Did I ever tell you about the time I nearly froze to death on the remote Atlantic island of South Georgia? While running solo across the ice cap, I’d fallen into a swamp of frozen guano. My blood had attained the colour and consistency
Why I should have imagined that a 14-mile run along the Cleveland Way in August might be good training for the 105-mile Jordan Desert Cup, remains a mystery. Perhaps I reasoned, not unreasonably, that August = Summer = Heat
gazelles across the next tract of filthy bogland. Seaton was supposed to be crippled. He confided to me, If I cant manage this, I cant in all conscience go to New Zealand for the Completely Stupid Blindfold Ice Abseiling 500. The CSBIA is just another
As I once remarked to Rob Wright, a founder member of Numbskulls AC, “You know, running is a mental thing.” He nodded vigorously. “It certainly is, mate. Do you remember the Nude Year’s Eve Triathlon when we had to break the ice on Regent’s Park
