One knee is ‘bone on bone’ and the other is heading the same way. It’s not as a result of the thousands and thousands of miles I’ve run in the last 10 years (in fact that’s probably kept me out of the Doctor’s waiting room) but as a result of Osteoarthritis which I’ve had since my forties.

Anyway a replacement knee operation would put an end to my running days and I’m not ready to go down that route until I’ve explored all other options. But …. just in case, I have already started to take up cycling thanks to my friend Mike who patiently accompanies me. This is actually quite a common pursuit for ultrarunners – see the amazing and inspirational Mimi Andersen.

I’m still running every day – I’m on day 794 of my current run streak, although running a hundred times around my kitchen during covid isn’t quite the replacement for the mountain races in the Sierra Nevada. My weight has ballooned – when I came back from running across Spain I was 78kg and after running across Italy I was 83kg which is my fighting weight. I’m now 94kg!

I’ve been working for a charity helping oldies with their IT(!) and am well under way with my next book. What! You haven’t read my first book yet – here’s a link to “Moving Mountains – running from the Atlantic to the Med”.

So I absolutely haven’t given up on my running adventures and I’m going to write a lot more on this blog about my approach to adjust to these challenges in the hope that it might help others in a similar situation.

Keep well!

Andrew

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But at the start of 2022 I decided to keep a visual diary as well and every few weeks I post a couple of pictures which reflects where I am. Although it’s a lot of work it’s far more informal than a journal (I certainly wouldn’t want to share what I write in that) and it’s a nice project to share with visitors to my site too. The pictures aren’t necessarily the best but rather I use them to tell a story. I might even print a few copies at the end of the year to give to family and friends.

The process is quite laborious – first off there’s the selection process. I look through hundreds of photos to select the two or three I am going to use. I try and use current ones but if it’s a ‘bleak week’ then it’s off to the archives to try and find something around the date but a previous year. Next it’s a trip to Lightroom unless the pictures have already been processed – normally just a bit of cropping and fine tuning the exposure. The I upload the pictures to Affinity Publisher and add the to the ‘book’ with a bit of text. The final step is to download a pdf which I then upload to Heyzine, my publishing platform and then as if by a miracle (some embedded shortcode actually) they appear on this website here

Why not give it a go and keep your own record of the year in pictures.

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I took this picture on the morning that I set out to run across Spain – little did I know the adventure that lay ahead!

In my case I had an epiphany; I could either accept a life of pain and pills or try and do something about it. I chose the latter, threw away the stick and started walking. At the same time I adopted a plant based diet. Over the next two years I lost a third of my body weight and the walking had turned to running. I started running 5ks then10ks before I ran my first half marathon in 2012. Then came marathons and ultramarathons. But still that wasn’t enough – I ran a marathon a month in 12 different European countries and followed this up with 8 marathons in 8 countries in 8 days.

As I approached my sixtieth birthday I wanted to mark it in a really spectacular way. Since my own inner revolution, something had changed. I was still the same ordinary person but I had developed a quiet inner confidence and I wanted to test myself and push my comfort zone even further.

I had seen a YouTube video of trail running great Kilian Jornet traversing Spain from the Atlantic to the Med across the Spanish Pyrenees. He had completed the 850km, 40,000m challenge in just nine days. Unbelievable – how was that even possible! But it sounded ideal and so I started my own preparations. Kilian had the support of the Salomon Team from nutritionists and meteorologists to pacers and physios and of course his inspirational mother Naria. I would do it differently – I chose to go solo and would try and find places to stay en route so I could travel light. My brother and sister, however, had decided to accompany me on part of my adventure in that they would meet me at the end of the day on some of the more remote sections. The die was cast and in the long hot summer of 2016 I set off for Bilbao and the start of my great adventure. I had booked accommodation for the first two nights on the trail and that
was it – I was on my own! All my possessions were crammed into a 25l runners vest along with a notebook and pen and my “Guide to the GR11 Trail” which had arrived the day before my departure. As a beautiful sunrise appeared on the horizon, I dipped my hand into the Atlantic Ocean knowing that, all being well, the next time I saw the sea I would be on the shores of the Mediterranean some 525 miles away. It’s hard to describe how I felt as I took the first few steps – trepidation yes, fear definitely but above all a huge sense of excitement about what was ahead of me. Over the first few days I gradually started to find my feet (metaphorically and physically) as I came to terms with the physical and mental challenges of undertaking such an epic adventure.

It was immediately apparent that carrying enough water was going to be a problem – I was only able to take two 500cl bottles which fitted in special pockets on my pack. The excellent GR11 guide did mark water points but of course these changed from year to year as streams dried up and new ones appeared. It’s strange how one’s attitude to risk changes as you expand your comfort zone. In those first few days I was incredibly fussy about which streams I would drink out of and which I wouldn’t – how fast was it flowing, were there likely to be animals sharing it with me further upstream etc. By the end of the trip I would have drunk out of a puddle I was so thirsty!

Food was another matter. I relied, wherever possible, on having a big breakfast in the hotel or hostel and then I would forage for anything that I could find. Often the cupboard was bare and I would go the whole day fueled by an apple, a lump of cheese or a chocolate biscuit – not ideal when you are running and climbing all day. But my body soon adapted to the calorie deficit and I finished the trip only 5kg lighter than when I started. There’s a lesson there somewhere.

Other initial impressions? Well the scenery was just as spectacular as I had imagined; imposing mountains with green, dappled valleys as far as the eye could see, occasionally dotted with the odd village or farm. I couldn’t believe how few people there were sharing my path and more often than not I wouldn’t see a soul for the whole day. However the lack of humans was compensated for by the amount of livestock I encountered. I was promised wild boar (yes), wild dogs (yes), snakes (yes), bears (no) and above all cows (definitely yes!). Surprisingly, the latter was probably the most challenging. Believe it or not this manly,
intrepid explorer before you has a fear of cows which was particularly unfortunate as I had come to an area with one of the largest concentration of cows in Europe. But this adventure was all about facing my fears and as the trip wore on, whether through familiarity or tiredness, I became less fearful of the cows and they accepted me as a visitor to their paths and mountains.

It wasn’t long before I left the Basque Country and crossed into Navarre all the time heading ever eastwards. This singular direction didn’t stop me getting lost on several occasions and it was to be a habitual problem throughout the trip. Often it was very difficult to pick up the path which at times was no more than a metre wide although the distinctive red and white markings on trees and rocks will be forever imprinted on my mind. Day after day I kept going. My brother and sister-in-law came and went and it wasn’t long before I was on my own again and heading towards the crux of the whole trip – Andorra. I was ill-prepared for a prolonged stay in the high mountains, only having my running clothes, running shoes and a waterproof jacket and I had been advised not to try and cross into Andorra but to skirt around the bottom and head through the valley. The reckless streak that had been with me since my childhood came to the fore and as dawn broke I started the trek that would take me out of Spain and into a completely different country. The day turned out to be as epic as I had imagined and somehow, tired, bedraggled but elated too, I arrived in the town of Arinsal as night fell. I had had so many adventures to get to this point – getting lost on numerous occasions, a run-in with some wild boars, scaling an ice wall, running through tunnels, and traversing a mountain path hanging onto a wire rail fixed to the mountain to name but a few. Then there had been the people, for the most part kind, generous, encouraging and uplifting. The bar
owner who, on the night that Spain played in the World Cup, made a special place for me at her packed bar and introduced me to all her customers who, each in turn, shook me by the hand, the young family that shared their picnic with me, the nudist and his girlfriend who gave me their last bottle of water as I, passed them on the mountain. The list is endless.

But I also knew that I still had a long way to go and now was not the time to relax. One slip, or a twisted ankle and that would be the end of my trip or worse. Fortunately I was joined by my sister for the final days of the adventure who, despite having a ‘unique’ sense of direction, dropped me off and picked me up at the beginning and end of each day. More adventures ensued – a surreal stay at an enormous country pile with stunning rooms and views, complete with a charming but eccentric owner and her friend who worked in Hollywood and assured me in her Californian twang; …”Wow – there’s a book in this or
maybe even a film!” (how right she was). Further encounters with the wildlife including a very near miss with an Asp Viper, a detour into a military firing zone, not to mention the “ladies of the night” in the bordertown of Jonqueras – I’m not sure which was the most terrifying!

But despite all this, or perhaps because of it I found myself on a hot Sunday afternoon, at the Cap de Creus lighthouse perched on the volcanic rock surrounded by the Mediterranean. I had done it – 525 miles, over 120,000 feet of elevation in just 27 days (that’s four ‘Everests’ and 220km a week for those imperialically challenged). I finished the trip a very different person to the one who had set off from the Cap D’Higier lighthouse all those days ago. I had faced so many obstacles and barriers but through grit, determination and a good deal of luck I had overcome them and, as I alluded to at the beginning, for the first time since my childhood in Africa I had developed a quiet inner confidence. I am a very ordinary person but I had achieved something extraordinary and I know that that option is available to us all.

So I urge you all, when you hear the call to adventure in your ear late at night, or when you’re sitting on the bus or train answer … you won’t regret it!

My book – ‘Moving Mountains – running from the Atlantic to the Med’ is available from Amazon and all leading booksellers. You can also get a signed copy from my website right here

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I’m trying out a new on-line publishing platform so if you prefer, you can read the e-zine in your browser below.

Continuing the theme, I’m really lucky to still have access to the Thames Path (as well as several hundred photographs) and I know, better than most, how uplifting nature can be even if it’s via a computer screen. Therefore I’ve put a post together on running a short section ofThe Thames Path with some stunning photographs – you can see it here. It’s part of a major project I’m doing about the river (so far five years work & counting). So this is just a short preview of the project and hopefully will transport you to this magical place wherever you are.

Enjoy Spanish Steps!

The post The Picos Mountains and beyond appeared first on Andrew Townsend.

While we are on the subject, I’ve just completed an article on ‘The Call to Adventure’ for an adventure magazine and I’ll put a link up here once it’s approved and published. Unfortunately the BBC take down the interview link on BBC iPlayer (unless you’re really famous!) after a few weeks but I am working hard on some YouTube videos where I talk about some of my adventures with some pictures. Here’s a link of you want to explore the budding channel – I think I’ve got up to nearly 20 views on one of the videos!!

Photo courtesy of Alex Blăjan – Unsplash

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Just click on the links below for your preferred option

For the paperback or Kindle version then it’s AMAZON

If you you would like a signed copy then it’s available right here at the SHOP

Alternatively if you would like to order a copy at your favourite bookshop

MOVING MOUNTAINS by Andrew Townsend – ISBN: 978-1-9168865-1-3

The Audiobook is in production and will be available soon. I’ve also made a Youtube film which has an introduction to the book plus some pictures from the adventure (see below for a taster!)

Enjoy the book!

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It’s so special to me that I am writing a book/picture guide/travelogue of it together with a series of short films that I hope to have ready by the end of the year. Thus far it is a seven year project in the making and counting.

So in these troubled times, where our movment and access to beautiful places is severely restricted, I thought I would write a few short posts to transport you to ‘my playgournd’. I hope you enjoy the series and, if so, don’t forget to sign up to get an email when the next installment is posted.

The source of the Thames is close to Somerford Keynes in the Cotswolds and ends at The Thames Barrier. In this first post I’m going to be taking you on a winter adventure from Sonning to Goring, a distance of about 14.5 miles

Sonning to Goring – Winter 2021/21

This is probably one of the more picturesque sections and the short 4 mile route between Pangbourne and Goring is really beautiful. There is some great trail running too, along an undulating, single track path that skirts the side of the valley and kisses the the river at regular intervals. But I’m getting ahead of myself let’s head back to Sonning and start this winter journey at the beginning.

Sonning
Sonning is best known for two things – George Clooney has a house here and Jerome K Jerome featured Sonning in his book, “Three Men in a Boat” describing it as “the most fairy-like little nook on the whole river”. You can make your own mind up which attracts you more – I won’t judge. Some other little known facts about Sonning – it hit the headlines when a mystery Royal Mail posting box appeared on the butress of Sonning Bridge a few metres above the waterline and if you look carefully at some of the trees you will see fairy doors on the trunks. Uri Geller, the well know spoon-bender lived here but the two aren’t connected.

Anyway as we leave Sonning along the Thames Path towards Reading we can take a short detour via the nature reserve and the small lakes, home to all manor of wildlife whatever the season. Loop back onto the path and head across the water meadows and past the Canoe Centre. There is a little jetty here and I use its position as an indicator of how likely the path is going to be flooded as we head further west. The next landmark is ‘the Dreadnought’ which long ago was a pub but closed in 1952 and is now owned by the university.

The Bridge of Dreams

Up and over the river Kennet via the horsehoe bridge or as I prefer to call it, the “Bridge of Dreams”, christened as such by the poignant graffiti on it. Past my friends, the pIrates and their house boats and now we are in Reading proper. First under Reading Bridge then Caversham Bridge before we head along a straight and wide part of the path knows as ‘the Promenade’. There are some amazing houses on the other side of the river and this place is a photographer’s paradise whatever the season. The promenade ends abruptly and the well maintained path turns into a track which takes us though the boatyard at Tilehurst before we head, rather incongroudssly, through a housing estate to rejoin the path that will take us to Mapledurham Lock.

I sometimes go wild swimming here and have a runner’s picnic (water and a flapjack or whatever else I’ve raided from the kitchen). But this is mid-winter and I’m travelling light so no swimming and no food. The lock does have a freshwater tap though and I always make sure I take a good swig before continuing along the banks towards Pangbourne. On the other bank we can see Mapledurham House. I know it for its real tennis court and I have been fortunate enough to play there in years gone by. You can run on that side of the river too and there is a half marathon loop that takes you from Reading to Pangbourne and then back on the other side. I’ll post an account of that becuase there are some spectacular photo opportnities on that route too.

Pangbourne

We have arrived at Pangborne and it’s time to cross the Thames at Whitchurch Bridge before we start the last leg of today’s adventure. The orignal bridge was built in 1792 and was owned by the same family for 227 years. It is a (very expensive) toll bridge but mercifully not for tired runners. A short way up Whitchurch hill, with the legs burning, it’s easy to miss the sign for the Thames Path and Goring just 3.5 miles hence. The tarmac road ends abruptly giving way to a very steep and undulating path referred to at the beginning of my story. It really is an enchanting path and I have a secret place where I climb down a very steep bank and through a little thicket before coming out at a clearing where you can take your shoes off and soak your tired feet in the cold water.

No time to dawdle as you head past an old World War II pillbox, built as part of the ‘Red Line’, a line of defence in case of invasion. They are to be found all along the Thames but are often difficult to spot hidden by trees and boats and undergrowth. Time to concentrate as the final stretch takes you along a path right by the river with overhanging trees and enormous protruding tree roots. When the legs are tired it’s easy to catch root and fall head first into the path as I know from bitter experience.

We arrive at journey’s end – Goring and Streatley and the gateway to the Ridgeway yet more spectacular trail running countryside. But for now it’s decision time – run back or catch the train to Reading……

I hope you enjoyed this short trip. Let me know in the comments and I’ll put another one together – perhaps a summer trip from Sonning to Henley taking in Shiplake College, millionaries row in Shiplake and other delights!

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I have written before about the anatomy of an adventure and how I go about the “planning” . Suffice to say, after a few weeks research I had worked out a route that would take me from France across the Pyrenees to join the Camino de Santiago at Roncavalles before heading west towards Burgos and beyond. I would then head due south down the spine of Spain past Zamora and Salamanca using a series of ancient caminos before arriving in Granada. I would also take part in the Riano Trail again and cap the trip off with an attempt at the Ultra Trail Sierra Nevada.

The distance was not far short of 1,000 miles and I was going to attempt to complete the expedition in 40 days. As usual I would be running alone but with such an ambitious itinerary my sister had agreed to ride shotgun and to meet me at the end of each day.

So it was with a spring in my step and a fair bit of trepidation that I set off from the village of Urepel set high in the French Pyrenees and headed towards Roncavalles and the Camino de Santiago. There is always a huge thrill as you take the first few steps of what will be a million or more over the next few weeks. What will I see, who will I meet, will I really be able to run 1,000 miles?

It was a glorious but chilly morning although the steep climb soon had me stripping off layers before I was down to my trademark shorts and a t-shirt. I was on a narrow track barely wide enough for a car and I would have missed the border if it wasn’t for some barbed wire that had been neatly pulled back from a gap in the track. It would hardly keep out an invading army but all I knew was that I was in Spain. First part of the mission accomplished.

I turned off the track onto a narrow path and kept climbing before I joined a road that would take me down to Roncavalles and the Spanish starting point for the Camino. Still not a pilgrim in sight but there would be plenty of time for that later. I met my sister in Roncavalles and over coffee we worked out a rendezvous for the evening.

I was now on the Camino de Santiago proper and before long I had reached Burguette. If the name is familiar it is one of Ernest Hemingway’s haunts. He was a keen fly fisherman and the waters here are famous for it. The name rang a different bell with me as 3 years earlier I had run through Burguette on my way from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mediterranean. 

I crossed the river and pressed on towards the rendezvous point. I was moving well and the terrain was perfect for running on – a nice springy surface and a gentle undulating terrain and then ….

Bang! I was watching the two in front of me, a mother and her son, and contemplating whether I should pass them on the right or left, when I caught a stone and my legs went from under me. Sometimes you can catch yourself, although that in itself can lead to a nasty knee injury, but this time I managed to do a full face plant. I instinctively put my hands down to protect my face and I caught most of the force on my elbow. I lay there quietly for a few seconds before doing a body check. Cuts and bruises are all part of ultra running but a broken bone or torn knee ligament would put paid to the trip before it had even started. I had a huge gash near my elbow which was bleeding copiously and a very sore shoulder but once again I had got away with it.

I continued, with a bit more caution and respect for the Camino now, and exited the path where it crossed a road and there, parked in the layby, was my sister with food and water for the weary runner and a bandage too. That she was there at all was surprising in itself, because as you will find out in my book, “Moving Mountains”, she has an unusual sense of direction in that she doesn’t possess any at all. But although she is directionally challenged she more than makes up for it with determination and an unflappable sense of humour and an ability to charm everyone she meets. I half expected her to be there with a mountain ranger or a police escort at the very least!

We checked the map and decided to meet a mile or two further on at the next crossing point as I still felt fresh’ish despite the fall and knew how important it was to get the miles in at the beginning of the trip. And so it was that 40 minutes later I hopped into the car at Zubiri and we set off for Pamplona and the apartment we had hired as a base for a few days.

After my adventure in 2016 and my seven day traverse of Italy in 2017 I was so glad that we had opted to try and avoid hotel hopping every day and seek out a few bases that we could stay in for a couple of days at the very least. It would mean more driving for JoJo, taking me to the start point each day but at least she would have somewhere to relax in the unlikely event that she wasn’t out exploring too.

The apartment (when we finally found it) was fantastic, modern, spacious and with a fabulous view over Pamplona. After a shower I put on my party clothes and we decided to walk (yes I know) the two or so miles to the old town. We passed happy couples walking, children playing, dogs barking; in fact a typical city park scene until there was a loud swish and a large group of speed skaters whisked passed us all in perfect formation. Spain always full of surprises.

Before long we crossed the road, through a huge stone arch into old town Pamplona and a different world altogether.

[to be continued – Pamplona, the Camino and beyond]

The post Running the Camino de Santiago – the adventure begins appeared first on Andrew Townsend.

I’m lucky too in that I relish solitude and where better to experience that than in the great outdoors. Most days I spend two to six hours outside running, walking and taking photographs. So, other than the initial lockdown, I have been relatively unaffected. Of course a lot of runners thrive on competition and if you’re like me most of your races and meet ups have been cancelled But maybe there is something we can do about this.

You can still get the real marathon experience .. blisters too

It was a real eye opener on virtual “London Marathon day” to witness the number of runners and walkers of all shapes, abilities and sizes, doing their own London Marathon. There was a real sense of camaraderie and encouragement not just from fellow competitors but people out enjoying their Sunday stroll or taking the dog and kids for a walk. This is unusual in itself. Very often there is a mindset of ‘us and them’. I wanted to be a part of it but I was my normal disorganised self and didn’t even realise the marathon was on until the night before and so of course didn’t have an official entry.

Show time!

I woke bright and early and on the spur of the moment I decided to do it anyway (and so could you, why not). I made myself the obligatory peanut butter and banana sandwich, grabbed a handful of nuts and put a couple of gels in a bag. I know the Thames Path backwards so I had a rough route in mind and thought I could get away with one water bottle (how wrong was I). We had experienced torrential rain in the proceeding days so I decided to get out my very grippy Salamon xxxxx You know the ones – the ones that gave me a huge blister on my achilles when I was running the Camino de Santiago trail last year, the ones that blister your toes when it’s wet. Yes those ones. Why I thought they would have miraculously cured themselves of these foibles sitting in the boot of my car is beyond me. I parked by the river and set off towards Henley which, there and back, would give me my first 15 miles and a welcome return to the aid station, aka my car.

Within a mile I met my first runner, well he was walking actually. It was his first experience of a marathon and he was resplendent with his number pinned proudly to his top as he made his way towards Marlow. I wished him well and went on my way. Before long I passed a father and daughter who were heading towards Maidenhead and what they hoped was a ‘PB’. As their first marathon had been the notorious Beachy Head Marathon which was one of the most gruelling I have ever competed in I assured them they would. And so it continued. There were people running on their own, girlfriends walking and talking with equal speed and enthusiasm, a small group of Spanish students from Reading Uni as well as seasoned professionals but all with a common goal – to hit that 26.2 mile milestone.

Water is for ducks and runners too

The path was completely submerged by the time I got to Shiplake and the water and mud was up to my knees but old mister know-it-all knew every contour and before long I was trotting down millionaires row and into Henley. A quick pit stop for a gel and yes they still wanted to make me throw up, before heading the 7.5 miles back to the car. Here a change of socks and running shoes, a peanut butter sandwich and some much needed water before tackling the final 11.2 miles. I headed towards Pangbourne where the path was not quite as treacherous and it was fun to see runners at different stages; some starting and some finishing and some  betwixt and between.  I ran a little bit past the 26.2 to be safe before heading into Pret to grab a coffee and then trudge back the 2 miles to the car. A thoroughly enjoyable day and almost like the real thing without the 80,000 + people but very real to those that put in the miles – bravo to you all!

FKTs and other games to play

This got me thinking – what other challenges could I devise to make up for the lack of competition. The concept of FKT (fasten known time) has been around for ages but is becoming ever more popular perhaps due to the current situation and lack of races. Now I admit that “the  gents in the rowing club car park to Mapledurham lock and back” doesn’t have quite the same ring as “Cervinia Church to top of Matterhorn and back”* but I think you get the idea.

*In case you are wondering Kilian Jornet (who else) holds the FKT scaling the Matterhorn’s 14,690 ft in 2hours 52mins and 2seconds. This includes starting and returning to the village of Cervinia in Italy.

I’ve now built up quite a list that I’m trying to beat and I’ll start looking for some other ones that other people might have done.

Train racing

Next up is “train racing”. The concept is simple – check your train timetable and a distance you  want to run e.g Reading to Goring 13 miles. Estimate an approximate time – say 2:25 giving you a few minutes to talk to en route, pit stops etc.. Leave with 2 hours 20 mins to catch the train and run like hell. This gives you the excitement of will I, wont I, will the train be on time, will the cows be blocking the path, who will I snub en route because I’m behind schedule. If all goes well you run onto the platform as the train arrives – if not well … it’s an hour wait in the cold for the next one!

Anyway hopefully the race calendar will be getting back to normal next year but in the meantime get your creative juices flowing – there are challenges to be had out there.

Stay safe.

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So what makes it so special? Ostensibly, it’s because it is the home of the Sierra Nevada Ultra Trail Race – a race I compete in each year. I write about this elsewhere but suffice it to say that it is a race that has everything, stunning landscapes, physical attrition with the soaring temperatures and of course wonderful, fun-loving people. I can even excuse the 6:00am start as the view of the sunrise over the Sierra Nevada Mountains once seen is never forgotten.

But there are so many other reasons to love Granada. It’s a photographers paradise with narrow, climbing streets, wide open squares and of course the Alhambra Palace. The Moorish influence is everywhere from the souks that spill out onto the pavements, the architecture and of course the people. 

Ultimately, for most photographers, it’s about the light and Granada, with its searing heat, white washed walls and shaded nooks and crannies, is the place to play with the light.

The food and in particular the tapas is fantastic but I guess that’s a “given” for this part of Spain and there is nothing better than sitting at a table with a glass of Rioja and a few marinated shrimps watching the world go by.

It’s also the place where I finished my book, Moving Mountains, about my run across the Spanish Pyrenees. I’m also finalising an e-zine, Shades of Granada, to accompany Spanish Steps, my e-zine about my run along the Camino de Santiago. All these are/will be available from the shop.

Anyway, if you get the chance in this mad, mad world of ours, go and visit Granada, you won’t regret it.

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