flagged trail as we climbed to the summit (CP8, 46.8 miles) for a bit of a chin-wag with the marshal. When it was our turn to return back down the path we realised why the other runners had been taking it so carefully as Garry slipped and sat down too rapidly for comfort. Quite understandably the air may have taken on a blue tint but it was too dark to see it. Some more near misses were had before we got back to the bottom. As we descended we could hear the voices of following runners drifting across the moor in the calm cool night air. (Isn’t it strange how the breeze always drops after sundown?)

Our route took us up to Highcliff Nab, where we paused for a few seconds to take in the lights of Guisborough down below. Garry pointed out the bright white floodlight that stood out among the others. “That’s our destination at the rugby club.” Wow. I felt a rush of excitement. My fuelling was doing its job and I was eager to get going. We wasted no more time; we set off to run the final 4.5 miles to the finish. We weaved our way through Guisborough Woods along all the right tracks thanks to Garry’s faultless navigation. We glimpsed three lights ahead through the trees. We soon caught up. They were making steady progress but we were moving much quicker. After exchanging pleasantries we left them standing. I wouldn’t wish to gloat but this doesn’t often happen to me, so I did allow myself a mild bout of smugness. As we hit the farm track for the left turn downhill we caught another couple of runners, who kindly reminded us to self-clip at the checkpoint, which was in the wrong place. It should have been half a mile down the track where we would turn left onto the disused railway line. (Many runners missed that clip, but thankfully Jon did the right thing and disregarded it. No-one was disqualified as a result.)

After profuse thanks for reminding us, Garry and I, perhaps with a mild pang of guilt after their good deed, overtook the pair of runners, but this time we did not leave them standing. They were running as well and were holding their own. We ran as fast as our tired bodies could sustain along the final flat 1+ mile along the railway bed. I glanced sideways every so often to see how close the lights were in my peripheral vision. They were never far behind but they did not seem to be getting any closer. The extra effort was making me hot again. We passed over the road bridge and turned right down the steps to the rugby club, to a 12:41 finish and a very satisfied feeling for a job well done. Looking at the results we had a very fast final 7 miles after Roseberry Topping, making up half an hour on other runners’ times with similar paces. Thanks for your navigation Garry. What a team!

Free leg massages were given by students afterwards in the club house as part of their “hands on” (literally) experience for their professional course. It was well received. I had a long chat at the finish with Jim Mann, who was hobbling very stiffly. His recent massive efforts had left his legs crying for mercy on Hardmoors, resulting in a dramatic slowing down in the later stages. Even so he still managed to finish 4th with a time of 8:57. The winning time was 8:44 (Dan Shrimpton). I don’t know how they do it. They are so made differently to me. Jim’s Winter Bob Graham report is here (scroll down a bit for the link). It makes impressive reading.

Many thanks to Jonathan Steele and helpers for a brilliant new Ultra experience on a brilliant day. All the pictures are here.

That's 2 down, 10 to go (in the Runfurther series).

I returned late to the pub to sleep in my 'night club' bedroom. You guessed it, the onslaught was at full strength again. This time it stopped at half past midnight, by which time I was just about ready to retire, so not too bad.

Monday, 14 March 2011

Wuthering Hike; 32 miles with 5,380' of ascent. 12/03/2011.

Race 1 of 12 in the 2011 Runfurther series.

Runfurther Karen.

Finally it’s arrived and I’m in at the beginning once again. The new Runfurther season has begun, and didn’t it just show. All the competitive racing snakes and old favourites emerged from the woodwork, converging from near and far to create a big, competitive gathering, ensuring I took my rightful place in the bottom half of the finishing field. Duncan Harris won for the men in a phenomenal 4:05:32, while Aly Raw did it for the women in an equally phenomenal 4:48:02. Yours truly got round in an apparently more leisurely 6:19:47, but in practice it was anything but leisurely. I probably pushed as hard as the winners. I gave it my all, as always, to finish 21 minutes slower than in 2009. Still, I'm now into my second week of running to work (like I had already been doing in 2009), so things can only get better.

After all that effort I heard on the grapevine that Duncan raced off down to London (not on foot, you’ll understand) to party the night away. Phew!

The weather was kind to us as the conga line snaked its way along the Bronte Way, over Bronte Bridge and up towards Withins, by which time the field had thinned out. The 32 miles continued with the familiarly testing up-and-down slog through bog and trail in Bronte and Calderdale country. A lot of recent work was evident on the Widdop Reservoir dam – landscaping, a nice new 'carpet' and access ramp to the bottom. It was good to see the wind farm at Long Causeway doing good business, with only one turbine feathered and out of action this time.

Organiser Brett and his willing helpers did us proud at the checkpoints. Boxes of broken biscuits, big hot dogs and doughnuts formed some of the offerings. Even the Sportsunday photographer left a tin of treats for us. Top man.

As we left checkpoint 4 scoffing our hot dogs I chatted with a couple of lads who were running the race in the flimsiest of plimsolls, without socks – effectively barefoot running with the most rudimentary protection. They did slide across the mud rather easily (sideways) and they both finished. Hats off to them.

I heard a couple of days later that there was strong liquor at the Mankinholes checkpoint. If only I'd known I might have climbed up to Stoodley Pike a lot more energetically and even finished with a PB.
Steep climb from Todmorden towards Mankinholes.

It was great to be back in the thick of it (not that I ever left really, just thicker than of late if you catch my drift). Bring on next week and the Hardmoors 55.

That's 1 down, 11 to go (in the Runfurther series).

Here are all the pictures.

Monday, 7 March 2011

Trollers Trot; 25 miles with 3,000' of ascent. 05/03/2011.

In March 2010 I marshalled at Trollers Trot for a change while hobbling around on a recently broken foot. I was already looking forward to returning in 2011 as a runner again when long-standing organiser extraordinaire, John Sparshatt, announced in the school hall that he was retiring from event organisation. A round of well-deserved applause went up to thank him for all those years of pleasure he allowed us on his events. Nonetheless, most of us probably returned home with a very sad feeling over our loss.

Many months later, rumours and news began to filter through that a new organiser had stepped in to keep ‘Trollers’ going. I wasted no time in entering. Then business travel reared its head again. I would be in China and South Korea in the week leading up to it. My 24-hour return journey back through the nine-hour time shift would get me home in time for 5 hours of sleep before a 4am rise on Saturday to travel up to Threshfield. Excellent, I would not be denied my weekly pleasure after all.

New organiser Liam Dunne and his marshals brought a fresh young outlook to the event. At registration, more runners than ever before filled the hall. The route would be waymarked for easy navigation of runners who were pushing the limits to the point of brain frazzle, while the checkpoints offered minimal food to complete the new feeling of a true runners’ event. ‘Trollers’ used to be an LDWA event for walkers with a few runners tagging along. Now the situation seems to be reversed, which shows how popular trail running has become. I hope the walkers don’t feel too marginalised. Hopefully they feel the same as I do, thankful that the event is still on.

After a 5-minute delay for announcements (“no short-cutting”, etc.), we were off. It is no surprise that I did not feel race fit; the only thing racing was my heart, as usual. (A sedentary week with insufficient sleep, where the only exercise is walking to the next aircraft, train or taxi, does nothing for race fitness.) I settled into the familiar economical jog / shuffle / walk to keep the heart rate at 170bpm or below so that I could finish feeling human and be able to drive home afterwards. I got overtaken most of the way round as I ‘ran’. I paused every so often to take pictures and grab a few seconds rest. Somehow I enjoyed the change from the usual pushing every second without let-up. Accepting the situation and easing off the self-imposed pressure just a little when I know I cannot 'perform' keeps it enjoyable. The positive outcome is more views taken in and more photographs to reflect on.

The familiar route took us over three main climbs: Threshfield and Boss Moors, Sun Moor Hill and Rylstone Fell, and finally from Skyreholme up to New Road (near Trollers Gill) then Appletreewick Pasture. The cold wind really made itself felt on Rylstone Fell, so on went the gloves. On the descent from the second climb past the Barden Reservoirs we had the surprise of passing two Sportsunday photographers (another hint that this is a runners' event now). I thought they could have been a bit more imaginative and spread themselves out a bit better instead of standing 100 yards apart on the same track to take the same pictures with the same backdrop. Another surprise came at Skyreholme in the form of a pair of Camelids (camel-like creatures, the ones that spit) in a field. I only know of llamas but they may have been something else. From the final high point came a long, gentle descent to the River Wharfe for the right turn and 4-mile slog back to Threshfield via The Suspension Bridge. I didn't trust myself on the stepping stones.

The waymark arrows were a novelty. Navigation without map or route description was never a problem. As it was my 6th time it wouldn’t have been a problem anyway. The arrows also reinforced the need to take the full, official route, which comes out to exactly 25 miles as advertised. To attempt any short cut meant ignoring the arrows and would be 'taking the wii'. Without map and other paraphernalia (the weather was dry and the forecast was good) I had been able to travel light, with emergency rations (essential as it turned out), an extra layer, gloves, Buff and camera stuffed into the back pockets of my ‘bones’. I rolled into the finish in 4:30, which was bang on target for the best I could have hoped for. Not only that, the only walking I did after the New Road checkpoint was across the bouncy suspension footbridge. I had pushed just enough but not too much. I felt human and content.

The lack of food out on the course was corrected by a jacket potato and tasty dollop of chilli back at the school. Jason Dean of Movement Wisdom was giving post-race leg massages, sweat pouring, while identifying and discussing with great enthusiasm the possible causes of any injuries and niggles that we may be suffering. Muscle strength imbalance -> asymmetry -> poor running technique -> injury. I have a pronounced muscle weakness in my left hip I never knew I had. I also have a right knee tendon inflammation I definitely knew I had. The two may go hand in hand. To prevent the problem continuing / reoccurring, treat the cause (strengthen the weak muscle), not the effect only (the part that’s hurting). What a wealth of information that man is. If I lived in Leeds, that’s where I’d be going for my biomechanical advice and therapy. He earned a generous donation.