Cambodia Diaries - 25 September 2008

The Berlin Airlift Begins

Well, as ever, many thanks to all of you who have already donated and are ‘about to do so’ at www.justgiving.com/jhberlin these are difficult times and so it is all very much appreciated.

I left PP basking in a balmy 91° and returned to Heathrow to find it every bit as cold, bleak and miserable as you had all been telling me it would be.  Upon exiting terminal 3 I ran straight into the taxi of my trusty cabbie, Mustapha, and without a hello my first words back in the UK were: ‘Whack that heat up I’m freezing!”

Having given my Mum the customary tinkle en route to announce my impending arrival, I was greeted firstly with a comment along the lines of ‘blimey there’s nothing of you’ and then to be handed what was billed as a bacon sarnie on the menu but what was actually, a pig between two bread vans!  Suffice it to say, Mother H has continued to dish out the portions at such a rate, that I have managed to put weight back on.

The first two days were spent duvetside, not to overcome jetlag, but to keep warm before going out on my last big training run a couple of days after arriving. As is now my want, I was out pounding the streets at 4.30am with a mere 15 miles in front of me.

Now, I am English, born of Irish parents and I have lived in Manchester on off for the last 15 years and so I like to think I know a thing or two about rain.  I have been ever so lucky in the Cambodian rainy season and only one of my morning runs was affected by rain. I returned home one night to find Sweet Cucumber Street flooded half way up my shins and so that weekend’s run was moved from the Saturday to the Sunday.  But thankfully, not once on any of my PP runs has there been a mischievous cloud my side of the Mekong Delta to worry about.

So what a surprise to find half a mile into my final run, already kitted out like the Michelin man to beat the cold, it started to rain with that fine stuff that just soaks you to the bone and before long, I was wet through.   

Because of a lack of accurate street ordinance in PP, I have been running on a schedule of 11 minute miles and so with 15 miles ahead of me, I was hoping to finish in a time around 2 hours 45 minutes.  Too much either side of that and I would either have been under or over training. 

The cold and rain aside, my part of London though not as hilly as Rome or Sheffield, certainly has it’s moments of undulation and a bloody big hill along my route, which I have to get up and down three times.  All of which conspired to make it a truly bloody awful morning of running for me and I would go as far as to say that if I didn’t have to run, I would have gone straight back home to bed and forgotten about it all, so miserable and depressing an experience it was proving to be.

Anyway, notwithstanding all the actual and perceived horrors of the day, I got to 15 miles in 2 hours 52 minutes and all things considered, 7 minutes over my target time was a tremendous effort in the circumstances and one that by the end of the day, I was quite satisfied with.

I was however, totally shattered and arguably more so then when running in the heat and humidity of PP.  After a gentle walk home, stretch and soak in the customary cold bath, followed by a hot one, I returned to some semblance of normality.  However, the legs have been sore ever since and luckily, the weeks before a marathon you ‘taper down’ which is handy because I have only been able to run once since then on the Saturday just gone (20th Sept) and despite being a mere 5 miles, my legs have yet to return to a state that would be described as painless and they remain sore and stiff.

Now there is an almost psychosomatic angle to all of this, the nearer one gets to the off, the more one is convinced that the most minor of ailments is in fact something more terminal.  And so I took myself off to my latest physio for some GBH in the guise of running repairs to find that the Matt in Manchester was booked and the small but perfectly brutal Caroline was on holiday and so I was directed to a Patrick to sort things out.

Since seeking relief through the power of massage with the mysterious French woman by Lake Atitlan in Guatemala in 2002, an array of nationalities have performed on me and nearly all have left me with the distinct feeling that the line between ‘massage’ and ‘assault’ is a thin one.  Patrick it transpired is French and like his countrywoman six years earlier, I glided out of the place relaxed and soothed by his prognosis offered with a simple Gallic shrug, ‘Yeah, Sunday, no problem for you’.      

The rest of the Team are all getting in a similar tizzy as we enter a period of intense email activity between ourselves and the specter of bold time predictions have resurfaced and running groups are being mooted as well.  I myself avoid any such targets on the basis that when I run it’s not a question of ‘if’ I will get injured during the race, but rather ‘when’ exactly that little delight will befall me.  Usually somewhere about 14 miles in, I start to get little cries from all corners of the body and then the fun really starts and so the key for me is always to have my game plan and stick to it rigidly…which of course, I invariably don’t. 

I know it might seem incredible, but my latest problem is with my thumbs!! Due to that camp-C3PO style that I run in, my right thumb in particular comes in for all sorts of punishment.  Crazy I know, but it’s a legacy of a cricket injury from my youth and so I am going to tape my hands up like a boxer to stop the thumbs flopping around all over the place.  But all things considered, training has gone unbelievably well and some more hot soaks and plenty of rest we should be just fine for Sunday.   

Now in these times of credit crunch and retailers seeming to be offering all sorts of deals to get you to buy, I feel obliged to do the same and offer some real value, as if I am not already.  Depending on how I feel when I get back to PP, my plan is to run the Angkor Wat half-marathon in December and you will be pleased to hear that I have ‘encouraged’ several others in PP to do the same as well.  Whilst I will take a sensible view after I return from Berlin, I think we all know that what I am really saying is that my 2008 running year which started in Liverpool will conclude in Siem Reap.  However, looking at it long term, assuming all goes well on Sunday, Berlin will be my fourth of the five ‘World Marathons’ and that means the last one on the list is NYC next year.

November 8, 2009 is already in my sights as the day when I will not so much as bow to the inevitable, but retire gracefully at the top of my game as an international athlete.  So as many have enquired and just as Eve tempted Adam back in the day, if there are any takers for a bloody Big Apple next year, then feel free to contact me in due course and before I contact you.  

Well I am flying out on Thursday, the rest will be flying in over the course of the next few days and I am looking forward to it all immensely.  It’s been a glorious summer on the winning of medals front for British athletes and I trust we’ll all be returning with more bling and a galaxy of celebs, politicians and minor royals to meet us at Heathrow next week.  We have all put in a lot of time, work and effort into this and all we need to do now is get on with it and all return in one piece for a few cold ones in the Prater Biergarten 6pm local time on Sunday. 

I would like to extend my appreciation and admiration to the rest of the Team and wish them much success and enjoyment from the day.  We are having a little competition amongst ourselves to add some spice and the Team will divide into three groups; QPR, The Crown Heaton Moor athletics club and the Rest of the World.  It’s been a tough call for me, but I’m in the World team. I’m not sure if the main sports broadcasters around the world will be featuring this struggle for the Team Runny Honney Cup, but if you’re at a loose end on Sunday, then the ever efficient Germans have a weblink and if you click on to www.UniversalSports.com from 9am Berlin time, you never know what you may find.  Alternatively, tap on to the official race website at www.real-berlin-marathon.com and jiggle about a bit to find the list of runners, tap in 13,577 and you’ll see what I am up to.        

As ever, many thanks again for all the donations, support, kind words and suggestions that I would be better advised to have someone look at my head as opposed to my legs.  

Finally, the list of supporters also includes the Nobel Prize winner Reverend Tutu no less.  He is a patron of the Cambodia Trust and he kindly wrote to us all extending his best wishes.  As anyone who got a proper degree in the 1980’s knows how we all took great delight in ‘our Desmonds’ back then, I took equal delight upon receiving my latest Desmond from the great man.  

See you from the other side of the wall.

Auf wierdersehen.

Cheers

JH