five miles, the stiles had no dog gates and I had to hoik the smug Belgian sod from field to field. Eventually we reached Sandsend, where I gratefully embraced the prospect of a flat, two-mile jog along hard-packed sand to Whitby. But the sand wasn

) on it is advisable. Rating: 68. SandSand offers a run with a real difference. If it’s dry and deep, you can give your calf muscles the work-out of their life without risking any impact damage to your joints. If you’re on the beach, you get the sea breeze

certainly never run a race like this one. It traverses one of the most beautiful bays at low tide, over sand of varying texture, with occasional waves lapping over your laces. The 13 or 14K as the seagull flies will seem more like a half-marathon effort

of the hill.Don’t just hammer out the miles on roads or pavements. By training off-road on trails or sand, your legs will work harder to keep you moving, and you’ll put less stress on joints. You can even include races on different surfaces in your training

runners to storm the beaches at the fourth staging of this tough and scenic 12K off-road event. The race, all on National Trust-owned land, starts on the sands of the beach and heads towards Brownsea Island before heading up to Agglestome Rock

on nice smooth tarmac, and then do the same on grass or, worse still, long, wet grass or sand, and you may think you've upped your pace by half a minute a mile – the heart rate will be that much higher.So when logging your training heart rates, take care

with Jonas Brandsbjerg edging out Holland’s Aart Stigter by just five seconds.Five kilometres on the beach might sound easier than the previous two runs, but many find themselves surprised as to how challenging day three’s race in the soft sand of Playa Los

will sink forever beneath the timeless sands of Niger.”And so it was with a cruel hangover that I stumbled last Sunday from The Old Slaughterhouse with the World’s Fittest Dog. My legs seemed to operate independently of my torso, like those of Barbie

-coloured waistcoat while I hold forth upon the agonies of running up and down sand dunes and the dangers posed by scorpions.Why do I do it? Well, partly because I have an unquenchable curiosity as to the extent of my own folly. Am I really about to embark upon a 333

of Venice Beach. The henna-tattoo merchants were setting out their stalls, the restaurateurs were brushing the night’s accumulation of sand from the boardwalk. I would soon catch up with the runner in front of me – a tall, broad-shouldered type in shades