Does runner Rockin' Robin use twitter?

PICTURE this. We’re five miles into the Swindon Half Marathon being buffeted by winds along the Ridgeway which sits high overlooking the town. Holding aloft a sprightly banner, I’m pacing a chatty bunch of runners at 10 minutes a mile, chasing a fancy-dressed robin.

We’ve had Rockin’ Robin, the Swindon Town mascot, in our sights since he passed us at the two mile mark. As we made our way up the stiff climb that is Badbury Hill, the motley crew chimed in with an assortment of inane cheap bird jokes;

“What do you give a sick robin? Paratweetamol.”

“What do you call a bunch of robins playing hide and seek? Fowl play”.

“What do you call a very rude Robin? A mockingbird!”

“When is the best time to buy a budgie? When it’s cheep!”

with suggestions of putting robin’s picture on Twitter?”!!!

Eventually we caught up with Rockin’ Robin who was struggling a little. In fact he was sweating like a weightwatcher in a cream cake shop, beads of sweat running down his forehead, as he clutched his mascot head with one hand. “I ran a marathon in this costume recently and lost almost a couple of stone,” he told me. “Today is really, really tough. I am so hot.”

We chatted for a while. I took the mascot’s head while he fed himself with a bottle of water. The lining of Rockin’ Robin’s thick, hairy costume was something else. You’ve really got to be fit to run in that outfit, and sure enough he finished the course. Respect!

As we ran into the village of Liddington, which always has a great turn out of spectators, he quickly put back on his head and played to the crowd waving and offering high fives as we took the hairpin bend and ran back towards Swindon.

Impressively, Rockin’ Robin finished just behind our pacing group, as fellow pacer Mike Affleck and myself crossed the line in 2 hours, 10 minutes and 17 seconds – 17 seconds over our target finish time, which wasn’t too bad. It was a privilege to take part and enjoy a very different way of running a race – a bit pressurised at times with one eye on the Garmin pacing watch to make sure we kept on schedule even up the excruciatingly steep hills.

This was the fourth year I have run the Swindon Half Marathon which is, without doubt, one of the best organised and friendliest race around. Girlfriend Alison helped out on the baggage area along with several Swindon councillors and volunteers who seemed to have a great time amidst a sea of bananas, water and chocolate!

The race is a carnival and celebration, albeit a tough hilly half marathon. For me it was great to see so many runners wearing their new sky blue Shin Splints running tops. This is the running group which I have helped to mentor over the past couple of years, who meet every Saturday morning at The Sun Inn and on a Wednesday evening as part of a 22 week training programme to build towards running the magic half. 

It’s more than just a running group, but a social group too with no airs or graces, simply a spirit of encouragement and positivity and now the Swindon half is over, they will continue to meet throughout the winter.

Many of those who belong to Shin Splints are newbies; people who used to run but stopped, those who see running a vehicle to improve their health and reduce weight, and those who see Shin Splints as kick-starting something new in their life.

Shin Splints is all about confidence-building so that from running for just a couple of minutes without stopping, you’re soon running a couple of miles non-stop and beyond. Beyond to 13 miles.

It’s the speedies at the front who take the headlines, but the biggest achievement of all was among some of the folks running with me at 10 minutes a mile and those who finished further behind.

I’ve never run a half marathon as slow in my life, and it’s hard to be on your feet for 140 minutes. But for these runners, the achievement of running a half marathon is palpable. Thirteen miles is a major milestone for some who have not enjoyed this sort of exercise since school. A year ago, one Shin Splint told me the last time she had this much exercise was when she gave birth.

For everyone, running is about achievement in your zone. For some of the finishers, it is the achievement of simply finishing, for others it is a personal best or more.

I ran with one elderly guy and as we passed the nine mile mark in 90 minutes he recalled somewhat despondently that years ago he would have finished the half marathon. I said to him that running is about what you achieve now, and not in the past. As we set get older, we set fresh goals.

“Tell me this” I asked. “How many of your friends or family could run a half marathon right now?” “None,” he replied. “Absolutely none of them.”

“That,” I said. “Is the achievement, and as long as you are running every day you are achieving your goals and achieving something new.”

I had a fabulous weekend in Wiltshire. Thank you Swindon!

Make sure you're wearing the right underpants when running!

                          Gary checks uses a rudimentary sundial to find the nearest toilet

HOME is where the heart is, and last weekend, with the sun beating down glazing the calm waters of the Solent, I couldn't have been happier than running along the clifftops by the sea.

For the past seven years, I've lived something of a Nomadic lifestyle. In fact, during that time I have moved no fewer than 10 times between various parts of Hampshire, Wiltshire and Dorset.

It's amazing how much crud you collect with those moves. How you trail around cack which has some sentimental value, which you don't want to throw away, but which you know will be tucked away in a darkened wardrobe never to see the light of day again – my collection of Michael Jackson LPs, torn football shirts, and 35-year-old newspaper scrapbooks charting the times when Notts Country were tosh.....and still are.

But finally, I've come back home to the south coast having moved into a new home in Titchfield, an historic village lying half way between Portsmouth and Southampton. It's close to my boys, I'm living there will my newly adopted family, and, quite crucially, I'm back running along the farm tracks, remote woodland, and coastal paths with decorate this beautiful part of Hampshire.

In terms of beauty and majesty, it probably can't compare with the serenity of running say in the Lake District, the Peak District and other remote outcrops of the UK, but for me there is a reassuring comfort and warmth about striding over this remote backyard that is home.

Memories flood back of some great runs, and also the horrendous sessions in driving rain and snow. Last weekend, my fiancee Alison joined me on her bike for a 10-mile run out from home, down a narrow winding road to the haven, and then across the cliff tops along the Solent and up the River Hamble – a mixture of grassy paths, road and beach shingle – before reaching Warsash and tacking back to Titchfield.

Then the following day I went out for a six-mile amble with long-time running partner Gary. We're been plodding around the south coast countryside for a decade now, our routes tempered by Gary's weak bowels and need to find a toilet along the way! On Sunday, his stomach was feeling decidely dodgy having grabbed a coffee before coming out to run, and discovered a mouldy biscuit plastered to the bottom of his mug.

We had to stop a couple of times as Gary felt queasy and began retching on route, but managed to make our way to the finish with a final assault up West Hill, an horrendous climb passed chocolate box cottages in the heart of Titchfield.

I've often thought when running alone about the implications of suffering a major injury or worse while running rurally. Not that the paths around the south coast are remote since they are well trodden by dog walkers, cyclists and horse riders.

However, it was interesting to read the story this week of acclaimed fell runner, Bill Smith who was found dead in a peat bog in Saddle Fell. Police believe his body may have been there for three weeks after the 75-year-old, who was a member of Clayton-le-Moors Harriers for nearly 40 years, became trapped.

Bill was a legendary character among the fell running community and became well known for his 1986 books called “Studmarks On The Summit – a history of amateur fell racing 1861-1983.” What a horrible end for Bill, who travelled by public transport to races and was known as a true gentleman of the sport.

For me, I wouldn't mind Old Father Time coming to collect me while out on a run – as long as it was quick and I'd remembered to wear the right underpants!