[Originally https://wmconnolley.livejournal.com/32339.html]
Sometime last week, D said "would it be OK if I went bouldering this weekend?" [Bouldering, if you don't know, is climbing, but low enough down that you don't need a rope. As distinct from soloing, which is when you're high enough to need a rope, but don't have one.] The plan was that one of his friends family would drive some of them up to the Peaks - somewhere near Stanage - for the Sunday. And a friend of his called Jamie would come and stay over on Saturday night. Had this been Miranda it would have been planned and communicated endlessly in detail; as it was D it was planned by grunts and assumed to work. Which it did: Jamie stayed over, a perfectly pleasant young lad, and they played computer games before retiring at a sensible hour, since they needed to get up unseasoanbly early:7:40 (for the weekend; D gets up then during the week anyway).
And all went well. I didn't worry much about the possibility of D falling and hurting himself, because there was no point in worrying, and it didn't happen.
I record this as probably the first time that D has gone out of himself in this way. He's gone on scout camps and stuff, but those are always organised by adults; AFAIK this was organised by them. Hopefully, they'll do more. He's just swapped (or tried to) his "enrichment activity" next year from Politics+Economics to PES (Perse Exploration Society), mostly because his friends are doing same, but also because he genuinely likes camping.
Monday, 17 June 2013
Saturday, 15 June 2013
Science Fiction: The 101 Best Novels 1985-2010
[Originally https://wmconnolley.livejournal.com/32082.html Having now re-skimmed in xfer in 2019, I've managed to add one - Temeraire - and it's meh.]
I ran across this list (via Use of Weapons, via an Iain Banks obit). So I thought I'd check. I've read 25, and disagree with the inclusion of 8.
Key:
* R - read (and if so, whether I agree it merits the list),
* N - not read.
Of the one's I've said "yes" to, almost all fit into the "an entirely new concept". Ender's game was for the video arcade generation, for example.
I'm not doing a good job reading the recent stuff, am I?
I ran across this list (via Use of Weapons, via an Iain Banks obit). So I thought I'd check. I've read 25, and disagree with the inclusion of 8.
Key:
* R - read (and if so, whether I agree it merits the list),
* N - not read.
Of the one's I've said "yes" to, almost all fit into the "an entirely new concept". Ender's game was for the video arcade generation, for example.
N The Handmaid’s Tale (1985) R Ender’s Game (1985) - yes. An entirely new concept N Radio Free Albemuth (1985) R Always Coming Home (1985) - no. Not without merit, but compared to Earthsea, its nothing. N This Is the Way the World Ends (1985) R Galápagos (1985) - no. Just a toy parable N The Falling Woman (1986) N The Shore of Women (1986) N A Door Into Ocean (1986) N Soldiers of Paradise (1987) N Life During Wartime (1987) - but the Talking Heads song is astounding R The Sea and Summer (1987) - yes. Elegaic N Cyteen (1988) N Neverness (1988) N The Steerswoman (1989) R Grass (1989) - yes. R Use of Weapons (1990) - yes. Classic Culture R Queen of Angels (1990) - yes. The excitement and ultimate disappointment of a probe to another star N Barrayar (1991) N Synners (1991) N Sarah Canary (1991) R White Queen (1991) - yes. Superb R Eternal Light (1991) - yes. Mysterious mind-expanding space opera R Stations of the Tide (1991) - yes. Pretty damn weird. Vacuum Flowers should also be on the list N Timelike Infinity (1992) N Dead Girls (1992) N Jumper (1992) N China Mountain Zhang (1992) R Red Mars (1992) - no. Overblown. Icehenge is KSR's classic R A Fire Upon the Deep (1992) - yes. R Aristoi (1992) - yes. N Doomsday Book (1992) N Parable of the Sower (1993) N Ammonite (1993) N Chimera (1993) R Nightside the Long Sun (1993) - no. Book of the New Sun is Wolfe's classic, as any Fule Kno N Brittle Innings (1994) N Permutation City (1994) N Blood (1994) N Mother of Storms (1995) R Sailing Bright Eternity (1995) - no, drivel. In the Ocean of Night is the classic (and I'll allow you Across the Sea of Suns) but its downhill from there N Galatea 2.2 (1995) R The Diamond Age (1995) - yes N The Transmigration of Souls (1996) N The Fortunate Fall (1996) N The Sparrow/Children of God (1996/1998) N Holy Fire (1996) R Night Lamp (1996) - yes. Its Jack Vance, not at his best, but even his worst is better than most people's best N In the Garden of Iden (1997) R Forever Peace (1997) - no. Read and marvel at The Forever War, and stop there N Glimmering (1997) N As She Climbed Across the Table (1997) R The Cassini Division (1998) - yes N Bloom (1998) R Vast (1998) - no. An attempt at weird / mysterious, but it doesn't work N The Golden Globe (1998) N Headlong (1999) N Cave of Stars (1999) N Genesis (2000) N Super-Cannes (2000) N Under the Skin (2000) N Perdido Street Station (2000) N Distance Haze (2000) R Revelation Space trilogy (2000) -yes R Salt (2000) - no. I *think* I've read this one. All his books are sort-of the same, and nearly-good-enough. Consider Snow instead N Ventus (2001) N The Cassandra Complex (2001) N Light (2002) R Altered Carbon (2002) - yes N The Separation (2002) N The Golden Age (2002) N The Time Traveler’s Wife (2003) N Natural History (2003) N The Labyrinth Key / Spears of God N River of Gods (2004) N The Plot Against America (2004) N Never Let Me Go (2005) N The House of Storms (2005) N Counting Heads (2005) N Air (Or, Have Not Have) (2005) N Accelerando (2005) N Spin (2005) N My Dirty Little Book of Stolen Time (2006) N The Road (2006) N Temeraire / His Majesty’s Dragon (2006) [2019 update: now read, and no: read Uprooted, or Spinning Silver] N Blindsight (2006) [2024 update: now read, not enthusiastic] N HARM (2007) N The Yiddish Policemen’s Union (2007) N The Secret City (2007) N In War Times (2007) N Postsingular (2007) N Shadow of the Scorpion (2008) R The Hunger Games trilogy (2008-2010) - maybe. I read book 1, and liked it, but declined the chance to read book 2 N Little Brother (2008) N The Alchemy of Stone (2008) R The Windup Girl (2009) - yes N Steal Across the Sky(2009) N Boneshaker (2009) N Zoo City (2010) N Zero History (2010) N The Quantum Thief (2010)
I'm not doing a good job reading the recent stuff, am I?
Monday, 27 May 2013
Stanage, Youth
[Originally: https://wmconnolley.livejournal.com/31916.html]
Today was that unexpected and un-looked-for gift: a free day for all the family, with the house and garden in sufficient order that we flt no guilt in taking a day off. Not only that, but the weather was good. And most remarkably of all, the Peaks weren't crowded: perhaps everyone else had taken the half-term week off to go further afield. So we got up at 7, muted the few grumbles, wolfed down breakfast and set off. Arrive in Hathersage around 10 for breakfast at Outside and to buy Daniel some climbing shoes of his own - he's borrowed M's in the past, but hers are now too small for him; and he uses the school ones, but not on private trips. After not-much-thought we end up with Boreal Joker size 10's; and M buys a fleecy type thing that Miranda ends up occupying for the day. And so to the crag (with one slight mis-turn: remember, you want Birley lane); the car park is not full, though its now about 11. The edge is quite hard to see from google maps: for my future use here is a linkshowing the "popular end", the car park, and the camp site. Hathersage is off the bottom left; and this is Outside.
Where shall we go? The popular end, of course. And since it doesn't seem terribly crowded, we'll go to the first bit, which is around the Grotto Slab area. The bit with the fallen-over stack leaning against the edge. D and I gear up (D is all keen, as he's been climbing at school and in competitions, though he's slightly shocked I've so soon taken him at his word that he'd like to do more climbing) and look at Crack and Corner, ***, HVD, 4b (HVD 4b? You have to love these Stanage grades, they're so random). Last done by us, says the guidebook scribbling, in 1991. But I stare at the start (very polished, the crux, says the Book; how true) and realise that would be stupid: we'll do something easier first, just to get our ropework and calls in sync (D has done very little real-world climbing). So we move over to the fallen stack which is Grotto Slab, D - both M and I soloed it in 1992. I put in a couple of bits of gear to show willing, but they aren't really needed, and D breezes up. Miranda also does it - her only route for the day. She spends the rest of the time snuggled up reading Skulduggery Pleasant.
Speaking of which (the breezin' bit, I mean), its blowing a gale at the top. Not bad down at the foot of the climbs, and not too back 20 feet back from the top, but the edge itself is a linear tornado.
Next, well, something a bit harder but not too much. Capstone chimney is also a D, and nominally much shorter, but is actually considerably harder than the slab. But anyway, I lead it and D seconds it happily - barefoot in fact, which he begs to be allowed to try to do. M has a go too. She isn't exactly delirious with joy, and requires a second go ("I'm not very happy". Fortunately its too windy for me to shout down "Trust the rope").
To the right of this is Green Wall (VS 4b; I led it with Howard in 1992, though we didn't realise this till later). D would like a go, so since I'm at the top he can top-rope it. He gets up it, with a couple of rests or heavy weights on rope. As you can see it has some awkwardnesses to it.
That completes our programme for the morning - well, its now 1:30, doesn't time fly. E is hungry, and so am I, so its back to Hathersage for lunch and a new pair of shoes for me too - my old ones have the rubber peeling away at the tip-toe, an unpleasant feeling when you try to stand on it. I tell the children that Howard would never let them get away with the decadent luxury of descent for lunch on a nice day. And for a miracle there is still a space in the car park behind Outside. Egg-on-toast; bean curry; chicken burger; sos-and-chips-in-giant-yorkshire-pud are just some of the delights we same in some order; and I get new Stonelands (tried the Joker and the Silex but they hurt around the back of the ankle. The Stonelands felt better, and were cheaper). We resist the lures of the bargain tent, and head back up - this time getting the route right.
What to do... tricky. Black Hawk Hell Crack? Or our original desire, Crack and Corner? BHHC is occupied (how odd) so go for Castle Crack (HS 4a; left) the corner crack just left. Having watched the previous pair struggle up it I'm careful to note footholds, and all goes well, indeed exhilaratingly so, though perhaps I shouldn't be so excited by a mere HS. But its a good climb, worth a star at least. Nominally a layback, in practice its a matter of delicately selecting and trusting the footholds, unless you're feeling really strong.
Next (and its getting on for time to be going) we vacillate for a while before going for Crack and Corner (HVD 4b; right). As the guidebook says, the start is rather polished and I fall out of it, the first time, when I'm not really applying myself. I resist the urge to do what some previous parties have done - effectively, to pre-place gear just above reach - though I do shuffle my nice purple friend into easy reach. And its fine, worth its stars, and who am I to comment on grades. A most enjoyable climb, and there's a little surprise if you do the over-the-top direct finish, which you should.
And that was all: 5:30 and we pack up and head home.
Today was that unexpected and un-looked-for gift: a free day for all the family, with the house and garden in sufficient order that we flt no guilt in taking a day off. Not only that, but the weather was good. And most remarkably of all, the Peaks weren't crowded: perhaps everyone else had taken the half-term week off to go further afield. So we got up at 7, muted the few grumbles, wolfed down breakfast and set off. Arrive in Hathersage around 10 for breakfast at Outside and to buy Daniel some climbing shoes of his own - he's borrowed M's in the past, but hers are now too small for him; and he uses the school ones, but not on private trips. After not-much-thought we end up with Boreal Joker size 10's; and M buys a fleecy type thing that Miranda ends up occupying for the day. And so to the crag (with one slight mis-turn: remember, you want Birley lane); the car park is not full, though its now about 11. The edge is quite hard to see from google maps: for my future use here is a linkshowing the "popular end", the car park, and the camp site. Hathersage is off the bottom left; and this is Outside.
Where shall we go? The popular end, of course. And since it doesn't seem terribly crowded, we'll go to the first bit, which is around the Grotto Slab area. The bit with the fallen-over stack leaning against the edge. D and I gear up (D is all keen, as he's been climbing at school and in competitions, though he's slightly shocked I've so soon taken him at his word that he'd like to do more climbing) and look at Crack and Corner, ***, HVD, 4b (HVD 4b? You have to love these Stanage grades, they're so random). Last done by us, says the guidebook scribbling, in 1991. But I stare at the start (very polished, the crux, says the Book; how true) and realise that would be stupid: we'll do something easier first, just to get our ropework and calls in sync (D has done very little real-world climbing). So we move over to the fallen stack which is Grotto Slab, D - both M and I soloed it in 1992. I put in a couple of bits of gear to show willing, but they aren't really needed, and D breezes up. Miranda also does it - her only route for the day. She spends the rest of the time snuggled up reading Skulduggery Pleasant.Speaking of which (the breezin' bit, I mean), its blowing a gale at the top. Not bad down at the foot of the climbs, and not too back 20 feet back from the top, but the edge itself is a linear tornado.
Next, well, something a bit harder but not too much. Capstone chimney is also a D, and nominally much shorter, but is actually considerably harder than the slab. But anyway, I lead it and D seconds it happily - barefoot in fact, which he begs to be allowed to try to do. M has a go too. She isn't exactly delirious with joy, and requires a second go ("I'm not very happy". Fortunately its too windy for me to shout down "Trust the rope").
To the right of this is Green Wall (VS 4b; I led it with Howard in 1992, though we didn't realise this till later). D would like a go, so since I'm at the top he can top-rope it. He gets up it, with a couple of rests or heavy weights on rope. As you can see it has some awkwardnesses to it.That completes our programme for the morning - well, its now 1:30, doesn't time fly. E is hungry, and so am I, so its back to Hathersage for lunch and a new pair of shoes for me too - my old ones have the rubber peeling away at the tip-toe, an unpleasant feeling when you try to stand on it. I tell the children that Howard would never let them get away with the decadent luxury of descent for lunch on a nice day. And for a miracle there is still a space in the car park behind Outside. Egg-on-toast; bean curry; chicken burger; sos-and-chips-in-giant-yorkshire-pud are just some of the delights we same in some order; and I get new Stonelands (tried the Joker and the Silex but they hurt around the back of the ankle. The Stonelands felt better, and were cheaper). We resist the lures of the bargain tent, and head back up - this time getting the route right.
What to do... tricky. Black Hawk Hell Crack? Or our original desire, Crack and Corner? BHHC is occupied (how odd) so go for Castle Crack (HS 4a; left) the corner crack just left. Having watched the previous pair struggle up it I'm careful to note footholds, and all goes well, indeed exhilaratingly so, though perhaps I shouldn't be so excited by a mere HS. But its a good climb, worth a star at least. Nominally a layback, in practice its a matter of delicately selecting and trusting the footholds, unless you're feeling really strong.Next (and its getting on for time to be going) we vacillate for a while before going for Crack and Corner (HVD 4b; right). As the guidebook says, the start is rather polished and I fall out of it, the first time, when I'm not really applying myself. I resist the urge to do what some previous parties have done - effectively, to pre-place gear just above reach - though I do shuffle my nice purple friend into easy reach. And its fine, worth its stars, and who am I to comment on grades. A most enjoyable climb, and there's a little surprise if you do the over-the-top direct finish, which you should.
And that was all: 5:30 and we pack up and head home.
 |
Sunday, 14 April 2013
The last 12 are the deepest
[Originally: https://wmconnolley.livejournal.com/31644.html]
TL;DR: 3:46:34 for the Brighton Marathon. A new PB by 8 minutes (good) but I still died in the last 12 km (bad).
Longer version (or skip to the race itself): this is Brighton Marathon #3, the follow-up to #2. With #2, and two Amsterdams, I'd got 3 times at 3:55 +/- 1 minute, and felt it was time to do better. A 1:36 at the Cambridge half, and a follow-up 2:28 for 30k, convinced me that I could at least target 3:30, which I've decided is my version of respectability for the moment. A week after the 30 k I tore my right calf somewhat, forcing me to take 2 weeks off and then be very gentle, so my training in the run-up was necessarily very tapered. But the calf didn't trouble me during the race. Poor James E, however, tore his calf one week before, and so had to pull out. That left me pitted in a death-match with my arch-rival James H, who has a 1:33 half but has never run a marathon before.
On Saturday morning I sat in bright sunshine with the French window open glorying in the beauty of the day, and wondering if I needed to take sunscreen. I need not have worried: when the train pulled in to Brighton it was cold and pouring with rain. I tried sitting in a cafe by the station to make it stop; this didn't work. I went half-way down the hill towards the sea and sat in a Waterstones for a bit; that didn't help either. So I picked up my race number from the expo and headed back up the hill and caught my train out to Worthing (stopping at a supermarket to buy some buns, and fruit, and pork pies, because I suspected Worthing might be a blue-rinse desert and I might not get any breakfast in the morning. I was wrong). Its 25 mins down the coast, and then a 1 k walk to the front and my hotel, the "Kingsway". Its still raining, so I stay in (and watch Dr Who). James E had chosen the Kingsway, and its OK: corridors rather narrow but room acceptable and bathroom shiny. There's an awful lot of dross on TV though. They advertise to runners that "our menu has lots of carbs" but there is no pasta on the menu at all. I have a nice sos-and-mash-in-Yorkshire-pud, but I'd rather have had a plain bowl of spaghetti. Ah well. Rob has got me "Into the Silence" and this makes good reading for my lonely dinner and evening. Don't get to sleep early.
The rain has stopped, but the sky is grey. My alarm wakes me at 6 and I go down to the runners breakfast: coffee and juice and toast and yoghurt and porridge. Good, just what I want. Walk to the station, get the 7:30 to Brighton, follow the stream of people heading to the start. Stop in a little cafe to (a) blow some time and (b) go to the loo (yes, again. You can't go to the loo too often, as James H found to his cost). I don't time this right, so when I get to the park and change to race kit and pack my bag and hand it over to the baggage lorries (where they are playing "Born to Run", an appropriate, inspiring, and blood-pumping choice; hence my lead pic) and join the enooooormous loo queue (did I mention there are never enough loos?) by the time I'm out the race is just about to start and I'm not even sure exactly where I'm supposed to be. Never mind, I leap over the barrier and join those shuffling forwards, then jogging, and then, woo, we're at the start line.
Perhaps you want to look at the GPS trace. Avert your eyes from the last 12 k.
The start is OK. I'm slow to start because of the inevitable bozos, but then things get better and I can run at ~5 min / km pace, which is what I'm aiming at. Actually I had intended to be aiming for a bit better, but today things just don't jel somehow, and I'm not on tip-top form. But 10 k comes in 50 mins, and half-way in 1:45 - all of that goes by fairly quickly and painlessly. At around about 10 k I overtake the 3:45 pacers, which is what I'd hope for; coming back in the loop-inland out East I spot James H in their pack. I'd forgotten that the hill heading East is quite long and not that small. 24 k at 2h, and 30 k at 2:32 is about right, but its at least 2 mins away from a 3:30 finish, so I abandon that target. At some point the sun comes out and the day is warm, indeed a little too warm, but not overly so.
The last 12 k, however, are deeply unpleasant, sliding down to 6 min / km, until the last 2 km which are even worse. James H came past me at that point (and in a slight plus point, I clearly have no reserves at all, because I don't speed up in the slightest. So its not as if I've held anything back), but since he'd started about 1:30 ahead of me (I hadn't realised that:I must have passed him at some point early on, as I went for a fast start and he for a steady pace) we ended up with near-identical times (technically I beat him by 4 seconds, which is 0.011% of our times, but I'm happy to call it a draw). And, as I understand it, he was obliged to take a pitstop at some point.
Excuses, excuses: the tail-off past 30 k is entirely reminiscent of previous runs. Probably I could have got a fast time overall if I'd aimed for 3:45 and set off at that pace, and speeded up later if I had any spare. But, that wasn't my plan, I wanted to try for 3:30, and I'm not sad I did. better a glorious failure than a mediocre success. Ahem.
This time I didn't get my in-race nutrition right. I'd managed to convince myself- based on one test - that I could cope with Maz's caffeine-enhanced rather thick gels (which looked disturbingly like spunk when I found it oozing out of my clutch). However, this was a mistake: my stomach took against it, even though I sipped slowly and washed it down with a water break. I ended up throwing two away (sorry Maz). So there were some portions of the race where I felt distinctly queasy, and I even slowed down a bit on occasion to give my tummy a rest. However towards the end even the Gatorade drinks they were providing made me feel ill, so perhaps I'd just got twisted.
Death note (this applies to mountaineering too, only more so): someone collapsed and died during the race, fairly young I think, perhaps 23. My attitude to this is no-false-sadness: I don't know the guy, he took his chances along with the rest of us, marathons are physically very gruelling and its up to you to make sure you're fit enough to compete. If you get unlucky and have some unsuspected weakness: well, that's unlucky. Go on, tell me I'm callous.
After the race I tired to find James H, but the family-reunion A-Z flags were poorly signposted and I took ages finding them, and he'd gone. So I collapsed for 10 or 15 mins, and then went to the pebbles on the seas edge and collapsed there for most of an hour, watching the waves and the children throwing pebbles at the waves and laughing as they ran from the waves and generally being the delightful innocent creatures that they are. And that's it; I'll spare you my exciting wait for the train at Finsbury park. Oh, but I will tell you that whilst getting up and down, and climbing stairs, is rather unpleasant, cycling back from the station was fine.
TL;DR: 3:46:34 for the Brighton Marathon. A new PB by 8 minutes (good) but I still died in the last 12 km (bad).
Longer version (or skip to the race itself): this is Brighton Marathon #3, the follow-up to #2. With #2, and two Amsterdams, I'd got 3 times at 3:55 +/- 1 minute, and felt it was time to do better. A 1:36 at the Cambridge half, and a follow-up 2:28 for 30k, convinced me that I could at least target 3:30, which I've decided is my version of respectability for the moment. A week after the 30 k I tore my right calf somewhat, forcing me to take 2 weeks off and then be very gentle, so my training in the run-up was necessarily very tapered. But the calf didn't trouble me during the race. Poor James E, however, tore his calf one week before, and so had to pull out. That left me pitted in a death-match with my arch-rival James H, who has a 1:33 half but has never run a marathon before.
Saturday
On Saturday morning I sat in bright sunshine with the French window open glorying in the beauty of the day, and wondering if I needed to take sunscreen. I need not have worried: when the train pulled in to Brighton it was cold and pouring with rain. I tried sitting in a cafe by the station to make it stop; this didn't work. I went half-way down the hill towards the sea and sat in a Waterstones for a bit; that didn't help either. So I picked up my race number from the expo and headed back up the hill and caught my train out to Worthing (stopping at a supermarket to buy some buns, and fruit, and pork pies, because I suspected Worthing might be a blue-rinse desert and I might not get any breakfast in the morning. I was wrong). Its 25 mins down the coast, and then a 1 k walk to the front and my hotel, the "Kingsway". Its still raining, so I stay in (and watch Dr Who). James E had chosen the Kingsway, and its OK: corridors rather narrow but room acceptable and bathroom shiny. There's an awful lot of dross on TV though. They advertise to runners that "our menu has lots of carbs" but there is no pasta on the menu at all. I have a nice sos-and-mash-in-Yorkshire-pud, but I'd rather have had a plain bowl of spaghetti. Ah well. Rob has got me "Into the Silence" and this makes good reading for my lonely dinner and evening. Don't get to sleep early.
Sunday
The rain has stopped, but the sky is grey. My alarm wakes me at 6 and I go down to the runners breakfast: coffee and juice and toast and yoghurt and porridge. Good, just what I want. Walk to the station, get the 7:30 to Brighton, follow the stream of people heading to the start. Stop in a little cafe to (a) blow some time and (b) go to the loo (yes, again. You can't go to the loo too often, as James H found to his cost). I don't time this right, so when I get to the park and change to race kit and pack my bag and hand it over to the baggage lorries (where they are playing "Born to Run", an appropriate, inspiring, and blood-pumping choice; hence my lead pic) and join the enooooormous loo queue (did I mention there are never enough loos?) by the time I'm out the race is just about to start and I'm not even sure exactly where I'm supposed to be. Never mind, I leap over the barrier and join those shuffling forwards, then jogging, and then, woo, we're at the start line.
Perhaps you want to look at the GPS trace. Avert your eyes from the last 12 k.
The start is OK. I'm slow to start because of the inevitable bozos, but then things get better and I can run at ~5 min / km pace, which is what I'm aiming at. Actually I had intended to be aiming for a bit better, but today things just don't jel somehow, and I'm not on tip-top form. But 10 k comes in 50 mins, and half-way in 1:45 - all of that goes by fairly quickly and painlessly. At around about 10 k I overtake the 3:45 pacers, which is what I'd hope for; coming back in the loop-inland out East I spot James H in their pack. I'd forgotten that the hill heading East is quite long and not that small. 24 k at 2h, and 30 k at 2:32 is about right, but its at least 2 mins away from a 3:30 finish, so I abandon that target. At some point the sun comes out and the day is warm, indeed a little too warm, but not overly so.
The last 12 k, however, are deeply unpleasant, sliding down to 6 min / km, until the last 2 km which are even worse. James H came past me at that point (and in a slight plus point, I clearly have no reserves at all, because I don't speed up in the slightest. So its not as if I've held anything back), but since he'd started about 1:30 ahead of me (I hadn't realised that:I must have passed him at some point early on, as I went for a fast start and he for a steady pace) we ended up with near-identical times (technically I beat him by 4 seconds, which is 0.011% of our times, but I'm happy to call it a draw). And, as I understand it, he was obliged to take a pitstop at some point.
Excuses, excuses: the tail-off past 30 k is entirely reminiscent of previous runs. Probably I could have got a fast time overall if I'd aimed for 3:45 and set off at that pace, and speeded up later if I had any spare. But, that wasn't my plan, I wanted to try for 3:30, and I'm not sad I did. better a glorious failure than a mediocre success. Ahem.
This time I didn't get my in-race nutrition right. I'd managed to convince myself- based on one test - that I could cope with Maz's caffeine-enhanced rather thick gels (which looked disturbingly like spunk when I found it oozing out of my clutch). However, this was a mistake: my stomach took against it, even though I sipped slowly and washed it down with a water break. I ended up throwing two away (sorry Maz). So there were some portions of the race where I felt distinctly queasy, and I even slowed down a bit on occasion to give my tummy a rest. However towards the end even the Gatorade drinks they were providing made me feel ill, so perhaps I'd just got twisted.
Death note (this applies to mountaineering too, only more so): someone collapsed and died during the race, fairly young I think, perhaps 23. My attitude to this is no-false-sadness: I don't know the guy, he took his chances along with the rest of us, marathons are physically very gruelling and its up to you to make sure you're fit enough to compete. If you get unlucky and have some unsuspected weakness: well, that's unlucky. Go on, tell me I'm callous.
After the race I tired to find James H, but the family-reunion A-Z flags were poorly signposted and I took ages finding them, and he'd gone. So I collapsed for 10 or 15 mins, and then went to the pebbles on the seas edge and collapsed there for most of an hour, watching the waves and the children throwing pebbles at the waves and laughing as they ran from the waves and generally being the delightful innocent creatures that they are. And that's it; I'll spare you my exciting wait for the train at Finsbury park. Oh, but I will tell you that whilst getting up and down, and climbing stairs, is rather unpleasant, cycling back from the station was fine.
Tuesday, 2 April 2013
Book review: City of Illusions
[Originally: https://wmconnolley.livejournal.com/31420.html]Summary: post-apocalyptic, quest, mystery. Elegiac, a quality I greatly value. Its not up with The Deep; but nothing is.
Read again? I first read this in my teenage years, when I read all the sci fi available in our local library. I've read it several times since. I'll read it again. 2025/05: and I hve just read it again, and tarteed up this review.
Memorable line: "people makes laws for what they are most afraid of"1. And perhaps: "travel alone". If you want the plot, the the wiki entry is good enough. That also told me one new thing (no, two; oh hold on, I'll come in again...), with which I agree: that the Shing aren't really convincing villains when they turn up. They are almost convincing; what works rather well is that it becomes clear that although the Shing have conquered the Earth, they don't really know why they bothered to do it, they have no purpose. But when they speak they are wrong. The other thing is that this predates The Left Hand of Darkness in the "Hainish cycle". Like some of her other books, and many another author, Leguin (in the beginning) tries to sketch a future semi-utopia: its a small world, but the people are at peace with nature and stable. This is, I think, what she really wants (see "Always coming home"). But its not stable, and her character Falk sets out to find out why.
2025/05: I enjoyed the re-read. It is well written, and a good story.
Notes
1. On the 2025 re-read I found the passage I was looking for: "Laws are made against the impulse a people most fears in itself. Do not kill was the Shing's vaunted single Law. All else was permitted: which meant, perhaps, there was little else they really wanted to do.... Fearing their own profound attraction towards death, they preached Reverence for Life, fooling them-selves at last with their own lie."
Saturday, 23 March 2013
Another weekend: Dover
[Originally: https://wmconnolley.livejournal.com/31001.html]
A family weekend in Dover Castle, or nearly: we were in the Sergeant Major's house and M+J were in Peverell's Tower. Both are within the outer ramparts and very close to the castle itself. Of the two, Pev's tower is distinctly cuter - its 13th century, pretty spacious for two and has a great roof terrace. SM's is "merely" Georgian, sleeps 6 (us, D+E, and Si+B). Again, spacious (there was an entire table-tennis and living room in the basement that we barely used) but not as much fun as the tower. Decor all fine, and has the glorious property of all holiday lets: its both empty and clean when you arrive.
E wants to go to Easter Bingo at school, so we end up leaving just after 8. A fairly painless drive down sees us at the castle around 10:30. The drawbridge is down but the huge wooden gates are shut; fortunately a bod is on hand to open them. So we drive in, and end up at the top, just outside the inner keep entrance. At which point we don't really know where we're going, since we (characteristically) haven't done our homework. Phone Mfd, but he's rather hazy on the site layout (it all becomes much clearer in the morning; when stuck, we were about 1 mins drive drive from where we wanted, but we chose the 5 mins round-about route). Unpack, kids straight up to bed, we chat.
Its a bitterly cold day, and everyone sleeps in. I think I get up around 10ish, wander down for breakfast crumpets and coffee. Broadly that's how the day goes: mostly an indoors day. E goes to look at Pev's tower. E and M have a game of ping-pong downstairs (M stuffs E). Mfd, Si+B and I go up to look at the castle: first up and round, to the roman lighthouse (I never knew there was a roman lighthouse on top of Dover, but indeed there is, and very ancient it looks, most of 2 kyr old now) and the Saxon St Mary de Castro(which latter I think is very ugly). Then into the inner keep or "Great Tower". This looks dead impressive from outside, as it was intended to, though inside it is really little more than four rooms (I exaggerate, or rather minimise, for effect). It reminds me strongly of Castle Rising Castle, especially the way the entrance stairs wrap around and put you in at the top level. CRC is more beautiful - they had better stone - but also I saw it on a better day. Like CRC, it has passages in the walls and lovely stairs. English Heritage have sort-of decked it out as "how it might have been when Henry II was welcoming visitors" but it isn't too convincing - lacks detail and depth - the attraction is the building, not what they've done with it. Views from the top are great but the thin snow and the cold wind keep us from gazing for long.
Late pm: E starts game of Risk with M, Si. I go down to town to buy more bread and crumpets, and because it would be a shame not to see Dover at all. I've left it late - nearly 5 - and things are shutting. Dover looks like times are hard. I end up in a Morrisons. There's quite a decent pedestrian way from the Castle down to the town, and a lovely old ruined church at the bottom. Dinner: roast beef and spinach.
Wake somewhat earlier - 9 ish - and I'm about the first up. E, and then surprisingly D, soon after (D has been sick recently. He was off school last Friday, and again last Tuesday, and was driven to school in between; he's still not tip-top).
I go for a walk around the ramparts before the others are around; I rather feel that I should have done more yesterday. However 5 minutes outside soon cure my of any ideals, and I'm hunching up against the still-bitter wind. Pic: from the Avranches tower, a wintry scene, empty snail shells piled up. In the arrow-slit next door there was a huge mass of hibernating snails. I did look for the "medaeival tunnels" but they seemed closed - that link suggests that they usually are. And so on round, clockwise. Now I understand the shape of the site better I realise its not quite as big as I thought it was; I get down to the cliff face, find the "secret tunnels" bit, get onto the balcony overlooking the container port (the tunnels cut into the cliff were once barracks for the other-ranks, the officers got a fine building up top; then abandoned; then used and expanded during WWII especially for "operation dynamo" the rescue from Dunkirk. So the area has a WWII feel to it, in stark contrast to the Henry II feel of the rest, and poke around inside a bit. But that way you only get shallowly into the tunnels; to go deeper you need to do the tour.
Back, take D and E up to see the castle. They are moderately but not very interested; would be better in better weather.
Lunch, then again a few of us (not D+E) go to see the tunnels; its a 50-min tour, and they sort-of string it out by using it to tell the story of the outbreak of the war, and projecting the tale of operation dynamo onto the walls. it works fairly well, but again (as in at the castle itself) they're fairly thin on real stuff to look at.
And so tea time, another game of Risk (I win, or Si does, depending on how you score an interrupted game), D does his homework, and we leave just before 7 and get back just after 9.
I suppose I should throw in a few. You see my top pic, with the union jack flying bravely in the wind? Well, at about 2 Hz the rope was tapping against the flagpole, making a little noise, barely audible usually, but clearly audible in the otherwise silent middle of the night (so on the plus side, you're well above the traffic and noise of Dover, which you don't hear at all). At 7 am on Sunday the fire alarm decided to go off for no reason. They aren't desperately generous with the cutlery - if you have guests from Pev's tower coming over, you'll run out of knives.
A family weekend in Dover Castle, or nearly: we were in the Sergeant Major's house and M+J were in Peverell's Tower. Both are within the outer ramparts and very close to the castle itself. Of the two, Pev's tower is distinctly cuter - its 13th century, pretty spacious for two and has a great roof terrace. SM's is "merely" Georgian, sleeps 6 (us, D+E, and Si+B). Again, spacious (there was an entire table-tennis and living room in the basement that we barely used) but not as much fun as the tower. Decor all fine, and has the glorious property of all holiday lets: its both empty and clean when you arrive.
Friday
E wants to go to Easter Bingo at school, so we end up leaving just after 8. A fairly painless drive down sees us at the castle around 10:30. The drawbridge is down but the huge wooden gates are shut; fortunately a bod is on hand to open them. So we drive in, and end up at the top, just outside the inner keep entrance. At which point we don't really know where we're going, since we (characteristically) haven't done our homework. Phone Mfd, but he's rather hazy on the site layout (it all becomes much clearer in the morning; when stuck, we were about 1 mins drive drive from where we wanted, but we chose the 5 mins round-about route). Unpack, kids straight up to bed, we chat.
Saturday
Its a bitterly cold day, and everyone sleeps in. I think I get up around 10ish, wander down for breakfast crumpets and coffee. Broadly that's how the day goes: mostly an indoors day. E goes to look at Pev's tower. E and M have a game of ping-pong downstairs (M stuffs E). Mfd, Si+B and I go up to look at the castle: first up and round, to the roman lighthouse (I never knew there was a roman lighthouse on top of Dover, but indeed there is, and very ancient it looks, most of 2 kyr old now) and the Saxon St Mary de Castro(which latter I think is very ugly). Then into the inner keep or "Great Tower". This looks dead impressive from outside, as it was intended to, though inside it is really little more than four rooms (I exaggerate, or rather minimise, for effect). It reminds me strongly of Castle Rising Castle, especially the way the entrance stairs wrap around and put you in at the top level. CRC is more beautiful - they had better stone - but also I saw it on a better day. Like CRC, it has passages in the walls and lovely stairs. English Heritage have sort-of decked it out as "how it might have been when Henry II was welcoming visitors" but it isn't too convincing - lacks detail and depth - the attraction is the building, not what they've done with it. Views from the top are great but the thin snow and the cold wind keep us from gazing for long.Late pm: E starts game of Risk with M, Si. I go down to town to buy more bread and crumpets, and because it would be a shame not to see Dover at all. I've left it late - nearly 5 - and things are shutting. Dover looks like times are hard. I end up in a Morrisons. There's quite a decent pedestrian way from the Castle down to the town, and a lovely old ruined church at the bottom. Dinner: roast beef and spinach.
Sunday
Wake somewhat earlier - 9 ish - and I'm about the first up. E, and then surprisingly D, soon after (D has been sick recently. He was off school last Friday, and again last Tuesday, and was driven to school in between; he's still not tip-top).I go for a walk around the ramparts before the others are around; I rather feel that I should have done more yesterday. However 5 minutes outside soon cure my of any ideals, and I'm hunching up against the still-bitter wind. Pic: from the Avranches tower, a wintry scene, empty snail shells piled up. In the arrow-slit next door there was a huge mass of hibernating snails. I did look for the "medaeival tunnels" but they seemed closed - that link suggests that they usually are. And so on round, clockwise. Now I understand the shape of the site better I realise its not quite as big as I thought it was; I get down to the cliff face, find the "secret tunnels" bit, get onto the balcony overlooking the container port (the tunnels cut into the cliff were once barracks for the other-ranks, the officers got a fine building up top; then abandoned; then used and expanded during WWII especially for "operation dynamo" the rescue from Dunkirk. So the area has a WWII feel to it, in stark contrast to the Henry II feel of the rest, and poke around inside a bit. But that way you only get shallowly into the tunnels; to go deeper you need to do the tour.
Back, take D and E up to see the castle. They are moderately but not very interested; would be better in better weather.
Lunch, then again a few of us (not D+E) go to see the tunnels; its a 50-min tour, and they sort-of string it out by using it to tell the story of the outbreak of the war, and projecting the tale of operation dynamo onto the walls. it works fairly well, but again (as in at the castle itself) they're fairly thin on real stuff to look at.
And so tea time, another game of Risk (I win, or Si does, depending on how you score an interrupted game), D does his homework, and we leave just before 7 and get back just after 9.
Niggles
I suppose I should throw in a few. You see my top pic, with the union jack flying bravely in the wind? Well, at about 2 Hz the rope was tapping against the flagpole, making a little noise, barely audible usually, but clearly audible in the otherwise silent middle of the night (so on the plus side, you're well above the traffic and noise of Dover, which you don't hear at all). At 7 am on Sunday the fire alarm decided to go off for no reason. They aren't desperately generous with the cutlery - if you have guests from Pev's tower coming over, you'll run out of knives.
Sunday, 17 March 2013
A weekend
Just a normal weekend, but I haven't written one up for ages, so:
Wake at 6, and wake D at 6:15, to get him to school in time for 7 so he can go off to a climbing competition in Leicester. He isn't exactly in top form - indeed, he took Friday off school sick, and is only half sure he wants to go. But never mind.
By the time I get back I'm awake so sit around downstairs; a little tidying but mostly online, and reading Speer.
About 9:30 I head off into town; its my habit after rowing outings to go for coffee+book in Waterstones; today there is no outing and I feel oddly bereft with a whole day ahead of me (its also Cambridge Science Festival but E doessn't feel inclined to do owt). Stop at the picture-framing place on Mt Pleasant and see how much getting stuff done properly would cost; its not clear, but perhaps £50. I need to bring in a pic. Take in my plastic boots; Timpsons offer to try to re-glue the soles. Thence to Waterstones where I finish off Heartstone: review to follow.
Pick boots up, buy bread from the market bread stall, get some cream from M+S for M, and home. M is nearly asleep on the sofa, E is happy doing E type things. Prevaricate for a bit (early in the day weather had been very windy, with some rain, and yet I'd intended to go running). But then gird up loins and head out at a little after 3, for a "long" run of slightly indeterminate duration. In my fantasies it might have stretched out to a marathon; as it turned out it was 30k. I went somewhere new, which was definitely good as a change: through Grantchester and up Long Road to the Perse; the same route I'd driven D in earlier. That's 9.5k. Then into town, to the river, and to Baits Bite and a k beyond; then back and up the Coton footpath; 30k to just where it turns into road, so I got a walk wind-down. Overall a good run - my first sub-5-per-k 30k (2:30) - but I got very dry towards the end (I didn't finish my second gel as I couldn't get it down). Which has a good side: presumably I'd be faster with more water and more gels. So this, and the Cambridge half record 1:36, are promising for the Brighton marathon. Although, to put forward the opposite view, I was down to 5:15 towards the end.
When I get back, M is out fetching D. I'm tired and have a shower. D comes back, tired, but he survived. He collapses by the fire and doesn't say much.
I'm coxing the men's novice VIII this morning. Contrary to the weather forecast its actually quite tolerable. But due to laziness and running late, I drive in anyway. There's a junior sculling head on later, so we content ourselves with one lock done fairly briskly in order not to get too tangled up in them. Unfortunately what they really needed was a technical outing focussing on timing and technique; such is life.
On the way back stop at the Orchard and buy some broad bean seeds, and some sweet peas, and also some violas for the front flower pot and some snake's head fritillaries because they were there. Lunch (bread and cheese type for us all) and then I'm tired so lie by the fire sleeping for a couple of hours, thereby missing the best of the weather. But, later, I do manage to get the violas planted out. Daniel is still unwell - manifesting itself as tiredness and inability to concentrate on his homework. M is fairly quiet too, starts cooking at 4:30 and we have a "vegetable only" evening meal. Her cooking is really very good nowadays.
I'm missing out me being online,posting the Ladies WeHORR entry for them, arguing online about the FTT, reading Speer's "Inside the Third Reich", and so on.
D heads off to bed at 8, its undecided if he'll go to school tomorrow or not. E at 9 (slightly delayed by me having to fix the shower) and M meditates for 15 mins before the news at 10, then heads up after writing *her* diary, and now its my turn.
* D's climbing results. Not good, but it was his first, and he was sick.
Saturday
Wake at 6, and wake D at 6:15, to get him to school in time for 7 so he can go off to a climbing competition in Leicester. He isn't exactly in top form - indeed, he took Friday off school sick, and is only half sure he wants to go. But never mind.
By the time I get back I'm awake so sit around downstairs; a little tidying but mostly online, and reading Speer.
About 9:30 I head off into town; its my habit after rowing outings to go for coffee+book in Waterstones; today there is no outing and I feel oddly bereft with a whole day ahead of me (its also Cambridge Science Festival but E doessn't feel inclined to do owt). Stop at the picture-framing place on Mt Pleasant and see how much getting stuff done properly would cost; its not clear, but perhaps £50. I need to bring in a pic. Take in my plastic boots; Timpsons offer to try to re-glue the soles. Thence to Waterstones where I finish off Heartstone: review to follow.
Pick boots up, buy bread from the market bread stall, get some cream from M+S for M, and home. M is nearly asleep on the sofa, E is happy doing E type things. Prevaricate for a bit (early in the day weather had been very windy, with some rain, and yet I'd intended to go running). But then gird up loins and head out at a little after 3, for a "long" run of slightly indeterminate duration. In my fantasies it might have stretched out to a marathon; as it turned out it was 30k. I went somewhere new, which was definitely good as a change: through Grantchester and up Long Road to the Perse; the same route I'd driven D in earlier. That's 9.5k. Then into town, to the river, and to Baits Bite and a k beyond; then back and up the Coton footpath; 30k to just where it turns into road, so I got a walk wind-down. Overall a good run - my first sub-5-per-k 30k (2:30) - but I got very dry towards the end (I didn't finish my second gel as I couldn't get it down). Which has a good side: presumably I'd be faster with more water and more gels. So this, and the Cambridge half record 1:36, are promising for the Brighton marathon. Although, to put forward the opposite view, I was down to 5:15 towards the end.
When I get back, M is out fetching D. I'm tired and have a shower. D comes back, tired, but he survived. He collapses by the fire and doesn't say much.
Sunday
I'm coxing the men's novice VIII this morning. Contrary to the weather forecast its actually quite tolerable. But due to laziness and running late, I drive in anyway. There's a junior sculling head on later, so we content ourselves with one lock done fairly briskly in order not to get too tangled up in them. Unfortunately what they really needed was a technical outing focussing on timing and technique; such is life.
On the way back stop at the Orchard and buy some broad bean seeds, and some sweet peas, and also some violas for the front flower pot and some snake's head fritillaries because they were there. Lunch (bread and cheese type for us all) and then I'm tired so lie by the fire sleeping for a couple of hours, thereby missing the best of the weather. But, later, I do manage to get the violas planted out. Daniel is still unwell - manifesting itself as tiredness and inability to concentrate on his homework. M is fairly quiet too, starts cooking at 4:30 and we have a "vegetable only" evening meal. Her cooking is really very good nowadays.
I'm missing out me being online,posting the Ladies WeHORR entry for them, arguing online about the FTT, reading Speer's "Inside the Third Reich", and so on.
D heads off to bed at 8, its undecided if he'll go to school tomorrow or not. E at 9 (slightly delayed by me having to fix the shower) and M meditates for 15 mins before the news at 10, then heads up after writing *her* diary, and now its my turn.
Refs
* D's climbing results. Not good, but it was his first, and he was sick.
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