The Brighton Marathon 2011

 "Irish Seal Sanctuary Volunteer Geoffrey Codling successfully ran for the Seals at the Brighton Marathon 2011. Thank you for supporting his efforts by helping him raise vital funds for the ISS.... !" The Irish Seal Sanctuary...

 "Upon discovering The Irish Sanctuary in 2007 life has never been the same since.  As an animal lover I entered the ISS volunteering team with great excitement not knowing I was to meet not only beautiful people but the most incredible animals. Full-on dedication ensued and I witnessed truly fantastic times with unforgettable hands-on animal husbandry with the seals.

To "repay" those who devoted their time to me and who continue rehabilitating seals I have gained entry into the 2011 Brighton Marathon to raise money for the ISS....and to keep those hungry little pinipeds plump and content.

Spare a pound or a punt or a euro to help the seals and the all round "good-eggs" at the ISS and I'll be one very happy ex-fulltime volunteer :) X"

Geoffrey Codling
 

 
Updates on Marathon!

The weekend in numbers:

• 9307 my running number
• 293 minutes it took to complete the run
• 5500 millilitres of water I drank on the way round
• 3000 millilitres of Powerade I drank on the way round
• 1155 (approx.) number of high-fives I gave in the final few hundred metres
• 5008 position I finished overall
• 10 number of runners hospitalized
• 11 number of horizontals I saw (runner to be hospitalized)
• 23 temperature in degrees centigrade around the course at midday
• 27 run monkeys dancing a merry jig on my legs and feet
• 1 number of people who thought Pheidippides was an otter

So, thats it then!
Six months have come and gone and its all over.
The fat lady sang at roughly 2pm on Sunday 10th of April and P (Pheidippides) and I completed our journey.

I`m now gutted that I don`t have entry to the London Marathon and will have to watch it on the television.
The two weeks before Brighton were a little uneventful as I was basically nursing an injury to my right knee. Why is it that when one has an injured body part, there is an irregular rise in the number of times one knocks it against something?

It appeared any hardcore longevity aggravated it, thus I was restricted to the side lines, filling my face with lots of healthy goodies in prep for the run.  This was also time for me and P to get aquainted as he had arrived in England while I was still in Sardine Land.

My parents had sent me photos of him but they didn`t do him justice. When I first met him in the "flesh" I went nose to nose with him, looked him in the eyes and said: "Who`s a good boy!"
And so began a beautiful relationship, your typical tale of boy meets seal, seal meets boy, boy and seal run marathon for seal sanctuary with publicity plastered all over them in thick black permanent marker.....
Anyway, I`ve done my best to detail the trip to Brighton and take you through the high-di-highs and low-di-lows of the run itself.

We arrived in Brighton on Friday afternoon. It was sunny and warm and the forecast was for more of the same. The sea-front was busy with lots of bods starting the weekend shenanigans early.
P and I went on a tour of local attractions. Naturally he took a shine to the Sea Life center and judging by the drool, enjoyed browsing the various fish restaurant menus along the promenade.
I offered him a fishermans friend to suck on but he refused and reminded me that was how his mother got kicked out of the NSTA (Navy Seals Training Academy).

We went on the pier and he got all melancholy as he stared at the sea. He pined a pinniped pine.
We studied the old, derelict pier through a telescope and P stated that the West Pier was first opened in 1866 and had an original length of 1116ft. He went on to tell me that it closed in 1975 because of spiralling maintenance costs and health and safety issues. P finished by saying that on the 28th of March, 2003, aliens came down and blasted the pavilion at the end of the pier with a photon laser beam which set it on fire.

I told him that was rubbish and that the original length was 1115ft.
Upon arrival at the Hilton he ordered me to take him to the hotel swimming pool but there was a strict "bi-ped only" rule which meant he wasn`t allowed in. The lady at the entry counter pointed to a small round sign with a picture of a common harbour seal with a line through it. P pointed out to her that his nose and mouth was longer and had a superior, less mottled coat than his lower class cousin and therfore looked nothing like the one in the picture.  Alas, this did nothing to swing the vote in our favour and we remained dry.

I cheered him up with some pampering at the Hiltons very own hair and fur boutique, Curl-up and Dye. Upon completion of his coiffeur the hair technician asked:
"Something for the weekend, sir?"
P replied:
"Smoke me a kipper, I`ll be back for breakfast!"
What a seal.
He was tired after this and headed to the room for a snooze on his pinni-bed.

The following morning we set off for the Brighton Marathon Expo which was being held just down the road from the hotel. It was a big pre-marathon event that was free to enter with lots of hints and tips on last minute injury prevention, free energy tucker and a Q&A session on kipper preservation.
I got chatting to some environmentalist types while P charmed the ladies with tales of underwater heroisism and Orca dodging as a pup.

He took a shine to a flashy pair of yellow running shoes and grabbed freely at the give-away sun glasses, altruistically collecting a pair for me aswell. He`s a good boy!
We stumbled upon a free massage which P took full advantage of, receiving a proper pre-run digit rub down and joint-flex session from a delightful young lady by the name of Dawn.
Next up was a quick spin on an exercise bike which took us to the limits of our welcome at the Expo and we left with a spring in our step.

We felt as prepared as we ever would be for the 26 miles along Brighton promenade and so headed off to Fortesque Manor for a dress rehearsal and a good nights rest.
One out of two wasn`t bad, the dress rehearsal having been a success but the good nights sleep just an illegible scribble on the wish list of inevitability, the pre-run anxiety getting the better of me, P being soundo until a wet haddock round the face at a sniff after 5 in the morning.
Up at 05.20 on race day with nothing but the thought of a pre marathon bowel evacuation and a message to the faithful on the ISS facebook page.

Breakfast consisted of whole grain bread and lashings of peanut butter washed down with a big cup a redbush sweetened with clear honey.
My knee felt ok but that was all going to change at 9 o`clock.
My long suffering partner joined P and I on the short train journey to Brighton town, then the fifteen minute walk to Preston Park and starting gates.
Hundreds of bods were already in full swing at the warm-up stage doing aerobics to some funky beats, hundreds more in the queue for the portaloos.

I gave my partner my post-run kit bag and she skipped off to the bag-lorry for me while P and I had a moment of contemplation.
It was time for the brave to be brave and the stupid to run 26 miles.
We made our way to our pink start point and stood stretching in the crowd.

Fiorenza (my partner) gave P and I a good luck kiss over the barrier and before we had time for a chorus of "How much is that herring in the window", the ten second countdown began and the bang from the starting pistol rang through the air having been fired by running legend Steve "the Jarrow Arrow" Cram.
I kissed P on the head and we were off.....and so was my knee.

The moment we broke from walk to jog, the painful reminder of those last two long training runs returned and remained for the whole 26 miles.
Immediately I confered with P about the situation and he told me to relax and enjoy the day. And so pushing the irritation from my mind the great running snake infront of us bobbed uncontrolably around the park and down the main drag towards Brighton Pier.

A twelve piece percussion group cracked out some wicked rythyms for everyone to enjoy and the sight of the Pavilion in the glorious Sunday morning sunshine was memorable.
P and I waved to the generous crowd that lined the streets as we looped away from the sea and back again for miles 4 and 5.

Brighton Marina came into view, lots of boats with their masts and sails chirping sweetly on the water. We sooned passed that, having found a comfortable stride.
Mile 8 took us past the large pitch and putt at Roedean. P asked a lovely looking lady runner if she would like to play a round. She said maybe after a go on the pitch and putt.

9 and 10 took us up and through the delightful village of Ovingdean, some locals hosing runners from their front gardens with cold water. It was starting to get hot. We`d taken bottles of water and powerade from each hydration station and was feeling pretty good apart from the chafing on my front where the P`s holding strap went directly over my nipples. We stopped infront of two medics, one of whom had a finger of vaseline at the ready. I removed the straps, lifted my shirt, revealed two raw teets, and just said "NIPPLES!"
We laughed and applied at the same time.

Back in stride, we rounded the far eastern point of the course and headed back towards the growing throng 3 miles in the distance by the pier.
14, 15 and 16 found us in Aldrington and it was here that we found offers of lager and jelly cafine blocks. We pulled up for a breather and a chat with our friends from Fortesque Manor, desperately trying not to think about the now rapidly growing pain in my right knee. We walked for a hundred metres and rounded the 17 mark, stop starting into 18. Things felt pretty bad and we still had 8 to go! We grimaced on and picked up the pace a little.

At 18.5 the route returned to the seafront where there was a gospel choir, thirty strong, belting out songs for the runners in a great big, custom made, domed street theatre.
P and I peeled away from the running flow, stood right infront of the singers and plugged ourselves into this beautiful choral roar for a few seconds and applauded the brutal vocal climax. I'm convinced they gave a little bit more for us when we paused there. It was such a moment and we plodded off with massive grins towards the power station at the furthest western point of the course.
The power station was the hardest section. We passed two or three horizontals, delerious from dehydration, the wailing of an ambulance siren a half mile behind us clashing horribly with the wailing of the horizontals.

P pointed out that one of the horizontals was delerious before the race, judging by his yellow pants / black socks combo that was now clashing much worse than the siren and his groaning.

The entertainment at this point came in the shape of a DJ set blasting out some blinding electronica next to the river. It was tough up there as alot of bods were yapped and the music kind of went unnoticed. There was a "wall" arching over the road that represented "the wall" that long distance runners "hit" at around this mark.

We walked from 20.5 to 22 as we were cooking in the sun and my knee had well and truly got the better of me. The run monkeys had all but torn away everything from the waist down and were jumping with delight, waving femur in one hand and umbrella in the other, kicking my patella along the floor with all the enthusiasm of a ten year old Mary Poppins.

It was here that I felt something had to be done otherwise we wouldn't have been home for another two hours.
Although P is a seal and therfore has no concept of time as we know it, I consulted him about what our plan of action should be from here on in. He told me flatley to "grow a pair" and get a move on as Come Dine With Me started at just before seven and he didn't want to miss it as it was a sea-food special. Cheeky fecker!

With this we dug into the reserves and before we knew it we began to overtake those who had overtaken us in the previous 1.5 miles.
The final 4 miles was totally bonkers, the crowds swelling the closer you got to the end, everyone shouting encouragement and superlatives. As a sign of acknowledgement I lifted my drinks bottle up in the air when I heard my name, P nodded vigorously in the direction of the voices when he heard the word "seal".

The more distance we covered after leaving the power station, the further into runners tunnel we went until finally we found the sweet mental depth that had eluded us for the majority of the run. It was peaceful here, empty and calm. The only indication that we were struggling came from short, sharp, gurn style grimaces every time a frying pan of pain smashed me in the knee or hip. It reminded me of the final sequence in 2001: Space Oddesy, when Dave is breaking light speed in his ship and his face appears on the screen in multi-coloured blips and stills, all contorted but only for a split second.
At 25 miles we were once again greeted by our friends, Rich and Amanda from Fortesque Manor. P and I would have accepted a beer at this point but none was offered, only photos taken of us both smiling distantly through gritted teeth.
By now, the crowd were whipped up into a frenzy as the closing mile came closer. They whooped and cheered, beckoning us to glory as we rode a wave of positive human emotion, P lapping it up. Such was his enthusiasm to receive the plaudits I wondered if it was possible for him to nod his own head off!
Finally, the magic moment of seeing the finishing line.
At 26m the route shifted slightly to the left to give a full view of the finish gate. It was at this point we moved over to the crowd on the right and began to thank as many as we could by high-fiving our way home. Hands of all shapes and sizes, and all different colours stretched out infront of us guiding us home. I gently patted the smaller ones and manly clasped the big ones. Our grins took up the whole road, there was no pain here, only love and happiness, everybody together.
I high-fived a couple of photographers and squeezed past marathon volunteers to reach the final few hands before kissing P on the head and crossing the line.
I put my hands on my head and wiped a tear from my face with the shoulder of my ISS shirt.
The run monkeys stood on a pile of lower body parts and applauded our efforts.
P was beside himself with joy and asked if we could do it again. I said we`d talk about it over a fish supper and a gin and tonic.

What a run. It was over.
We collected our medal in Jim`ll Fix It fashion and shared the glory and tears. The timer chip was removed from my shoe by a volunteer and we would later discover that our time for the 2011 Brighton Marathon would be 4h 53m 06s. We reached the half way mark at 2h 7m 26s meaning the second half took 2h 45m 40s. The knee took its toll and the sections we walked stretched out the time.
Currently my right knee is uncomfortable, a toe on my left foot looks set to lose a nail and I`m getting sporadic pangs of discomfort all through both legs. My nipples are fine.
P will be making his way to the the ISS and will be donning his cabon rubbers again for the up and coming running event taking place on June 6th in Ireland with the fabulous Sarah Butler Reese on behalf of the ISS.

Massive thanks to Jaelean Carrero for her efforts in bringing P to the UK.
Massive thanks to mama and papa for giving us lodgings and transport in the UK.
Massive thanks to Fiorenza for being patient and supportive throughout the training and marathon itself.
Biggest thanks to Sarah Butler Rees who has donated her time to post these bits of blah and helped tirelessly to increase awareness of the event itself.
Finally, thank you to everybody who has kindly donated money to the sanctuary.
That is a marathon neverending X

2nd April 2011

Things that are making me go "YEY!" this week: Sitting down
Things that are making me go "GGGRRRR....." this week: Standing up

My training runs have been pretty long, ideally I`d liked to have run a twenty miler, and although parts of me are threatening to go bang I remain confident of completing next Sundays big one!
I do have a few weapons up my sleeve. My main weapon is the crowd.....and the flat terrain. My two main weapons are the crowd and the flat terrain.....and over-the-counter narcotics. My three main weapons are the crowd, the flat terrain, over-the-counter narcotics and a total and utter efficiency to the ISS!.

Positively, by the time I go past the twenty mile mark in Brighton I`ll be going slow enough to give a true representation of the speed of a seal on land.

While march came in like a lion and went out like a lamb, last sunday`s run saw me leave the appartment like a kangaroo on a trampoline and return like a three legged tortoise on crutches. My right knee was screaming at me throughout the whole twenty miles (including the last three in the car) and my run monkeys were throwing a riverdance carnival on my ribs. Fortunately I`d pre-arranged with my long suffering partner to meet me with extra water at the seventeen mile point, I took the drink and called it day, jumped in her car and we went home. I couldn`t see the point in physically stressing myself out any more. After we got back I showered then sat down on a comfy chair with a fat cusion and it felt so good to take the weight off my legs I felt so happy I almost cried. I slugged down two beers to numb my knee and read about profesional medical types online advising long distance runners to avoid alcohol and maintain high levels of fitness to increase the overall chance of completing a marathon.

I slugged down another two beers and consulted the Indian Knee God, Vashtar Patella, who told me that was complete and utter ########!   During our spiritual connection he told me about a monk friend of his who sold hotdogs in Times Square, New York, and that one day a man approached his stall to buy something to eat.

"Make me one with everything" said the man.
So the monk dutifully obliged and the man handed over a $20 note.
Two minutes of silence passed before the man said,
"What about my change...?"
The monk replied,
"Change must come from within".

The last seven days I've done more training in my sleep than I have in waking life as I dreamt I was playing centre forward for my beloved West Ham. As I went for a curling left foot screamer into the top right corner I followed through too much and booted the bedside-table which knocked over the lamp. This woke me and my patner up and she asked me what I was doing, I replied I'd just broken my toe on the furniture smashing in a thirty yard winner against Manchester United.

Over the last couple of weeks I`ve given you good folk the chance to name my seal and win a Sardinian goody bag. Lots of great names were put forward including Napoleon, Athenia, Maxie-Million and Clive. Jools from the Pools was a close second but the one that has stayed in my head the most is Pheidippides, which was suggested by the delightful Maire Comerford. A Sardo goody bag is on its way to you.

Pheidippides was a man from Athens who was sent to request for help when the Persians landed at Marathon, Greece. He covered 150 miles on foot in two days. Then ran 25 miles from the battlefield near Marathon to Athens to announce a Greek victory over Persia. Upon arrival he uttered the word "Nenikekamen" (we have won) and promptly collapsed and died on the spot from exhaustion. Thus a legend was born.

I hope to emulate certain bits of that story, preferably not the bit at the end. If you listen very carefully sunday lunchtime to the wind that blows from the south you`ll hear a cry of victory for the ISS!

9am is the start time and I hope to finish somewhere between one and two in the afternoon. If you see reports on the news of a grey seal on the M3....I`ve taken a wrong turn.

28th March 2011

Two weeks to go until the big day and things have turned personal.
The training distances are so long now that I'm going a bit wobbly in the head, believing that this is punishment for the way I've behaved in the past. I have come to the conclusion that the guilt I carry over certain incidents in life will evaporate upon completion of the marathon thus rendering me free from the shackles of regret. I'm not talking about shoplifting sherbert ufos as a 9 year old or wearing the ex-wife's tights, stilettos and nurses uniform while having a one man sexy party as a woozy 22 year old. I'm talking about the things that I am not proud of. Very regrettable and shameful things that only a knee-crunching, toe-smashing 26 miles can justifiably act as a self-confessional / self- punishment combo. Maybe the run monkeys are my judges? They seem to like using their gavels on my acquittals!
There's a bit in the film Animal House where a guy has the opportunity to take advantage of a drunk girlfriend but his conscience appears on his shoulders as an angel and a devil and each try to persuade him to do what they feel is the right thing. For the first four miles of sunday's eighteen, my own angels and demons were loudly battling it out inside my head, one side telling me that I can do it, I just have to believe in myself, the other telling me to forget all this silly running nonsense and go to the bar for the lunchtime kick-off! For the following two miles I was the drunk girlfriend, oblivious to everything having entered runners-tunnel.

The 1.5ltr bottle of energy gloop I was carrying only added to my struggles so after six miles I drank some and dumped it by the side of the road. I ran for the next four miles like those fast-forward bods chasing the nurses on the Benny Hill show....deeeeeeeeeeeeeeee, de de diddle de, de de diddle de, de diddle diddle de de!
Bruising clouds blew in from the north and a giant wet finger of rain pressed down on me through miles eleven, twelve and thirteen. At this point my buttocks went numb from the cold rain so while running I started smacking myself on the arse to try and bring back the feeling. Honest! It was to bring back the feeling in my buttocks...OOOHHH AND HOW IT RETURNED!

My route took me back past my earlier discarded bottle so I picked it up and almost quaffed the lot while walking up the big hill. I don't remember much about the last five miles, I found some sweet mental depth to shimmy the knee pain out of the equasion and I completed the run in a sniff under 2h 30m, which I was quite pleased with.

The following couple of days I was busy searching the appartment for run monkeys, hoping they would return the bits they took during sunday's run. I kind of figure they're running some underground body-part bid-fest somewhere like "comparethegeoffreymarket.com", not to be confused with "comparethegeoffreymeerkat.com". Far from simples, I say, as they still have three toes, one inner ball (foot), one outta ball (not foot), one right shin, one right patella, one left adductor muscle, one left rib, an inner ear, an outta ear, several hundred hairs and my pair of red running shorts that I can't find anywhere!

Training continued on wednesday with a six mile plod with quick bits thrown in. I ran its entirety with action man eyes, the control room in my head trying to compute the physical damage done by sunday's 18 miles.

(just for the record it was the Artic Action Man with the white suit, white boots and ski poles although he was regularly out-of-action man due to the effects of global warming caused by a massive magnifying glass and a box of matches)

Control room reported vague damage news on the knobbly bit half-way down my leg and that it would probably be alright if I took it easy for a week or two. Needless to say I skipped friday's run to stop it going bang completely.

To help me understand a bit more about my "time / distance covered" thing I found a cool little website based on speed conversion that breaks down the distance covered and overall speed. Sunday's 18 miles was broken down thus:

• 8.5 minutes for 1 mile
• 188 metres per minute
• 616 feet per minute
• 100 metres in 32 seconds

This week I discovered my parents have received my Brighton marathon participants pack sent by the bods who organise the event.
It contains the time chip for my trainers, my running number, a plastic bag with my running number for my belongings, a final instructions book and three safety pins (presumably to attack the bloke running on behalf of the Orca's Liberation Front....or is it the Liberation Front of Orca's....? Either way they eat seals for fun!)

I had my own preconceptions on what a marathon participants pack should contain and is as follows: one whistle, two "cross" nipple plasters (not as in angry although they looked pretty upset after last sunday), one false mustache and glasses combo (for the bus ride), a gun (also for the bus ride), painkillers, anti-inflammatorys, some herring for the seal, vaseline (for me), roller-skates, a family size bakewell tart, one of those little plastic toy hammers that squeaks when you hit things with it, a letter home, some string, a pound coin and a euro (incase the gun doesn't work).

"Name That Seal" time now! Thank you for the suggestions over the last week, they have been fun to read, I hope my comments were constructive and not destructive.

Here are some of my favourites so far:
Napoleon, Selkie, Pheidippides, Angus Pavilion III, Clive, Clancy, Killer, Bubbles, Athenia, Maxie Million, Whikerz, Sebastian and The Fonz :)

To reiterate, a seal has been delivered to me (not a real one) and will be  joining me for the marathon. Problem is, he doesn't have a name. If you can send your suggestions to my FB page or to the Irish Seal Sanctuary FB page I will choose the most appropriate this coming friday (April 1st). I will send a Sardinian Goody Bag to the person with the best suggestion.

Thanks for your support over the months, whoever and where ever you may be X

21st March 2011

Three weeks to go!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can't believe it. Where is the time going? Who's silly idea was it to run the Brighton Marathon? Who started this marathon running in the first place? Why couldn't I have been born with more legs? That would make it much easier. Mind you, more legs means more feet. More feet means more toenails, and more toenails means a bigger bin by the side of my bed! I just don't have the room, darlings!
Training this week has consisted of an uncomfortable fifteen miler, a sharp and punchy six miler and a fairly mellow six miler. In between running I've been stuffing my face with pasta and salad and cake and fruit and cornflakes. I could do with a bigger mouth! Why couldn't I have been born with a bigger mouth? Or even two mouths? Mind you, two mouths means more teeth. More teeth means more toothpicks, and more toothpicks means less trees for the run monkeys and we don't want that! Two mouths would also mean I could give a Double Dutch-Woof to my canine pals.
My times for the six miles are getting better, sub 48m. I feel a long way off the times from two years ago.

The fifteen miler was slow at 2h 20m, my knees constantly reminding me that I'm almost forty. I ran with a full 1ltr bottle of water mixed with an energy powder. This stuff causes small lumps of sticky goo form at the sides of my mouth as my system dehydrates. I didn't realise this until after I had got back to the appartment. At 12 miles I had to stop at a beach cafe and ask for a replenishment of water. Panting and soaked in sweat, I felt resistance in my lips as the goo fought to prevent my mouth from opening properly. As I spoke I pictured myself as a giant talking toasted cheese sandwich. I was a goner, man! She half filled my bottle and gestured politely with her fingers to the corners of her mouth as if to wipe something away. I thanked her and left thinking "what a weirdo". I got home to see my reflection in the bathroom mirror, lips pale and sticky, hair wild, looking like an eight year old after too many sherbet dib-dabs.

What a week it's been. I've watched so much hypnotic coverage of the natural disaster in Japan that I have been running proper paranoid of impending disaster, waiting for the trees in the distance to start disapearing, the rumble of a giant's hungry belly, the roar of a monstrous oceanic lion. I consider my options, exposed as I am, a mile from the high point of a local archeological site and almost three miles from the highest point of the entire run. I could scramble up a tree but I fear that would just be delaying the inevitable gobbling-up by thousands of tonnes of Mediteranean.

It was a nightmare, the fifteen miler last sunday was a stop and start affair as my mind was running faster than my legs. The wind was blowing from the south-east, whipping the usually placid sea into a creamy tumbling shoreline frenzy. At its nearest the sea was twenty metres from the road and growling at me, a bit like my two canine mates back in town. Then the run monkeys arrived and mental fragility turned physical as they repeatedly flushed my ribs with wet hammers. I pictured myself hanging by the wrists, like Mel Gibson in the electrocution scene from Lethal Weapon, the run monkeys violently happy, banging me with a fully-charged mop on a long pole, screeching and hopping as they went about their tortuous business.
The technical term for this is side stitches.

I googled side stitches and got directed to a grandma's party, lots of clacking knitting needles and sterident. Not what I was looking for but sounds like a good night in!
Next up was a medically informative piece about the what's and why's of side stitches. Its basically a muscle spasm of the diaphragm brought on by the movement of internal organs while running. It goes on to say that to terminate the enemy you must inhale deeply and exhale through pursed lips, pretending to blow out candles on a birthday cake, although that's a big ask for me as there's almost forty of the buggers on my cake.

After reading the article I scrolled to the top of the page and noticed it was aimed specifically at women runners. I'm off to raid the old man's wardrobe for a nice off the shoulder number and some sling backs.

A few weeks ago I was introduced to 98FM Seal, a radio staion based in Dublin. On their FaceBook page they were asking for suggestions to name a seal. I put forward "Richard Parker", and on friday I discovered my suggestion was chosen as the name they would use.

It has always been my intention to run the marathon with a seal and I recently became the proud owner of one. The problem is that now I need to name him (I've gendered him after doing the appropiate checks).

With two weeks to go we don't have much time so please put your thinking caps on!
Send your suggestions to my FaceBook page and I will forward a Sardinian goody-bag to the best 1 :) I'm absolutely genuine about this so please help me out!!

14th March 2011

28 days to go and I'm beginning to regain some of the fitness and confidence I had before my bout of man-flu. I've been following certain training exercises this week and putting in 3minute bursts of quick pace then slowing for 1minute of recuperation. I continue this until, a) I don't have the energy to do it anymore, b) the blood-thirsty sheepdog chasing me gives up, c) the blood-thirsty sheepdog chasing me catches me, or d) my i-Cod jumps to bloody Elaine Page.

Anyway, I think this peaking and troughing style of running is working as now I have a two-pack where my one-pack used to be.  I put in a 10miler last sunday and ran with a stitch in my side for the first three miles. I haven't suffered with this problem since the time I balanced two small bean-bags on my head whilst continually stepping through a hula-hoop competing in the 80meter obstacle race when I was eight. Bloody catholics.

To this day I'm convinced Aaron Taylor blue-tacked his egg to his spoon for the last twenty yards.
Memories do become a little blurred over time, like looking through the frosted glass on the shower door of life in the en-suit of doom.

It's funny how we often view ourselves differently from how other people see us and how things become lost in translation. My hair has grown to its longest length for almost sixteen years. I think I have hair like Mitchell the Vampire from Being Human but in reality its more like Crusty the Clown from the Simpsons. My Italian friend, who speaks excellent English, told me that during a language lesson he described doing manual labour as giving hand jobs. I said that he also needed to work a little harder on his pronounciation of the word "can't" otherwise he could find himself on the wrong end of crossed-wire.

As I near the end of every long training run I resemble an escapee from a nut house; hair wild, my clothes soaked in sweat, eyes desperate as I stop and pull a "Dutch Woof" in the middle of the road to the two brain-fried beasts caught in the tractor beam of my body odour, whilst simultaneously dodging traffic like a scrum-half chasing a hooker.

I deflect murmurs of interest with smiles and Australian accented "G'day's". Little do these people know that I'll be running 26 miles in four weeks time infront of thousands of people with a furry seal around my waist. (a lovely local pizza man knows because we spoke at length about running and he went on to explain that he regularly ran long distances before he hung up his Nikes and started doing hand jobs for money to which I replied that I hope he washed thoroughly before tossing the dough, but I think it went over his head, figuratively speaking...)

Come to think of it the pizza man looks a bit like the "Cocco-bello" man from the beach. During last year's summer season I saw a guy walking up and down the beach carrying a big cool-box, shouting "Cocco-bello! Cocco-bello!" I thought he was boastfully telling everybody about getting first place in a "Prettiest Penis" competition but he was infact selling pieces of fresh coconut at €2 a pop.

As I'm increasing the severity of my training so my intake of calories has gone up. Two years ago I ran the London Marathon for the Lifeboat Association and discovered tuna, honey, mustard and water cress in pitta bread from an online guide to marathon glory. It also gave great advice about what to do if, whilst out running, you discover an alphabetti-spaghetti delivery truck crashed and shedding its load onto the path. The advice given was not to go near it as it could spell disaster.

I googled "diet for marathon runners" and got sent to a sports nutrition research page which told me I needed to convert my body fat into a source of energy. Cheeky fekkers.
Next I typed "carbo-loading" and promptly connected with soft-truck.com, a company that promised to deliver what it says it delivers, but didn't say what it delivered, then I realised I'd clipped a "g" instead of a "b" on my original spelling.

Next up was the real deal and although its explanation of glycogen superconcentration was layed out before me in sensible words and pretty colours I am having trouble getting my now hungry head around it.

Carbo-loading is a method of boosting the amount of glycogen in the body prior to extended activity. It is also known as glycogen supercompensation, apparently, and this increased intake of high carbohydrate foods in the run up to the exercise can increase indurance levels by up to 20% if carried out properly, with the correct mix of fibre and fluids and juices and oh my god my I need to go shopping first thing tomorrow morning.

Carbo-loading also reacts differently in women than in men. Something to do with women having bigger mouths. (I know a joke about that but I can't write it here because this is a family blog)
For those who, like me, follow the way of the leaf, we don't really have to change what we eat, just cut down on alcohol and cake....so no trifle then.

Fruits, pasta, vegetables, bread and legumes are to be eaten in larger doses. Initially I thought it said I could eat as many fruit pastels as I liked but then I relised I'd mis-read it.
On seeing images of legumes online I remembered reading a story about a vegetarian artist who constructed replicas of famous cities and landmarks using only vegetables and legumes. So I googled "legume art" expecting eye-popping results but found only six rubbish bits of art called "Peas". Just white plates with peas on, each with an asking price of $24!! I like peas so I bought two. There were other pieces available by an artist claiming to be a cannibal but I wasn't too interested in those as they cost an arm and a leg.

What do vegetarian zombies eat....???....GGRRAAAIIINNNZZZ
I found a section on drinking while running and it mentions nothing about "Runners Gum". Honestly, I don't know who this Gebreselassie bloke thinks he is but its obvious he doesn't get out much. He did say not to run and drink at the same time as this could cause the cherry and umbrella to fall off the top of the glass. Thats obviously for the top end of long distance running.

Sweets are allowed prior to the event but I'm going to look silly enough with a three and a half foot seal strapped to me without having black forrest gateau all over my face.
Gum drops and Jelly Babies are good to eat before the long runs as the sugar in those is the first to be used on the early mileage. I'd go for Jelly-Atrics out of all the sugary treats. Like Jelly Babies but with tiny jelly walking frames and sticks.

8th March 2011

Hurrah! Only 45 days to go until the big day in Sussex and training has resumed slowly after having a cold. Unfortunately, Bouncing Barbara's online living room work-out ruined my fragile achilles' and the two runs I've done since have only added to the problem.

My partner and I went to Milan last week on business and whilst there I went to a gym and put in a paltry 45mins covering 8km in roughly 40mins and suffered "Treadmill Leg Fourteen" at a speed of 12.5kmh. I dropped the lid of my Gatorade bottle and took three attempts to pick it up as I feared any bend in my yapped legs would make them go bang!

A 6 miler over 50mins on wednesday forced me to rethink my cool-down strategy, my achilles' again really hassling me. I googled for information about calfs and got sent to a site for young domestic cows. It reminded me of a friend in England who used an online dating agency to successfully find a girlfriend. She had two of the three requirements but fell short at the thrid as she refused to do the washing-up and ironing.

I continued my search stating "lower leg problems". This took me into frightening territory as at first I was told my legs were broken. Further reading ruled this out as neither tibia nor fibia were protruding through the skin.

Next up was surgery for achilles tendonosis accompanied by a graphic drawing of the "posterior view of a normal achilles tendon as it goes from the gastrocnemius muscle to the calcaneus". The surgery itself involves removing tissue from areas of degeneration. This reminded me of a conservation project in Clacton I was involved in which required volunteers to collect rubbish from local "hot-spots" where amorous couples "made-out" in their cars but threw their "belongings" out the window, presumably for the gulls to have for breakfast. Probably why they're so big.

Anyway, a scalpel is inserted into the degenerative area of the tendon and then, while the scalpel is inserted, the patient flexes and extends the foot! The process is then repeated above, below, to the left and to the right of the original insertion!

At this point the voice of Leonard H. McCoy got louder in my head....."For God's sake man, I'm a doctor not a fish monger!"
The other alternative was to use an ice-pack.
Needless to say I'm booked in for Thursday week and will go under the knife at eleven.
I'm just happy my gastrocnemius didnt go semimembranoso!

Moving on to music now and I know there are many people running with iPods and MP3 players but I choose to run "naked", audio wise. I do have music playing in head almost every second of my waking life. I'm like an "i-Cod". My "library" is a mix of funk-rock, jazz-funk, fraggle-rock and folk.
Personally I would run to music that best suits ones pace thus jogging in time with the rhythm of the song. Usually, when I reach a constant speed my "i-Cod" switches to Babies by Pulp which has a BPM of 150 - 160. This played in my head for ten miles and I recorded a respectable time because of it. Recently my partner put the radio on and I caught a few bars of Elaine Page's "Memory" just as I was leaving the house for a run. I couldnt get it out of my head and didnt get home for seven hours covering only three miles.

It seems that many runners choose a BPM of between 140 – 150. Listed below are some of the tunes I have playing on my "i-Cod":

Song For Clay – Bloc Party
Stay Away – Nirvana
Moving – Suede
A Forest (accoustic version) – The Cure
Mr Brightside – The Killers
Lounge Act – Nirvana
Medication –Queens of the Stone Age
Everybody Knows That You're Insane – Queens of the Stone Age
Jumbo – Underworld
Mashin' on the Motorway – DJ Shadow (probably my favourite)
Remember When – High Contrast
I Heard Wonders – David Holmes
All Alone – Gorillaz
Babies – Pulp
Thats Not My Name – Ting Tings
Funky Kingston – Toots and the Maytals

Ok, so there we have it, nothing too unusual included. We're kicking off with the beautiful vocals of Kele Okereke and the banging drums of Matt Tong in Bloc Party's Song For Clay, then we're smashing head first through the musical door that is Kurt and the gang belting out Stay Away. Next its Suede and Bret Anderson's welder-like vocals cutting through those tough first couple of miles. Following nicely is The Cure and the awesome bass of Alan Hill, then we're busting into Mr Brightside and literally running down the frets of Dave Keuning's opening guitar lick. More Kurt and the gang now with a song that I like to think is playing in a dogs head when its hanging out the window of a moving car.

Closing in on mile four brings us a slightly quicker pace with those Queens from Palm Desert and the creamy guitar skills of Josh Homme and Troy Van Leeuwen. After pumping hard to QOTSA we find ourselves in the warm repetative, hypnotic synths of Underworld, just perfect for mental stability and depth.

Calm waters turn to fun rapids as DJ Shadow oozes rhythmic power into those legs for miles five and six. More hypnotic loveliness now from High Contrast, I could listen to this for the whole run, its that crazy beat, baby!

David Holmes' I Heard Wonders is like musical jump-leads pulsing energy into the thighs, breaking into miles seven and eight.

Next is Gorillaz and All Alone. When somebody asks me why I run I say its for the solitude.
Following this is Pulp and Jarvis Cocker with 4minutes 5seconds of glorious arrangement and story telling of a boy perving in a wardrobe listening to his wannabe girlfriend with some kid called David from the garage down the road. Great stuff!

Next we go skipping towards the final milage with the poppy Tinig Tings and at this point you're regularly forgetting more than just someones name.
Almost finished and its time for the ultimate pick-up and possibly the greatest pop-rock song written this side of the millenium. There's strength in those lungs to try and dry-scream your way through the chorus too!

Finally, to bounce you over the finish line we go a-hey-hey-hey'n and a-nah-nah-nah'n to fitness glory and a well deserved pint while watching the evening kick-off.
There's roughly ten miles here which is a great achievment, the rhythm is fairly constant with a few dips and peaks here and there.

Sorry there is no mention of songs by Flacid Gristle, Mo's Comb, and Hannah and the Lovebites but we cant put them all in can we.

Well done to my mate Richie who completed the Brighton Half Marathon on Sunday 20th in a fraction over 1h 45m, a grand effort! He said there was a good turn out and was looking forward to cheering on the bods doing the main event in a few weeks.

Personally I cant wait :)

Well done to the guys at the sanctuary for another success with Holly. Have fun at the release, wish I was there x

Keep up the good work guys!

Ciao tutti! 55 days to go and all is not well in Camp Codling.
Camp Codling isn't a state of being but more of a personal fort with terracotta walls and leaded lattice windows enhanced by hyacinths arranged in a line like yummy soldiers holding tiny flags of sky blue chiffon, and lemon skirting with a Persian rug in the middle of the room to bring it all together darling....
hhhmmm....maybe I'm a little camper than I thought....
I've had a cold! I've spent the last twelve days nursing a snotty nose and sore throat and have felt very sorry for myself. I kept being woken up by my nose literally crying and although I dont fully remember going through half a bog roll during the night the evidence was clearly there in the morning at the side of the bed in the shape of a soggy tissue mountain.
I don't like having a cold, I haven't had a cold for months and months and I don't make a very good patient. I get grumpy and quickly iritated. When I'm ill I want to be in a comedy hospital with Barbara Windsor nursing me, although not Queen Vic Barbara from "the square", effin' her way raaahnd the place like some docker's wife. I want cheeky Barbara in a nurses uniform telling me that when it comes to a bit of jiggery-pokery she can put up with the jiggery but draws a line at the pokery.

Anyway, I'm off the death-bed now but still feel vunerable to the perils of running with below par fitness so I've done almost nothing for a fortnight. The weather has been beautiful here and its just added to the frustration of having legs that feel like two wet sticks of celery. My left knee has been throbbing and I've been slowly going up in poundage round the belly. Morale feels low too.
During this period of not doing anything I'm thinking the less I do the more things seem to feel broken.
For me, regularly running long distances heralds a constant fatigue, like a blanket of languor I constantly drag around. Remember Peanuts? Remember Linus, the little dude with the blanket? Well imagine him at thirty six with crusty nostrils, hairy legs and entering the "man-a-pause", and you're getting close to the image I'm trying to create.
(just for the record Linus had a very small blanket but mine is massive)
What I'm saying is that the fatigue is like a debility blanket masking the internal wear and tear incurred by regular excercise. But when I stop running for several days or more the blanket is lifted and I'm left with aching muscles and groaning bones. I see myself as a series of x-ray photos stapled together in the shape of a human. Standing next to these is an energetic eighteen year old Geoffrey in a white lab coat holding a long pointy stick bluntly pointing out the bits of me that feel like have gone bang!
I exercised for the first time in two weeks. I found an American lass wearing joggies and an over-shoulder boulder-holder sports bra on youtube demonstrating living-room aerobics in polite ten minute episodes. The guilt of having done nothing recently made me put in a respectable forty minutes but I may have overcooked it some what as two days on I feel like I've been run over.
At time of writing my cold seems to be abating but my body aches from Bouncing Beverly telling me to "pump it strong and really put it up there".
Training will resume tomorrow in the form of a ten miler along the Med.
Its not all bad in Camp Codling x

Good Luck to my mate Richie who is participating in the Brighton Half Marathon next sunday :) Move those crazy legs yapper!

Hurrah! Only 62 days to go until the big day in Brighton and everything is going according to plan.
Last week I was feeling mentally and physically yapped as I reached the point where its far more logical to catch a bus or drive the distance I run. I covered seventeen miles. That's seventeen miles in one go not doing three miles on a monday, running four miles on a tuesday, I then covered seven over wednesday and thursday and friday and saturday, was drunk on sunday....I know a song like that...Anyway, the time was roughly 2h 35m. I haven't run that sort of distance since getting into trouble with the landlord of The Turks Head whilst touring Lincoln with my band, Hannah and The Lovebites.

You go places mentally, when you reach certain distances, like entering rooms deep inside your psyche. The rooms become greater the farther you run until you picture yourself entering a room as big as Wembley Stadium through a door no bigger than a matchbox.

Notorious long distance runner and Limp Bizkit frontman Fred "The Legs" Durst once publically admitted that he "never made it as a blind man, never made it as a poor man stealing" and I believe he never made it as a world class marathon runner either which is one thing me and him have in common. That said I finished the recent seventeen miler and had the chorus of "Free Nelson Mandela" playing in my head over and over again except I substituted Nelson Mandela with my own five syllable name. Maybe it was in my head because I, like he once was, am feeling manacled to the bars of philanthropism in the prison cell of circumstance....OR....its because its got a really catchy tune....

After two days rest I was back out again this time with increased speed and less distance, covering six miles in a little over 47m. I was quite pleased with this as I made it my last bit of exercise for a few days as I took a trip to London for a party at a little club called CherryJam. Photos can be seen on my FaceBook page. Unfortunately I am currently suffering a sore throat and cough so I have to delay the training for a few more days.

This week sees us concentrating on the importance of stretching. Warm-ups and cool-downs are the little sausages in the can of beans of long distance running and can mean the difference between crutches and a wheel-chair. Watching television is a good way to relax after a run but be careful not to settle exactly midway between the remote control and the T.V. itself. When it is time to turn up the volume or change channel the weight of indicision about which is nearer could tip you mentally over the edge thus rendering you psychologically useless and upset.

I've compiled a list of moves and postitions taken from a keep-fit book by seal lover and marathon veteran Ruth "The Haddock" Madoc. The book is called: The High-di-Highs and Low-di-Lows of Excercise. The list has the name of the position first followed by a description on how to acheive it.

PRE-RUN STRETCHING:

• THE DUTCH WOOF: stand with hands on hips, twist torso at waist, turn head in same direction until looking behind you, now bark
• THE SHY PIGEON: stand on one leg and hold elbow with hand of opposite arm behind head, move chin left and right towards each nipple
• PARTING OF THE RED SEA: standing straight, interlace fingers and turn palms out at arms length, separate quickly in wide arcs of opposite direction whilst mumbling loudly
• THE DOUBLE REESE-BUTLER: standing straight turn head left, touch behind right ear with right hand, bring left foot up to left hand, alternate accordingly
• THE MAGICIANS ASSISTANT: standing straight, feet two feet apart, bend slightly at right knee keeping left leg firm, turn head to right shoulder, open mouth, raise eyebrows, with elbows in bring hands to shoulders with palms infront, fingers spread, now.....shake those hands
• GO STRAIGHT TO JAIL: standing straight, feet together, bring elbows together at the solar plexis, wrists together, fists closed, bring chin to chest and....hold
• THE DRUNK UNICORN: kneel on floor, place right elbow to forehead with forearm out infront and hand touching the floor, grasp top of right foot with left hand and pull towards buttocks
• THE TRIPLE FIORENZA: standing straight, feet one foot apart, cup hands over left breast, turn head to right shoulder, bring right knee to left knee keeping body firm
• BALCONY CHICKEN: wrap small towel around top of head like a pirate, tuck hands into armpits, bring elbows back, bring head forward, fully squat down on toes, repeatedly bring chest to thighs
• THE NERVOUS HOTDOG: stand with feet touching at the big toe, heels out, knees touching, legs slightly bent, cup hands infront halfway down, gently bite bottom lip, hold for ten seconds.

POST-RUN STRETCHING:

• THE JIMINY CRICK-IT: standing straight, hands on hips, rock head left and right bringing ear to shoulder
• TINKER TAILOR SOLDIER SAILOR: standing straight, turn chin to right shoulder, arms down, slightly bend right knee, bring right heel up with toe on floor, now say....."oooh, hallo"
• TABLE FOR ONE: sitting position, relax back on chair, elbows in, first and second fingers up with knuckles out, thats it, watch everybody leave
• THE SILLY MID-OFF: standing feet and knees together, bend knees slightly with a left twist, left elbow in with forearm out and palm open, right elbow in with right index finger to pursed lips, and....hold
• THE TENDER CURTAIN: after removing clothes, stand against exposed window, legs apart, hands on hips, and relax
• THE COCK-KNEE WHEEZER: sitting with legs at ten past ten on a twenty four hour clock, point toes out, keep back straight, bring your chest towards each knee alternately
• THE BLAST-FEMUR: kneeling with right foot flat and knee perpendicular with the hypotenuse of the thigh and shin, bring left knee back with arch of right foot open, hands on hips, touch chest with chin, and....cramp, 2, 3, and swear, 2, 3.....
• PELVIS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING: standing with feet two feet apart, bring knees together halfway, bring right hand behind right ear, bring left hand up above shoulder with arm straight, open fingers, turn chin to left shoulder, bring yourself up onto your toes, uncomfortable??..UH-HUH!

I have ordered a seal to run with on April 10th and have only to persuade my brother to act as "mannequin" to try it on as its being delivered to the UK and not Sardinia. I like the idea of being a Codling training in Sardinia for a marathon on  behalf of the Seal Sanctuary.

Thank you so much to those who are helping with the promotion of this event using the emailed pdf file.

To Lynn and the all the volunteers at the Sanctuary...
KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK!!!

Hurrah! Only 81 days to go until the big day in Brighton and I (hopefully) get a finishers medal to add to my cycling proficiency pass certificate, my home-economics "I CAN BAKE" badge and my award for retrieving a 12lb rubber brick from the deep end of a swimming pool in my pyjamas.
I've found running difficult these past seven days due to a niggle on the left hand side of my groin. In human anatomy the groin areas are the two creases at the juction of the torso with the legs. Apparently this is also known as the medial compartment of the thigh. In this bit we have hip adductor muscles (thats not to say they're cool and groovy but more a reference to the position on the body). Anyway, as far as I can tell it's these (left sided in my case) that are giving me grief. An early morning seven miler last saturday and ten miles on tuesday was fairly slow going and although I did the big hill without walking, crawling or thumbing a lift I was shot through upon completion and in a fair bit of pain.
That master of long distance running, Franklin D. Rosevelt, once said "when you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on". Really what he should've said is "do your stretching properly like a good boy and you wont go 'bang!' half way up the hills".
Warm-up and cool-down routines are something a runner should do but often doesnt. These "pre" and "post" run activities are vital for sustaining high levels of pain-free fitness. However, exercise and injury go together like chavs and Burberry.
Lots of injuries apparently require total rest with different parts of the body needing more recovery time than others. Unfortunately I'm without one of those little diagnosis machines from the sickbay of the Starship Enterprise so I find it difficult to know what my body is trying to tell me...(in the voice of Leonard "Bones" McCoy......"the reason you're splits are down from the previous week is that your legs are broken. We've got to cut them off. Damn it Geoff, I'm a doctor....Not seamstress!"

To help understand some of the things that can go wrong when running long distances I've compiled a list of injuries one may incur whilst training. Recovery times are in brackets where applicable.

• DEATH: usually brought about by a lack of discipline and poor preparation or traffic (immediate or eternal...depending on where you lay your hat/wand/conch)
• JOGGERS NIPPLE: friction based and often quite embarrassing (two to three days)
  
• ROAD TOE: when one or more of your toe-nails is the colour of tarmac (three to four weeks)
  
• ST. ELMOS' THIGH: inside-leg chafing/chaefing/chaffing (twenty four hours and vaseline)
  
• TREADMILL-LEG "FOURTEEN": equilibrium melt-down upon exiting running machine too quickly (seven to ten days for actual injury, ten to twelve months for embarrassment at gym)
  
• PRE-RUN BLINDNESS: psycho-schematic run-avoidance technique (self-diagnosis)
  
• POST-RUN BLINDNESS: very real (see below)
  
• BRANCH-EYE: inability to avoid roadside foliage (four to five days)
  
• GRIT FOOT: teeny-weeny, tiny-shminy stone that magically materialises between foot and shoe (fifteen minutes of gnarling and fist shaking at the ground)
  
• VESUVIUS HEAD: dehydration induced internal overheating above the neck, can lead to further problems if not dealt with quickly (see below)
  
• ECONOMY EAR: internal overheating in the head involuntarily turns volume down to one to save power for brain, presumably (fifteen to thirty minutes and water/sugary-tea/sugary-lager)
  
• NOAHS BARK: dehydrated yelp when fending off vicious, blood-thirsty, killer sheepdogs (two to three minutes and post-run Gin and Tonic)
  
• HUBCAP ROMANCE: not an injury, just a great name for a band
  
• RUNNERS GUM: smashing ones self in the face whilst trying to drink when running too fast (twenty four hours)
  
• BLUE PETER (men only): when running on a frosty morning whilst wearing only one pair of shorts (two to three hours and a hot shower)
  
• LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD (women only): when running on a frosty morning whilst wearing only one pair of shorts (....er, four days?...)
  
• So, putting all of that together I'm staying in bed for the next.....248 days.
  
  

I will compile a guide of warm-up and cool-down routines and put it in next weeks blah.
(sorry it isnt in this weeks blah SBR)
Following on from last weeks entry I have required some pharmaceutical energy powder to help me increase the milage without post-run emergency-room treatment.
I'm still searching for the inflatable seal but am quietly confident of having one for race day.
Ciao tutti and thanks for your support X

Hurrah! Only 87 days to go until the big day down in Brighton and I've run out of slimey sports gels! Human beings (or "fuman beans" as I called them when I was 6) can only go so far before an energy boost is needed. I am also in need of an inflatable seal. I googled "blow-up animals" and got links to some far-right anti-vegetarian freaks that eat gristle as part of their five-a-day. Next I googled "inflatable seals" and arrived at Seal Master Corporation which I thought sounded a bit sinister, maybe the head-quarters of a crack squad of elite pinnipeds who were planning a raid on Sawers of Belfast, supplier of the worlds finest Herring since 1897. Alas, it turned out to be nothing more than a preverbial red-herring and had absolutely nothing to do with marine wildlife and more to do with custom engineered rubber seals, the sort that prevent water entering the casing of a massive light in a lighthouse. I felt a little deflated at this point. I continued my search and soon found every known animal in the universe in its inflatable form except for seals. Apparently this isnt the inflatable animal of choice. Sharks, penguins, killer-whales, giraffes, lions, tigers, monkeys, parrots, horses, cows, rhino, sheep. The number of aligators was amazing and there are obviously more Tarzan-a-grams out there than we can shake a stick at! Snakes, frogs, elephants, pandas, koalas, bald eagles and even an ant are all up for the party!

That famous long distance runner Louis Pasteur once said that strength lies solely in tenacity and so with this in mind I continued to seive through the inflatable jungle until finally I found three "candidates". All were indeed inflatable seals. The first was bright yellow with a "ringed" body perfect for a foolhardy marathon runner to fit his legs through but YELLOW????!!!!! The second was coloured "hot pink" and looked more like a raw marine sausage than a seal and the third was twenty feet tall and thirty feet wide which given the task at hand may be a tad difficult to carry through and around Brighton city centre, although all the "candidates" may be a tad difficult to carry through and around Brighton city centre. For sure I'd be in need of an inflatable ambulance! A bit like a wife I'll keep searching for the right one. Maybe she'll be inflatable too.
Today I completed a nine miler along the glorious coastal road of Orri with the sun shining bright and the birds singing and the sheep-dogs typically threatening. I'm thinking a change of deoderant would benefit this particular annoyance and possibly save my legs from getting chomped. Having said that I was suffering an attack of the dreaded run-monkeys down the back of my right leg from my buttock to my calf so wouldnt have noticed an extra set of teeth sinking in. First time in ages the little blighters have got hold of me. Hopefully I'll recover for a run on saturday. Gels and inflatables are what I need...but not neccessarily in that order.
If anyone can help with the inflatable seal please contact me on FaceBook or through the sanctuary website.
Thanks for your support.
Ciao Tutti X

Well, it was once said that Old King Cole was a merry old soul and a merry old soul was he and I have to admit that currently the same can be said of me. There is often a certain trail of lethargy that follows christmas and new year like the exhaust fumes of lifes merriment, a bit like Eeyore and Winnie the Pooh respectively, but I've avoided any serious neglect to commitment and pulled on my best pair of carbon-rubbers and left the appartment for a run. Boxing Day I ploughed through fourteen miles! I was pretty "Eeyored" at the end of it mind...
At some point over the last twelve months I was a good boy as on Christmas eve Santa delivered a shiny wooden accoustic guitar to my doorstep (Italian Santa delivers early apparently). Over the last two weeks I've been teaching myself how to play. I've also begun to "up the stakes" some what with regards to training so now I have no feeling in the tips of the fingers on my left hand which balances nicely with the lack of feeling I have in the toes on my right foot. I have since discovered I am a "pronator" runner. This means that when I run my feet roll inward more than outward (the oposite is "supinator"). Putting all of this together I'm guessing that by the time I complete the marathon in april I'll be moving like a Weeble (I'll wobble but I wont fall over) with my top half making like the pendulum of a metronome and my legs doing an out-of-control Charleston. Sussex is pretty hilly so I should make for some interesting viewing.

Sincerely though, I have been putting in the miles over the last two weeks. The Boxing Day fourteen miler was a corker coming home in just over two hours. I've been rolling in and out of Tortoli from all directions completing eight, nine and ten milers with adequate joy. I've broken the law on numerous occasions having plodded onto private territory and "closed" roads; have trod the wooden walk-ways over hundreds of broody fish at the local fish farm; was really close to getting chewed by a far-too-feisty sheep dog and very nearly left a significant part of myself atop a pad-locked eight foot metal gate (pretty much in that order).
My guitar skills are coming along nicely too and am now an honourary member of the Dave Lister School of Rock Music! I've named my guitar Remedios the Beauty and painted it down one side with glittery nail-varnish. I have a digital piano in England but never found a suitable name for it....

I am truly relishing the opportunity to be able to participate in a big fundraising event on behalf of the Irish Seal Sanctuary and cant wait for April to come around.
Please help spread the word of this exciting venture so we can get as much coverage as possible.
All comments and feedback welcome on my FaceBook account :)
X Geoffrey Codling X

Christmas and New Year! :)

Dear gang, the olive season is on its last legs in sunny Sardegna so aswell as piling the miles on my footwear I was putting in the hours down at the grove for a few days. Although less physical (apart from the fun with the machete) collecting olives for seven straight hours is a good workout for my mentality. I would very much like to give an olive to everyone who is supporting me on this marathon but I cant buy stamps small enough to fit on the little blighters so instead I've compiled a top ten of the greatest olive films of all time:
10. The Man with the Golden Olive (good man meets bad man with shiny olive)
9. Raiders of the Lost Olive (one courageous man, one big rolling olive)
8. When Harry Met Olive (boy meets olive, boy likes olive, can boy sleep with olive..?)
7. Everything You Ever Wanted to Know About Olives But Were Too Afraid to Ask (Woody Olive)
6. The Good, The Bad and The Olive (guns, sand, ponchos and olives)
5. Olive! Olive! Olive! (Japanese fighter olives surprise the Yanks!)
4. The Lion, The Witch and The Olive (Lucy, Edmond, Peter, Susan, Aslan, Olive...)
3. Close Encounters of the Third Olive (man meets olive from space! They come in peace....and brine)
2. Olive Over the River Quai (WWII prisoners and allies fight for the Olive!)
1. Gone With the Olive (love, laughter, tears, olives)

Thank god thats over! What a week here in the quiet "nothing ever happens" town of Tortoli. I did a five miler on monday and realised I've reached the point where it takes five miles just to get warmed up. One evening whilst walking into town for some festive bargain hunting the local branch of the national bank was getting turned over. To my utter disapointment my partner and I arrived only seconds after the scoundrols had scarpered. The local law turned up two minutes too late with lights, sirens and guns. I felt agrieved to have missed the oportunity of chasing down bank-robbers but then realised that should the said aprehension had actually taken place I doubt my arsenal of a biro pen and a tuning fork would have made much of a dent in a meaty criminals' thick head....but I did feel confident of beating them in the "running away" stakes. Predictably we returned home empty handed but alive. Christmas shopping is tricky. For many years I'd traditionally go to town with a friend and shop and drink. We had a "buy one, drink one" rule where come three hours into it we'd be pretty oiled and end up coming home with vacuum bags, a jar of assorted Japanese pickles and grout. Happy days!
Anyway, two cheeky three milers in the last couple of days for a stretch of the legs and a long one at some point over the coming few days and as its Christmas I've compiled a runners/seal sanctuary volunteers special edition of The Twelve Days of Christmas.
On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me....
Twelve muscles aching
Eleven Greys a'groaning
Ten weeks of training
Nine frozen herring
Eight blisters weeping
Seven wellies leaking
Six nervous breakdowns
Five tube-feeds left......
Four running gels
Three bent brooms
Two broken knees
And a white-coat with a big grin :)

Merry Christmas gang!!! And a Happy New Year!!! XXX Geoffrey Codling

17th December 2010

Hurrah! Only 115 days to go until I'll be doing it for the sealies proper and throwing some rubber down on the Brighton tarmac!

Ten more miles in the bin this morning and the solitude of long distant running did me some good and enabled me to transfer some of my recent negative energy into forward propultion rather than staitc nothingness and pots of Gino Ginelli (I would like to point out that having been in the Italian province of Sardegna for ten months now not once have I encountered Gino Ginelli ice-cream. However, a quick Google search has quaffed any rational reason about said ice-cream being a produce of the "azzurri" and would be no more Italian if it passed its driving test and drove about in a Fiat Punto shouting "mamma mia!" at everyone it overtook).

Anyway, todays jaunt was brought to an abrupt mid-way turn-around thanks to three large barky dogs drill-marching a bleaty flock of sheep seventy yards ahead of me (not sure some of those words exist but you get the idea). I didn't fancy my chances of out-running them so I swivelled on the five mile mark and hot-footed it back towards the big ascend at four miles (down-hill going, up-hill coming back). Its quite satisfying to complete a fairly long run and I'm rediscovering my running rythym and finding the sweet mental depth needed to keep the dreaded run-monkeys at bay. I'm entering a state I can only describe as runners-tunnel. It's an "in the zone" thing i guess.The more miles you do the deeper into the tunnel you go, like a kind of joggers version of Conception. I could've passed a field of bunny-girls without batting an eye-lid such was my concentration towards the end.

The weather has turned a little cooler here so I had to pile on the layers to deflect the cold breeze blowing in from the north. It snowed over night again and peppered the top half of the nearby mountains with icing-sugar snow. It was really nice to see. Christmas is far more christmassy with a bit of the white stuff and it reminded me of home. Unfortunately, I'm struggling to convert the traditional Twelve Days carol into something joggy or Sardinian but I'll do my best for next week. The crux of it is is that physically we have two of everything so I'm flummoxed on the Third Day. I'll rack my wee brain....
Lastly, I've added "nipples" to my growing christmas wish-list of needed body parts.
Training resumes at the weekend with more machete fun! Hurrah! Geoffrey Codling

13th December 2010

Christmas Christmas Christmas...it's almost here and with it my new knees! Also added a five litre super-tub of Vaseline to keep those chaffe monkeys from lighting fires between my thighs. Nine miles in the bag today. With the sun shining and the wind blowing a balmy breeze I took a different route today and ventured north towards the open cane lands of Girasole and Lotzorai. No sheep, no olives, no orange groves, no trampolining foxes :( Just big bendy sticks knocking into each other like New Years Eve revellers at a Lucio Battisti concert. A return to my wooly followers beckons at the start of next week me tinx and a festive Sardinian version of Twelve Days of Christmas :) ciao tutti!! X Geoffrey Codling!

26th November 2010

132 days to go and today I broke the 13mile mark! Along the way I encountered a very enthusiastic flock of sheep. As I approached they were trotting all over the road but then gathered and flowed out of the way to let me pass then rounded behind me and followed me 100 yards up the road! Fantastic! I almost felt confident enough to dive on top of the lot of them like a rock star would dive into the mosh-pit of life! (albeit a rather wooly mosh-pit) After this encounter I began to consider the top-ten bands sheep would pay money to go and see live...

10. Flocksy Music: Influential on both punk and new wave, opening doors for usage of multi-coloured dye on wool!
9. Janis Choplin: Mercede Benz, zippo in the air...say no more!
8. Guns n Roses n Sheep: Gave sheep an appetite for destruction of front lawns!
7. M.W.A.--Mouflons With Attitude: Hittin' it hard and keepin' it real. no classroom text book boredome here, just proper field work!
6. EWE-2: Pop meets rock meets sheep! Baaaarmy!
5. Manic Sheep Preachers: There's always a welcome in the valleys for these boys. Welsh and proud!
4. Shank Williams: "Lonesome Whistle" hits 'em like a bolt gun to the temple every time!
3. Abba(ttoir): Animal revenge song "Chicken-tikka" sends em' crazy time and time again. Crazy!
2. Sheep on Drugs: Time to let your wool down and go bonkers for their own kind!
1. Britney Shears: Sheep in school uniforms never looked so good!
Training will resume in the rain :(

Geoffrey Codling.

26th November 2010

24th November 2010

17th November 2010 

Geofrey Codling.