Windmill Hill. Definitely A Name Of Two Halves!

Hello.

Bailey here.

It seems it has been a while since old 'Captain Speedy' there has penned anything on here. He would tell you he's been far too busy and hasn't got the time these days. Yeah right. That story is a double bagger at least!

Anyway, I thought it was about time you heard my side of our sorry story. It ain't easy living with 'Baldilocks and The Three Hairs' there as I'm sure you can imagine. So, here goes with one of the many 'lowlights' from our canicross year. An outtake. Only in our lives they are very much the norm rather than the exception.

Let's take our first Brutal race for example. Windmill Hill. The more observant among you will note that there's a clue in the title as to the type of terrain that was involved in this race. And no, I do NOT mean we had to practice running around windmills.

Or hills either apparently.

Nope. Up until then, anything steeper or longer than the incline of a drop kerb was to be avoided altogether. Or at best walked up, with him gasping and wheezing like an old set of bagpipes that are on the receiving end of the unwanted advances of an octopus.

We did most of our training on terrain that would make a billiard table look like the alps! It's like training to go on a diet by eating a whole gateaux.

So, we turn up for the race. It's February and a little chilly. Now I am a fairly thin coated chap, but despite this, I don't really mind the cold. Old chunky there though starts to put on layer after layer of clothing. I have heard him talk of chest high water crossings to come in this race. As long as they aren't any deeper. My running buddy there has the swimming abilities of a tangled octopus.

Mind you, anyone running through the water after us, not that there will be that many, need not worry. With the amount of layers 'Viscount Vileda' there has got on, he will absorb all water immediately on contact!

So, the race gets under way, and as usual it isn't long before we are pretty near the back despite my best efforts. And as we come out of some trees into a small clearing, the ground suddenly goes vertical. I look up at it in awe.

Wow, what a hill!

A very small voice from behind me gasps.

"You are (insert expletive of choice here, but I'd recommend a very strong one) kidding me!"

My admiration for the piece of geography in front of me turns to concern. We are only about half way through this race, and I am without a doubt going to be dragging a corpse around the second half of it if we even attempt to go up this!

We arrive at the bottom of the hill, take about 6 steps up it and come to a dead stop. Thinking that the line has got snagged, I turn around to see 'Edmund Hillary' there face down in the dirt. Now call me old fashioned, but I thought that the idea of a race was to get around the course as fast as you can. Or at the very least show some signs of movement.

"Aaaaaany sign of movement at all back there big fella?"

"A thumbs up will do!"

"Speak to me dammit!"

"Hello?"

Nothing.

I am perched precariously about 6 foot up what is admittedly a rather steep hill, attached to the carcass of my soon to be dead, stiff, but otherwise not much worse smelling than usual ex running partner.

Thinking the worse, I am about to go into emergency resuscitation mode, when it finally begins to show signs of movement. An arm reaches out, has a feel about and eventually finds a tree route above and to the left of him. Then the other one goes high and to the right to grab a tuft of grass. A foot then extends and scrambles before finding a proper foot hold.  the other leg extends and finds purchase on another root. It's head then raises and to look for further anchor points above it. Finding none, it swears profusely before letting it's head drop into the dirt again.

We stay like this for some considerable time.

From behind us, a proper runner from the group that started 10 minutes after us heads towards us. He eyes the sight before him, barely disguising his amusement.

"Are you OK there?" The proper runner asks, with barely a gasp OR a slowing in his pace.

"Yeah fine thanks" it lies through a mouthful of dirt.

"Really? Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yeah great, honestly. You carry on!"

"If you're sure then" says the proper, surefooted runner and sprints off up the hill.

At this point, I decide to lie down too, and put my head between my paws, mortified with embarrassment.

To the point that my fur is starting to curl.

I'm turning into a Labradoodle with the shame!

I lift my head and turn around and take in the scene. Bless him. He looks like he's doing an impression of a little starfish there, with his arms and legs spread out the way that they are. I also notice the bungee line caught around his leg and riding a little too high for comfort up his leg for his own well being.

The bungee line!

Now dear reader, I am not a vengeful puppy. Not in the least. But as more and more runners run past us, either laughing, smirking or completely ignoring us, an evil plot of revenge begins to form in my cute, beige head.

All I need a bit of cooperation from some of local wildlife, and the perfect crime can be committed.

I look about for some form of wildlife. A squirrel. A bird. A passing deer would be absolutely perfect right now. Anything that will give me a legitimate reason to run, and in one violent tug of the bungee, resolve our little furniture 'dry humping' antics.

My search for wildlife now becomes more frantic as there are signs that 'Sergeant Surefoot' behind me is attempting some form of forward motion.

A fly. Ant. A leaf blowing in the breeze. ANYTHING!

Nothing.

I consider just going for it and pleading guilty on the grounds of diminished responsibility at my trial, when it finally manages to haul it's bulk up from the ground, untangle the bungee line and slowly ascend the hill.

Very.

Very.

Very.

Slowly.

What follows is several minutes of taking a couple of steps, sliding back a step, swearing, taking another couple of steps, pausing to admire the view, more sliding back and so on. All the time this is going on, other runners are trotting past us with barely a stumble, slip or profanity.

Eventually, the hill begins to level out, and the speed of our forward motion accelerates from glacier like to that of a heavily salted slug. Only more messy.

And do you know what?

Despite the amount of sightseeing time we had, we never saw one windmill on the whole flippin' race!

Lots Of Licks

Bailey.

Tuffman 2013. Our First Race. And Almost Our Last...........

As we pulled up in the car park, the temperature gauge in the car was blinking 0 degrees.

It was lying

It was at least minus 20 out there. With a wind that couldn't be bothered to go round you. It went straight through you instead.

We had arrived at Tuffman. My very first canicross race. Ever. And I had decided to run it with 2 dogs.

Mrs B gives me the look she has used so many times in the last few weeks. The one that says "You are gonna come a cropper".

Me, I was just excited. OK, and maybe a little bit scared.

Others arrive, canicrossers amongst them. They recognise me, despite the fact I had decided to go incognito today, and had left my sink plunger hat and tiger onesie at home.

They made me feel very welcome, and we spent a good while chatting and shivering in the Siberian conditions.

As start time nears, we get the kit ready, and get myself into my many layers. This includes putting a head camera on, to capture our adventure. Our gentle trot out on a nippy Saturday morning. How civilised!

Our dogs, already excited at the sight of other dogs and strange people, now go into hyper excitement as they see the harnesses, and are really starting to get quite lively.

Putting the harnesses on the dogs is like trying to nail jelly to a wall. They wriggle and jump around as I play hook the dog with the harness.

All hooked up, I unhook them from the car and they leap out, heading towards the nearest dog they can find, with me in hot pursuit.

We get to the start line with a few minutes to spare, and I hover at the back, trying to keep a lines length from anybody else. My dogs are going crazy. Barking, jumping up, tying me up in knots and generally doing everything to get me to let them go.

It's about now that it starts to dawn on me that this might not be the 'gentle start' to a canicross event that I had envisaged.

The dogless runners start their race, and I watch them go. I note the start is a longish, downhill section.

A little bit of pooh comes out.

I can't help it. I'm in a hole so damn deep, there isn't a digger in the world that's big enough to get me out of this! I've only been doing this about 5 or 6 weeks! This is only my second run with both the dogs together!

EVER!!!!!!

Oh dear.........! (Actually, some slightly less savoury words go through my mind, but I'm too polite to repeat them on here).

As the other dogs head towards the start, I hang back. I turn the camera on. Another lady runs up alongside us and introduces herself and her dog and asks how I'm feeling.

"Excited" I lie.

"1 Minute" The starter announces.

I distract myself by attempting to calm the dogs down. Pointless. They are having the time of their lives already here. And they are.......lively! I am leaning back at a 45 degree angle trying to keep the little blighters from making a jump start here!

The horn goes off. I release the dogs.

"Go!"

I swear, name any formula one driver, put him in the best formula one car next to us, and he would NEVER have left that start line as quickly as we did.

We go from a standing start to about light speed in the blink of an eye.

"Easy!!!!!" I call to the dogs.

Nothing.

"EEEEEEAAAAAASSSSSYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!"

Nope. This isn't how we practiced it. This isn't how we practiced it at all! Over our local park, on our own the dogs trotted along, pulling firmly but gently. Bailey even looks over his shoulder when we are on our own, to check for directions.

The little sod ain't looking over his shoulder now, that's for sure!

Ooooohhhhh no! My bungee line is just over 2 metres at full stretch according to the website I bought it from.

Right now, I beg to differ. You would get very small change out of 5 metres I reckon.

Freddie, my 7 year old collie, the one I was keen to get to take things easy, has other ideas. He's clearly been watching Hussain Bolt during the Olympics, and is in full flight. Even Bailey is struggling to keep up with him.

As for me, I am a picture of wide eyed terror, arms flailing in all directions, legs a blur as we go careering down this hill at waaaaaaayyy beyond my top speed!

"EEEEEEAAAAASSSSSYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"Freddie, EASY" I appeal to the dog whom I think will pay more attention to me.

"I'm sorry, Freddie's ears are not available to take your screamed messages right now. Please leave a message, and he'll ignore that as well".

As we continue to hurtle down the hill, we are overtaking everybody. I mean everybody. Dogs and runners part as we scream by them. If I had thought about it, I would have smiled smugly and nodded as we ran past them, a look of "Check out how quick we are!" "See you at the finish line suckers!"

But right now, it is taking everything I have just to stay upright.

We are rapidly approaching barrier that we have to pass to the left of to turn at the bottom of the hill. and we are too far right. If we turn left too late, we are going straight through this barrier, and will be medium sliced as we come out the other side of it.

"LEEEEEEFFFFFFFTTTTTTTT!!!!!" I yell.

I know that it's largely down to the fact that everyone else is turning left, and nothing to do with my calm and timely directions to my dogs that they make the turn, and I follow, broadside behind them.

The ground levels out at this point, and the dogs settle to a slightly more manageable speed. Still waaaaay too fast for my liking, but now only moderately terrifying, as opposed to 'underwear soilingly' so.

We continue into a wooded trail area, and the we hit another downhill section. Only this is worse. This is muddy, slippery and bumpy. And there are trees.

The dogs pick up speed.

The downhill gets steeper.

And muddier.

The dogs accelerate to stupid miles an hour.

And I am scared.

"WOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH........EASYEASYEASYEASYEASY......."

Absolutely no response from the engine room whatsoever. I consider a Star Trek Scottie type of "She canee tek noo muuurrrr cap'n. She's gannee blow any second!"

I have got to get us slowed down. We are going way too fast here. I am seconds away from a face plant here, and at this speed, it's going to be a tooth and bowel loosener for sure.

Several trees flash by us on my right. I am now sliding, more than running down this hill that is getting ever steeper so it seems.

Then I spot her ahead. A picture of beauty. A tall slim specimen of loveliness. She. Is. Gorgeous. I want to wrap my arms around her and never let go.

I have fallen in love with a tree up ahead. I decide we have got to stop, and I simply have to chat her up.

I am going to hug that tree!

My right hand extends, and I make a grab for her.

Got her!

The right side of my body slows.

The left side.......doesn't.

Uh oh!

This ain't gonna end well!

It doesn't.

My body spins, and I lose my grip on my new found love, as she slaps my hand away in disgust.

I go down like a felled tree. Straight onto my back, where I slide for what feels like a good few feet, helped by both gravity and the dogs pulling.

I hear a voice from behind me shout "Man down!"

The camera catches it all.

I am sure that many of you have seen the footage already. For those that haven't. I have the clip here.

You can see that I actually get up very quickly. I have suffered a trampling from Bailey in the past, as he rushes to check that I am OK. I am not about to suffer the same fate by the pair of them! And people have seen me fall. As much as I want to curl up in a ball and cry, my dignity won't let me. I leap up.

"Are you OK?"

"Yep, absolutely fine". I stop myself from saying "I meant to do it actually".

After double checking that I really am fine, the nice lady runs on ahead, and we continue at a much slower pace.

It seems that the dogs have at last got the message, and have slowed.

It occurs to me that we have done a lot of downhill stuff so far. And pretty soon we start to climb. The dogs choose this moment to get 'tired' and stop pulling.

Oh, NOW you choose to slow down!

I am reduced to a slower and slower running pace, and eventually I walk.

I probably should have done some more hill training.

And so the run continues. A real mix of road, hard trail, mud very narrow paths and trees.

Other highlights from the run include -

• Slipping again, going down very briefly on one knee (proposing the tree I fell in love with perhaps?)
• Suddenly discovering a ramp in the path which a stunt motorcycle rider would use to jump double decker buses.........OK, maybe a slight exaggeration. I realise it is a ramp when the dogs jump over it. No time to slow them down. I launch off this thing at a fair old pace and for a brief moment, I am treading air. I land heavily on my feet, my knees buckling but I just manage to stay upright.
• Running waaaaaay to close to a river for comfort, with at least one of my dogs that absolutely loves water. He looks longingly at it several times. Luckily, Freddie is not so keen on water, otherwise I would have been regretting not taking my water wings.
• Briefly taking a separate path to the dogs (I took the correct path of course!) My path went up, theirs didn't. They had to clamber up a steep bank to get back on track.
• Hugging another tree where the path was very narrow and very close to the water at one point so as not to get dragged in.

As the run continues, I see some yellow signs ahead.

CAUTION STEEP HILL

As we pass this sign another one reads

CHICKEN RUN

It points to an alternative, less steep route. I am sorely tempted to take the chicken run, but there may be people watching.

I stop the dogs completely.

"There is NO way we are running down this one boys!"

This isn't so much a hill, as a cliff. A parachute would have been more appropriate.

I ease the dogs forward. If they decide to take off now, it is game over for sure.

Luckily, they take it very easy down the hill. Well, three quarters of it at least. They suddenly accelerate as we near the bottom.

"EEEEEEAAAAASSSSSSYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!"

I swear they look at each other & laugh!

Further on, we stop a couple of times for a poop. I'll not bother to clarify it was for the dogs. You've already made up your minds, haven't you.

I bag it, struggling to tie a knot with my gloves on and whilst running. It's a welcome source of heat in these conditions, I can tell you.

We start a long steady climb on a road surface, and again we slow to a walk. I don't mind admitting I was knackered at this point, but Freddie was a bit tired as well. He's done amazingly well considering his age and how little training he had done, and I didn't want to push him to hard.

As we turn off the road towards the finish, the dogs naturally start to pick up the pace again. It's hardly a sprint finish, but we manage to run across the finish line.

We are cold, wet, tired muddy and above all, very happy. We will definitely be back for another race soon.

Tomorrow actually. Our first ever Brutal. A hilly, muddy and wet run. I am only taking one dog this time. Bailey will love the water. Me.........less so.

So, with less than a week to go before our first race, I thought I'd better update you all with what could be the last post.

Bailey and I have been running 4 times a week pretty much every week, and Sunday just gone, we managed our first 10k together. I managed to capture some of this on video, with my newly bought video camera.

Well actually, most of the footage is of Sy's butt. Sy is our running buddy. He was running ahead of us, to encourage Bailey to pull. My new camera has a 170 degree angle of view, and he managed to fill 168 of those degrees with his hairy bike park.

To repay the compliment, I'm considering selling the footage to a dubious looking website I've inadvertently stumbled across whilst innocently searching to see if Free Willy was a Disney film for a fancy dress party. (Another story entirely that one!)

Anyway, enough of that kind of talk. I digress.

Our mate Sy has been accompanying us on most of our runs. And he's been enjoying the attentions of Bailey, an 18 month old adolescent Labrador, who despite having been separated from his boy bits a while ago due to them not dropping properly, still likes to go through the motions.

Particularly with Sy's legs.

I really don't know what it is about Sy's legs. I reckon he rubs a big juicy steak into them before we go out, in an attempt to attract his attention. Bailey shows no interest in anyone else's legs. He's even learnt that when Freddie says no, he really means it. But the sight of Sy's short, fat hairy ones, and it's like Bailey is riding the Royal Ascot winner.

There I go again! Oi! Get back on topic!

The local park that we run at is hilly, muddy and hilly.

Yes, I know I said hilly twice, but when I couldn't even run over a speed bump before, without having to stop to catch my breath, you'll have some idea of where I am coming from. If I ever bother to post the video footage of last Sundays run over there, you will be subject to the noises of me sounding like 2 asthmatic whales getting it on.

One of the delights of this little run that we do is affectionately called The Big Dipper. It goes straight down and straight up. There is no leveling off at all. In the transition between down and up, a force of about 4g is exerted on my head, and my neck disappears into the top of my body. I briefly look like the honey monster, only less cute.

Near the bottom of this hill, it gets pretty muddy. It's the kind of mud that is reluctant to let go of your foot once it has a good grip on it. The first time I ran it, one of my feet disappeared to above my ankle in mud.

At least mud provided a soft landing.

Now Bailey likes to get a bit of a lick on going down hills at the best of times. And the git our mate Sy likes to give Bailey a liiiitle bit more encouragement on the downhills.

"Come on Bailey, good boy".

In no time at all, we have reached terminal velocity. Warp 8.

OK, 3 miles an hour. Either way, it's a little faster than my legs are comfortable with.

Now I must have the most forgetful dog in the world I reckon. Or the most selectively deaf at least. Bailey, the dog that can hear a packet of sausages being opened in a 3 counties away, suddenly can't hear my screams of "EEEEEEEEAAAAAAASSSSSSSSYYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" from 2 metres behind him. This is our chosen command for him to slow down when needed. And we have practiced this whilst walking him on a lead.

My dog chooses to ignore me, and instead follow 'Hugh Janus' there in front of us.

Sy, all credit to him hears the panic in my voice and reacts.

By grabbing a stick, waving it in front of Bailey, shouts "Come on Bailey" even more excitedly than earlier and picks up the pace.

I am a picture of arms, legs, mud sweat and profanity flying in all directions.

Somehow, I have so far managed to stay on my feet every time he's done this. It really is only a matter of time though.

Right near the end of our run, is a steep downhill section of proper, hard path. It is quite narrow, with a wall on one side and trees on the other. It starts fairly steep, and gets progressively steeper as we near the bottom. At the bottom of the hill, the path becomes a mud trail, that turns sharp right, to avoid the lake at the bottom of the hill.

As we start to descend the hill, Sy again starts to encourage Bailey to speed up. And Bailey, being only to eager to please, obediently obliges, and ups the pace.

I am always amazed at how quickly one can get to that speed in canicross, where I am no longer in control, and that good old force we call momentum is having a bit of a giggle at my expense.

As we pass the speed at which I've handed control to Mr Isaac Newton Esq, several things happen in my head, all at once.

I forget my command for Bailey to slow down. My mouth is opening and shutting like a goldfish hyper ventilating, but the only sound that is coming out is "AAAAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!"

My life flashes before my eyes.

I make a mental note to do some very serious damage to Sy which will mean he will never have to worry about contraception again.

I check my watch to see what speed we are doing.

Yeah, about that last one............

My brain has gone into overload at this point, and called a time out.

It wants to change the subject. And distracts itself by insisting on knowing what speed we were going at the time of death.

We were doing a 6:41 current average at that point, if you are interested.

I honestly didn't know my watch could record such speeds.

I plead with my brain to get back to more pressing matters. It however, has other ideas.

That steak that Sy rubbed on his legs earlier to attract Baileys attention. What if he's still got it in his pocket?

A weird picture begins to emerge in my head, as my brain buries it's head deeper in the proverbial sand to avoid dealing with the current situation . As we reach the bottom of the hill, I imagine Sy suddenly producing said steak, and as he turns the corner, launches it into the lake.

"Fetch Bailey".

Bailey is an awesome swimmer at the best of times. He is also the worlds most hungry dog. I imagine the look of wonder on peoples faces at the sight of 'Thorpedo' Bailey swimming flat out across the lake in an attempt to catch the steak before it hits the water, with me, the bald screaming wide eyed lunatic water skiing behind him.

I imagine as Bailey triumphantly catches the steak in his mouth, I glide gracefully to a halt, before I disappear under the water like a fishermans float, to be dredged up several hours later by police divers.

I know. Some imagination I have here, huh!

Anyway, you'll be sorry delighted to hear that I somehow made it around the bend in one piece, Sy did not produce the steak (although this will undoubtedly have given him the idea now)  and finished the run unscathed.

I do however, still have plans to 'doctor' Sy in the very near future. He honestly deserves it. He'd even tell you so himself.

So next time, a 'report' on our first race together. I look forward to meeting lot's of wonderful people and dogs, and finding out how it is really done.

I bet you really CAN wait, huh!

Sorry, But I'm Afraid We're Going THERE Again!

We wind our way along the snow covered lane in the 4 x 4, taking great care through the width restriction posts. I don't have a great track record with posts. They tend to jump out at me when I am not looking. My car bares many a scrape and a dent from my lack of spacial awareness.

We pull in to the car park and stop.

Baileys head immediately emerges from behind the rear seats. Our dog is an exceptional traveler in the car. We have only driven a mile today, but in that time he's already settled down, obviously expecting a long journey.

Now, he's up and alert. "Are we here already? Great. Lets go!"

We are not alone. In an effort to get Bailey to pull, we have adopted the help of Sy, a neighbour and a fellow runner.

He has volunteered to not only run ahead of us, and encourage Bailey along, but also to take some photos with his camera phone, which has a burst function, which basically means it will take a burst of photos over about 10 seconds. Probably obvious to you, but he had to explain it to me.

We sit in the warm, comfy car for a few seconds, and I contemplate what I am about to do. I am new to trail running, as well as Canicross. This is only my third or forth run on trail, and one less with Bailey. Still, at least my trail shoes have arrived. These little beauties are gonna get a good test in these conditions, that's for sure!

"Let's do this!" says Sy, leaping out of the car. He is in shorts and a running tee shirt. Apart from a knee support, socks shoes, and I guess underwear, although I'm not inquisitive enough to ask him, that is all.

He is pretty hardcore. He does all these runs with insane names. 'The Brutal'. 'The Hurt'. 'The Knacker Cracker'. The 'Let's run this race with crocodile clips attached to intimate parts of our anatomy, with wires connected to mains power, because this race is just not painful enough already!'

OK, I may have made that last one up. But go check. If it does exist, I know someone who will be VERY interested.

I climb out of the car, and shiver. I am wearing a long sleeved running top, a short sleeved running top over that, a rain jacket over that lot, running tights, and shorts.

And a hat.

And gloves.

And I am definitely wearing underwear.

I gingerly step to the rear of the car and open the boot. A yellow streak leaps out of the car, and nearly throttles himself on the lead I use to attach him to the anchor point in the boot.

It's not the first time. It won't be the last. He does it every time. 'Sit' and 'Stay' are as foreign to him now as they ever were. I try to make him sit before I open the boot, but as soon as I open it wide enough, he leaps out. To make matters worse, he is going through the stage most dogs go through at this age. The few commands he does know, he has conveniently forgotten. Or he's gone deaf. (Please tell me it's not just my dogs that do this!)

"Sit".

Bounce.

"Sit".

Sniffs the ground.

"SIT".

At last. I put his harness on which he readily accepts, and release him from the lead. He immediately heads for the nearest tree.

I take out my belt and line, and attempt to put it on. As usual, Bailey scampers back to 'assist', by playing tug of war with the belt.

*Lesson in Canicross number 647 - In future, put the belt on BEFORE you let Bailey out*.

We hook up, lock the car and head off. At first, Sy and I trot side by side. Bailey trots alongside me in his usual excited, bouncy way.

"I'll run ahead" says Sy.

Immediately Bailey pursues him. He's Pulling!

We quickly get the distance between us about right, so that Bailey is just behind him, and continue.

This is great! Just what we wanted! Bailey is pulling really well.

"Good Boy!"

We decide to head off the main track and explore the woods a little. My confidence quickly grows with the shoes, aided by the fact we are running on relatively fresh snow. I am actually pretty sure footed in these shoes, which considering I normally have the poise and balance of Bambi on roller blades, is a minor miracle.

As we make turns and choose tracks to follow, I shout directions to Bailey. I have decided to go with the standard 'Go left, Go Right, Straight on, Whoa and Wait'. Keeping it simple is as much for my benefit as it is for Bailey. My brain, along with other parts of me have a habit of abandoning me in my hour of need. In an emergency, at least with words and meanings I already know, I hopefully won't get confused, shout the wrong command and end up getting intimately acquainted with the nearest, prickliest foliage we can find.

We continue along the trail until we come to a junction, and pause.

"Wait". Bailey stops, and looks at me expectantly.

To our left, the path opens up into a clearing on a bit of a ridge. A perfect photo opportunity!

"I'll run on ahead" says Sy. Off he trots, closely observed by Bailey. He looks to me and then to Sy.

"What are we waiting for? Come on Dad!"

"Wait Bailey, good boy".

He focuses on Sy, now about 100 yards ahead, where he now stops and gets his phone out.

"Ready?"

"Yep. I'll call him whilst you run towards me".

"Go on Bailey, Go!"

He leaps forward with surprising force, and I have to adjust my pace quite a bit to keep up, but manage to do so. We quickly settle into a reasonable pace. Marvelous. This is what it's all about. We are loving this!

As we near Sy, he continues to call Bailey on. Then he stops calling, to concentrate on getting the photos.

Here are some of the results below-

Impressive, huh! It's going great. It's a glorious day. The scene is picturesque, Bailey is pulling and although we don't know it at the time, we are getting some great shots!

I am not sure of the burst rate of his camera (no, it's not a shot every 3 seconds! We are actually moving at quite a pace here!) All I know is that I am concentrating on Bailey, shouting encouragement at him, and Sy is doing his David Bailey bit, to ensure he get's some great shots.

We both fail to notice what is in hindsight, and blatantly obvious looking at the pictures, what is about to happen.

In my last blog, I described what is was like to take a hit in the 'plums' from Bailey. And I know we are 'treading on old ground' here, in a manner of speaking.

Either way, Sy takes a 30 kilo Labrador to the his soft squidgy bits at about 8 miles an hour.

To be perfectly fair to the guy, he took the hit better than I would have!

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF............................!"

Bailey merely bounces off the obviously cushioned crash zone completely unscathed.

Sy.......is not so lucky.

He doubles over, and develops a severe but brief case of Tourettes syndrome.

Very severe indeed.

Being the good mate I am, I of course show my instant concern.

"Did you get any good photos then? I can go again of you didn't".

This did not go down too well with Sy, who is now whimpering.

"Man down. Man down!" he moans.

"Man down? Man up more like!"

Honestly, he would have done the same for me!

I wisely decide to keep myself a safe distance from him. He has this weird, cross eyed look about him.

And his eyebrows have joined in the middle.

After several minutes, he eventually recovers enough to continue the run.

Albeit, he is now running in a rather odd, wide legged gait.

Coming in the next blog - We have our best run yet! And I learn that revenge is a dish best served cold.......

Footnote - I am aware that both this and my last blogs are rather similar, in as much as the involve Baileys talent of finding very small sensitive areas of the male anatomy. I would like to say that this will definitely NOT be a regular feature in my future blogs.

However, I would probably be lying..............

Explaining The TuTu.........

I am an idiot.

No, really.

Those of you who know me will already realise that my opening statement is true. Those of you that don't will definitely realise it by the time they have finished reading this.

I lace up my road running shoes, having ordered, but not yet received my trail shoes, and head towards the front room to stretch some life into my legs. Today's stretch, like every other one I do, is 'assisted' by the combined efforts of my 2 dogs. They attempt to sit on me, wash my ears, nibble my nose, and generally walk all over me as I sit on the floor.

"Geroff me!" I say, as Freddie attempts to sit on my lap, and Bailey sticks his tongue in my left ear hole. This only serves to excite them further, and I can add a good old tail whipping from both dogs to my warm up routine.

Warm up completed, and rather damp from dog drool, I drag myself up off the floor, and head into the kitchen.

"Bailey"

The sound of 4 pairs of paws struggling for purchase on the lino floor is followed by the sight of the boys scampering into the kitchen and around my feet.

"Sit".

Freddie immediately does as he is asked. Bailey.......doesn't. He grabs a Kong and scoots off around the kitchen in an orgy of excitement.

I wait. I haven't always been quite this patient with Bailey. As I have previously stated, Bailey has a very relaxed view to good manners and good behavior. It took me a while to realise that shouting at him made absolutely no difference whatsoever. Made him even more hyper in fact. So nowadays, I play the waiting game. It works. Eventually.

Gradually, his excitement wains, and Bailey casually wanders over to me and sits down, dropping the Kong on my foot as he sits.

I pat Freddie. "Good boy, you stay here". I put the lead on Bailey, the belt on me, grab the line and harness and head out the door.

We walk the half mile to where we will be away from the road, and I put the harness on Bailey, which he readily accepts, much to my surprise. This is only the second time I have put it on him, but he doesn't fight me at all. He approaches this latest adventure as he does pretty much everything new or old, with much excitement, tail wagging and bounce.

I attach the line to him and remove his lead, tucking it into my running jacket pocket. I double check we are attached, take a quick photo, and take a deep breath.

"Go on then, good boy!"

Bailey takes off. Literally. Vertically. Just as well. If he'd have put that much force into horizontal movement, I would have been having a little lie down on the path right now, cursing gently under my breath.

I continue jogging, with Bailey bouncing along beside me. I don't expect the bouncing to last too long, and after a few seconds he settles into a trot.

"Good boy!"

Bounce.

As before, Bailey trots beautifully to heal at my side. I grab the line to avoid it becoming a trip hazard for both of us. I wave my arms forward.

"Go Bailey, good boy!"

Bounce. Bounce.

"Go on, good boy".

Bailey pulls ahead.

"Good Boy". "Go on then!"

As the line tightens, I let it go. Bailey feels the line go tight and immediately slows, until he is along side me.

"Go on Bailey, Go!"

Again, he pulls forward, feels the line go tight and slows to a trot alongside me. This happens repeatedly, him going ahead, and slowing to trot beside me when he feels the line go tight.

I am in effect, running with a yellow, 4 legged, very excitable yo yo.  You may have heard of a yo yo trick called walking the dog, but never the other way round. By now, we are in the park proper, and it is quite busy. People are looking on in awe at the sight of this lunatic labrador, bouncing and 'yo yo ing' between the middle aged bald bloke and the full length of the line.

"I could never do that with my dog!" a bemused lady says as we pass her by, my arms flailing for balance,  and the golden nugget bounding alongside/ahead, obviously having the time of his life.

"I'm not entirely sure I can do it with mine either" I think to myself.

A small group of 3 or 4 people are ahead of us, talking, and blocking the path. I slow to a trot.

"Whoa Bailey".

At this point, another dog runs behind me, from right to left. Bailey goes to give chase, half wrapping the line around my back as he goes. Luckily, he doesn't pull to hard, and I am able to counteract his movement.

Now, the sensible thing to do here would be to stop, unwrap the line from behind me, reset Bailey and continue.

Yep, the sensible thing.

I choose not to do the sensible thing.

I twirl. Whilst still running.

I Pirouette.

I Pirou...flipping......ette. Darcey Bussell, eat your heart out. And lend me your tutu.

I twirl, land facing exactly the right way, and continue running.

As I approach the group ahead, who are obviously impressed with my nifty little manoeuvre, one of them even comments.

"Nice pirouette love!"

"Thanks!" I gasp as we gallop on by.

2 more dogs appear ahead from nowhere. Baileys head immediately goes up as they catch his attention.

"Go on, keep going, good boy!"

Amazingly, despite his obvious desire to drag me through the trees to join in the fun that the other 2 dogs are having, Bailey continues to run. It is then that I realise that he is pulling.

I let out an over excitable "Good boy!!!"

Bailey immediately turns towards me to collect the pat on the head and general fuss he so richly deserves. My momentum carries me straight passed him, and he rushes around me to catch up, again wrapping the line behind me.

I do it again.

I pirouette. This one even better than the first!

I'm getting good at this!

And so it continues. We yo yo, bounce, run, walk and pirouette our way around the park. But all is good. We are having fun. This is what it is all about.

Now, let us pause a moment to picture the scene. To take stock.

I am attached to nearly 30 kilos of nutty, hyper labrador. The path is very muddy from all the rain we have had, and I am wearing road shoes. I am barely in control of my idiotic self, with the twirling thing I've got going on, never mind the dog!

You can see what's coming, can't you!

Why the heck couldn't I?

I'm not sure of the exact circumstances leading up to it, but the lead gets wrapped around me once again. And I pirouette to untangle it. As I land, facing the right way I hasten to add, my right foot hits a patch of mud, and I begin to lose traction. My upper body starts to travel forward faster than my legs. I open my stride in a pathetic attempt to get my lower half to catch up with my top half. Just when I feel I may be able to save myself, my legs decide they want no further part in this charade, and give up.

I go down. Like a professional footballer in the penalty area. My hands go out in front of me to limit the damage to my face. At least they didn't abandon me in my hour of need. Unlike my legs. I will be having a little chat with them later on.

As I slide to a graceful halt, Baileys immediate reaction is to come bounding up to me, obviously concerned for my welfare, beating me about the head with his tail.

"Ohmygoddadyouvefallenoverareyoualrightareyousureyouralrightpleasesaysomethinganything!!!"

He then proceeds to trample on a part of my anatomy where you just don't want to be trampled.

I let out a "Uggghhhhnnnnnnffffffffffffffaaaaarrrrrgggghhhhhhh".

I cough, and slowly roll over on to my side to prevent any further damage from The Golden Gonad Crusher.

I eventually stop crying compose myself.

"It's all right Bailey I am fine".

Unconvinced, he continues to fuss all around me, giving me a quick once over to make sure I really am OK.

Well at least he didn't come to any harm.

Suddenly aware that this is a public place, I hastily look around for observers.

I got away with it. Nobody around to witness my sorry demise.

I pick myself up, double check everything about me is roughly where it should be, and continue the run.

When the line wraps around me again, I stop, step over the it to unwrap myself from it, and carry on.

As we near the end of the run, Bailey appears to be pulling a little more consistently. The initial excitement, having subsided, he seemed to start to understand what I wanted him to do.

Either that, or he was deliberately keeping his distance, so if I did take another dive, I didn't inadvertently use him to break my fall.

Now you have read all that, go back and re-read my opening sentence.


I hate to say I told you so but......................



Next - We borrow a friend to chase, take photos and use to help us stop!

.........and so it begins.

I opened the kitchen drawer, and fumbled around excitedly for the scissors. The stabbing pain in my thumb told me I'd found them. I obediently cut along the 'Cut along this line' line of the plastic envelope, and tipped the contents out onto the kitchen worktop. A tangle off webbing, rope and strapping sat before me. I extracted the envelope, containing what was obviously the instructions from the pile and tossed it aside, unopened.

"How hard can it be?"

Yep, I am a typical male.

I picked up what what was obviously the harness, and eyed it approvingly.

"Looks about the right size" I say to Mrs B.

She looks on, with only the faintest roll of her eyes. She's seen it all before. This is obviously the latest in a string of mad ideas I've had since my mid life crisis began about 4 years ago.

"Bailey come" I call.

I needn't have bothered. The golden nugget was already around my feet, playing percussion with his tail on the kitchen cupboards and the washing machine, and sniffing at the harness in my hands to see if it was edible.

"Sit. Good boy!"

Turning the harness over until I'm pretty sure it is in the correct position, I offer it to his head, knowing what is coming. Bailey opens his mouth and wraps it around the harness. The latest game of tug of war has started.

"Bailey leave".

Pointless.

All this does is serve to excite him further, and increase his will to hang on. I crouch down and get a better grip on the harness, but do not pull. And wait. It's over after about 5 seconds. Bailey relinquishes the harness, sits on his ever wagging tail and gives me a look as though to say "I know, but I thought it was fun".
I take hold of the collar end of the harness and place it over his head. It is snug, but slides over his noble head relatively easily.

"Hmmmmm.....that was easy......too easy".

I worked out where his legs went through, and attempted to gently coax one of his legs through. Baileys response is to immediately roll over onto his side. "

Yep, that's more like it. Make it as difficult as possible for us!"

After making him sit again, I say "Paw". He immediately offers his paw, and we gently feed it through the leg loop.

"Other one". He offers the other paw, and I poke that through the other loop.

Mrs B and I stand up and admire our work.

"That's not right!" says Mrs B.

The back of the harness that is supposed to run down his back is underneath him.

Doh!

We take the harness off, and put it back on again. This time it looks right. It fits. Perfectly. I am amazed. I have the unique ability, even when the odds are overwhelmingly in my favour of getting things wrong. The law of sod was invented because of me. And I had lengthened the odds against me getting this purchase correct considerably by having to take measurements before ordering. This alone should have ensured that this harness should have turned up so overwhelmingly large, that Bailey could have walked straight through it without touching the sides. Even Mrs B looks impressed.

Very pleased with myself, I reach for the belt and put it on. That too fits, only needing minor adjustment. Next I pick up the line and bungee. This seems very long. I attach the (correct) end to the harness, and the other end to the belt.

"There. What do you think babe?"

"Yeah, it looks fine".

I grab the line about halfway along to use as a leash, and head out the door.

"Be back in a minute" I call behind be.

I take Bailey out into the Cul-de-sac outside our gate, and release the line from my grasp. Bailey just stands there, looking at me, tail wagging furiously.

"Now what?" he seems to ask.

"Go on then, good boy" I say excitedly.

This has the equivalent effect of putting a large jolt of electricity through our dog, who leaps up in the air at my side repeatedly, beside himself with excitement.

Well at least he's having fun!

"Go on then!" I say again and start to gently jog down the road. Bailey does an impression of a kangaroo, and jumps up at me with increased vigour and excitement. I stop.

"Sit Bailey". The jumping gradually subsides, and eventually Bailey sits, panting a little and tilts his head, a little confused.

"Good boy". I pat him affectionately. The tail goes into propeller mode, despite the fact he is sitting on it.

"Come on then, good boy" I say and begin to walk. As Bailey walks at the side of me, I break into a little jog. Again, he leaps up, but after a few times, he stops jumping, and trots beside me.

"Good boy".

Bailey is a natural healer. By that,I don't mean he will cure all your ills with nothing more than a dock leaf and a lick. I mean he has pretty much always walked alongside us with very little pulling, apart from the initial 'Outta my way, I've gotta pee' dash first thing in the morning. It's just as well really. It's not that he is badly behaved. He just sees training and good manners in a very casual way. Optional even. He would probably make a very good guide dog in his more calm moments. A part time guide dog that is. About 3 minutes a week if he's really concentrating. But luckily, he just seemed to realise that when he is on the lead, it is much nicer to walk calmly alongside us, rather than on the end of a pole tight lead with eyeballs bulging, panting like The Mallard locomotive and trying to walk on his back legs. He is a real pleasure to walk.

Even off the lead, he doesn't go far. I have had dogs in the past that as soon as you let them off the lead, make it their mission to put as much distance between you and them as possible. Even our Freddie, our 7 year old collie wanders off, but will come back when called. But not Bailey. He will play with other dogs, run off with Freddie a little and go check out stuff, but most of the time, he trots alongside us.

So why do you ask, do you think he is going to drag your sorry carcass around a trail run, when he's happy just to trot alongside? Short answer - It just seemed like a good idea.
And so, our adventure begins. I have no idea where this will end up. I also have no idea where this is going. Or what the heck I am doing come to that! I have already entered us into a race for about 8 weeks time, an 8km trail run about 30 miles away, so we need to get some training in.

Next - Our first 'proper' training run, and how I should perhaps wear a tutu whilst running!