Jan 2005 training camp

“It didn’t occur to me not to train” – Meleika Gooneratne (hardcore Harey).

On Saturday 8th January 2005* an excited flock of Cambridge students could be seen grazing outside Selwyn College. Like Leika**, they were fed up with the festive flatulence of Christmas and desperate to experience some full-blooded, sweat-spraying cross-country action. So it was decided to embark upon a great pilgrimage, to the promised land of Lyndhurst, where previous explorations had unearthed a Girl Guide centre and a small forest.

… And as the thrilltastic rollercoaster of passion that is “training camp” began its white-knuckle descent into the aching loins of the New Forest, we all realised what sensational pleasures lay ahead. According to the esteemed*** philosopher Dr. I.M.A. Genius, a successful camp should exhibit eight quintessential attributes, namely Karaoke, Intoxicants, Camaraderie, Kitchen magic, Accommodation, Running, Scenery and Entertainment. In technical jargon, such a camp is “KICK-ARSE”. Ahem… Please bear with me while I elaborate.

Accommodation

Nestled in the ferny heart of Hampshire, our abode for the week was a run-down Girl Guide hut by the name of Foxlease. Or at least that’s where we stayed last year. This time around my attempts to force entry were thwarted by a gang of giggling Guides, and after some awkward negotiation it became clear that I’d come to the wrong building. Red-faced like a Caius choirboy, I trudged further up the road, following the tell-tale whiff of smouldering insoles. Sure enough, there was the Harey Household, a magnificent brand-spanking-new complex which looked almost too pure to be touched by humans. Luckily, the doors were locked, so I was forced to keep my unclean presence outside, languishing in the frigid air until the CUH&H recce group had returned from their first cheeky run of the camp.

Inside, the palatial structure was just as perfect. Spotless from floor to ceiling, it encompassed a wealth of ensuite rooms, as well as 3 kitchens, 2 bathrooms, a gigantic living room (which Ed Brady mistook for a football court), and even a disabled chairlift (which Ed Brady mistook for a shower). Clearly unaccustomed to such luxury at Clare, Lee Harper was so gobsmacked upon discovering the third, most splendid kitchen that he had to be dragged to safety, spluttering in dumbfounded awe.

Needless to say, the walls were pretty black and smeary by the time we left, but for a couple of days we really did live like civilised human beings. And the showers were steaming hot, which encouraged plenty of washing behind the ears.

Running

Captain Ben had certainly cooked up a spicy treat for us on the running front, with sessions all and sundry taking place throughout the week. Though rather conservative in the mileage department himself, Mr. Hope showed no hesitation in motivating his fellow campers to train like rampant gnus. On Friday morning he even burst into one of the bedrooms, singing a sweet serenade of “Jacob Eiiiissler… He thinks he can stay in beeeed. But he caaaan’t…”. Jacob was so inspired by this that he went running immediately, and later reported that the forest had been “beautiful” in the dawn sunlight.

In keeping with tradition, the old ‘100 points challenge’ was laid down towards the start of the week and (again, in keeping with tradition) Neil Mathur got off to a flying start. Considering the standard sessions too soft, he contrived some marvellously long routes and spent most of each day conquering them, alongside Kiwi Comrade Rowan Hooper. Sunday witnessed a particularly ferocious effort, when the dynamic duo raced through 17 miles before lunch with but a brief stop for Iced Tea and chocolate… and, as if that weren’t enough, the Hooperman then resolved to complete the same course after dark, bringing his daily points total up to 34.

Ben was overtly supportive of the record-breaking attempt: “If Rowan gets lost or hurt I’ll just take the piss.” But, in spite of serious chafage issues, the daring dude arrived home unscathed and notched his miles up proudly on the leader board. By the time he departed Foxlease on Monday night, Rowan had set a staggering target of 63 points for the remaining campers to chase.

A tireless supplement of super-mileage to the core programme assured Neil’s demolition of this marker, and by Thursday night he had come within striking distance of the Century. Paced to perfection, his 100-point bull’s eye was speared that evening with some leisurely drinking in the local pub. Verdict: 75 miles, 25 pints, the Mathur-beast savages all opponents.

Second place in the points competition went to Phil “well ‘ard” Scard, whose strategy involved a slightly stronger dependence on alcohol. A regular schedule of blazing day-time runs and fiery evening pub sessions sped the good man on his way to a formidable 80 points, with roughly 50% derived from drinking. He also earned the prestigious honour of being fastest points-merchant, when he pumped 4 wholesome pints of liquor down his throat in 2 mins 15 secs (Thursday evening). Kudos to you, Mr. Scard!

The original tally sheet from the competition (in all it’s greasy dog-eared glory) is photographed below. Behold ye fairest Maiden Emma, a handsome sixty-one points to her name^. Out-pacing the other lasses she totted up her total in just 5 of the 7 days, having fashioned a stylishly late arrival.

For the mere mortals among us, a tasty selection of shorter training runs was available to satiate the endorphin-craving appetite. Sunday witnessed a long (and extreeeemely muddy) canter in the forest, during which Lucy suffered a hilarious wipe-out and Will George twisted his ankle. Thankfully, the sprain was not serious and he recovered in time to join a frantic ‘steady’ run the next morning. This beastie wound its windy way along the gravelly tracks of the New Forest, inflicting forty-five minutes of lung-shattering, knee-popping agony on its disciples. Perhaps Ed had been right to stay in bed.

Monday afternoon saw a trail-stamping repeat of the action, another nifty half-hour run being launched into the woods, and vice-captain Brady redeemed himself with a furious tempo version of the session. Then it was home for tea and cakes. “Tuesday’s child is full of pace”, so the old rhyme goes, and Ben’s response was to whip out a devilish set of long reps. Stretching out over a moist country track, the efforts pounded us mercilessly for three minutes at a time, while Ben and Alexia screamed delicate words of encouragement from the sidelines. Suffering from the effects of some indoor footballing rampage, Ed Brady was forced to pull out after eight reps and, suffering from the effects of being extremely unfit, Yours Truly managed only six of the bursts. Will, Lee and Aidan “Aidan Brooooooon” Brown held it together for the full ten, with the Fantastic Female Foursome (aka Emma, Lucy, Claire and Katherine) nailing their session in style. Returning to base camp, we were treated to an amateur gallery of horrors, as Lee and Claire showed off their monstrous bubbling blisters. Nobody ate very much for lunch that day. With the coast so tantalisingly near, a sea-side run was bound to explode onto the scene eventually, and Wednesday witnessed a tasty spot of beach-running from the avid clan of campers. A quick ferry trip to the Isle of Purbeck was followed by a curt striptease and a mad dash down to the ocean waves. There photographer Phil captured a classic Chariots of Fire moment, as the Harey hordes raced through the spray like wild horses (see his website album here for this, and other holiday snaps). A nifty hour-long run ensued, along a breathtaking route that straddled both beaches and cliff-tops, and the day’s efforts were rounded off with a therapeutic – yet outrageously cold – dip in the sea. Claire turned blue. Thursday: Hmmm… this one hurt a lot. Splitting into groups of roughly even pace, the lads embarked on a fartlek session before lunch, tearing along the familiar forest trails that had been uncovered earlier in the week. With each runner in turn leading the pack for 3 minutes, the session threatened to become a competition over who could produce the fastest, rawest set. Rapid changes in direction were also popular, causing mild amusement and exacerbating the blister issue no end. For anyone confronted with such training in future, I have two pieces of advice:

NEVER eat a bowl of Crunchy Nut Cornflakes five minutes before starting the session.
Don’t join a group containing Aidan Brown. His thunderbolt sprinting will surely destroy you.

Apparently the week’s athletic activity concluded with a short and sunny jog on Friday morning, during which the beauty of the forest was emotionally overwhelming. I may or may not have slept through it (despite Ben “Pavarotti” Hope’s rousing dawn chorus).

Scenery

The New Forest is, quite simply, a magical place. Trotting through the leafy glades on Sunday, we chanced upon a whole swathe of spritely deer, and the very next day a pair of wild horses came close to joining our steady run. With greenery sprouting out of every crevice (ho-hum) and dappled sunlight playing across the ground, you couldn’t help but run with a smile on your face. Striding down the shore on Wednesday morning was almost surreal in its careless freedom, and many a shiny shell was espied (on some occasions even collected) as we raced our reflections over the watery surface. Then, ascending into the cliffs, our paths converged on Old Harry and his stumpy wife. It was truly a Geographer’s wet dream, seeing all that textbook coastal erosion first-hand. Oh, the memory… I can barely contain myself any longer .

Entertainment

Here is but a brief overview of all the orgasmic activities enjoyed by the merry campers at Foxlease. If you want to find out more… come to the next training camp!

Indoor football: Having discovered the secret Guide Girl Cupboard of Delights, Ed and Andy went for a bit of a rummage and emerged with one cheeky football. Then, on Sunday night, a friendly kick-about in the living room developed into full-on warfare, as a titanic footy match swamped the floorspace. I can’t remember who won, but Ed injured his knee and Will battered his already swollen ankle through an accidental collision with a team-mate. And the perfect, white-washed walls had mysteriously acquired a number of black football-shaped markings when we finished.
Sleeping bag games: Sounds ever so sordid, doesn’t it? Well fear not – it was all good, clean fun and no-one disgraced themselves…

The sleeping-bag element was used to enhance old classics like “musical chairs” (pictured on the right above), “fighting” (pictured on the left) and even more football. Each game ended in a rather sweaty heap of bodies, which had to be dragged outside for some fresh air.
Cards (and associated drinking): The card-playing highlight must have been Pig on Monday night, which rapidly evolved into a brawl over kitchen cutlery. With Claire’s sharpened fingernails/claws it was painful at times, but the various amusing forfeits inflicted on the loser proved irresistibly compelling. Among the vile substances downed that night were Weetabix, Australian Shiraz wine, Weetabix & Australian Shiraz wine (in a record time of 51 seconds, by the animalistic Ms. Day), hummus, tea, and several secret ingredients known only to Lee Harper. A corridor stampede was also incorporated into the game as it neared its heart-pounding conclusion.

Ed Brady was ever keen to flex his cerebral lobes in Hearts, another popular battle of wits, and when he left on Tuesday Mr. J.M. Eisler esq. took over as point-scorer extraordinaire. After one particularly frustrating round (during which Jacob screamed obscenities at two of his opponents), the general consensus was that more Hearts could only lead to bloodshed. A slick sidestep into Poker did the trick though, and Jacob soon raged into an indomitable winning streak, amassing for himself a hefty stash of crusted spoons (the poor man’s gambling stake). Along the way Lee, Will and I were treated to lessons in probability, caution and… humility.
That weird ball-throwing thing: You know, the one where you have to go down on one knee if you drop it, then two knees, one arm etc… I have no idea what it’s called, but the game certainly involves an element of danger. Lee was quick to demonstrate this as, reduced to lying on his belly, he attempted to catch an incoming shot and smacked the ground with his head. After a short but worrying spell of hallucination he seemed to be all right.
The cereal box game: Take one cereal box, place it on the ground and attempt to pick it up using only your mouth. Nothing but your feet may touch the floor.

Ed “T-Rex” Brady is pictured above using his patented ‘lunge’ technique (left), while Captain Ben sticks stubbornly to the ‘I’m an inflexible old man’ approach. A range of alarming crunching noises accompanied this challenge, and its effect on our aching joints became only too apparent during reps the next morning. With the box trimmed after each round to eliminate contenders, things soon started hotting up and the ladies’ natural dominance could not be suppressed. In fact, Ed and Lee were the only guys to make it to the last round, where they were required to pick up the raw base of the box using their tongues (hygienic AND fun!). Lee was subsequently disqualified for illegal use of a chair, while Ed employed his contortionist skills to achieve the feat and win a place in our hearts.

All the girls matched his startling performance (and some – e.g. Emma JP Pooley – with considerable ease)… except Claire, who overbalanced at a critical moment and ended up kissing the floor. The cause of her distraction was later revealed to be Lee’s bulging trousers (“I really wanted to see those jeans split!”). Oh well… we all have our weaknesses.
Giant Jenga: I think the photos say it all. Visit Phil’s website for a video clip of the catastrophic collapse!

Another giant tower was unleashed by Alexia Knight after she arrived on Monday. Taking charge of a hapless group of Haries (namely me, Phil, Katherine and Aidan), she oversaw a fantastic wall-climbing session using authentic Girl Guide equipment. Other than Alexia herself, Mr. Broooon was the only person to reach the top of the wall, whilst Phil suffered a number of hilarious slips that threatened to launch his be-layer skyward. If you are reading this and happen to be Alexia’s physio, rest assured that she did not in fact do any climbing .

Juggling, swimming, tree-climbing and core stability were also on hand to entertain us during the week. I suppose core stalagmitation (as Ben calls it) shouldn’t really be considered entertainment, rather a serious and important element of training. Still, with the orchestra of grunting and gallery of strained facial expressions it induces, one can hardly claim not to be amused by it!

Kitchen Magic

It’s a simple fact that ‘training’ camp would often better be called ‘eating’ camp, because the appetite of a mile-guzzling runner is hard to tame. Luckily, there were some expert culinary champions on the scene at Foxlease (mentioning no ~~Emma Pooley, Phil Scard, Neil Mathur~~ errr names) and we were overwhelmed by vats of delicious chilli, pasta bake and stir-fry on a daily basis. Not to be outdone, Dessertmaster Ben once again conjured up a taste-bud-tickling treat, with his outrageously gooey ‘Gunge & Sponge’ Cake, all the while keeping our hunger at bay with appropriately placed chunks of dark chocolate. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the can-opener incident, or Si’s moment of madness in preparing a meaty vegetarian dish, I would say that the cooking had been absolutely flawless. Bosh!

On Wednesday evening, following the beachtastic coastal run, we were all feeling so seasidey that a trip to the local Bournemouth chippy was unavoidable, and the great Harry Ramsden came to pleasure us with his fishmongering know-how. Foolishly, I was persuaded to attempt Harry’s Challenge, and found myself confronted with a spectacularly sized cod on a deep bed of greasy chips. After half an hour of determined munching it seemed that I’d hardly dented the beast, and with much reluctance I was compelled to admit myself a failure, giving up all hope of winning the free sticky toffee pudding and certificate. It was a terribly sad affair… until Ben’s surprising eagerness to acquire the dessert saw him wading through half the platter himself. With a little (well-concealed) help from neighbouring Haries, the plate was soon licked clean and our charming but suspicious waitress had no choice but to award the pudding. It was devoured in a flailing frenzy of gastronomic passion, by several people at once, and we then went on our merry way back to Lyndhurst… but not before Paolo had left a colossal 100% tip for the waitress (nudge nudge wink wink).

Intoxicants

Though certain people were getting high off washing up, and Aidan seemed to be deriving unnatural pleasure from mature Cheddar cheese, the main source of intoxication on camp was our good friend alcohol. Every night Phil and Neil would head down to the pub in search of extra beer ‘points’, whilst the various chaps and chapettes left behind took it in turns to taste our interesting house wine, which had gained a tainted reputation for being hideously vile. Will’s effort to down a glass of the stuff on Monday went cataclysmically wrong, with a tasteful spatter of red juice maligning the nice new floor, and it was decided that an alternative tipple should be purchased.

The chosen bottle was a fine brand indeed, but sadly no match for Paolo’s gargantuan strength, and it met a sticky end when he attempted to uncork it. Gripping the shaft too firmly (apparently a common problem amongst Italian gentlemen), he shattered the vessel and filled its contents with slivers of broken glass. Mmmmm… broken glass. We didn’t drink very much.

The week’s liver-leeching escapades spiralled towards an outrageous climax on Thursday evening, when Phil decided he would out-perform everyone by downing four pints of bitter on the spot. After much gulping, belching, cheering and – eventually – vomming^^ he had climbed his everest and rocketed further up the leader board, a magnificent 80 points tallied against his name. Ben was particularly impressed.

Camaraderie

Perhaps the most important aspect of training camp, and certainly one that clings to the memory like an over-friendly pet monkey might cling to your leg… which reminds me: Mon-key Ver-sus Rooooo-bot! An addictive and inspiring music video, this gem was shared with the campers by Jacob when he arrived on Tuesday. I’ve been trying to persuade him to email it to the banter list, but Jacob’s afraid that if he goes online he’ll be permanently distracted by porn and forget about his studies. No doubt a concern we all share.

Sorry, where was I? Ah yes – camaraderie! With people coming and going willy-nilly over the course of the week (some dropping in at a licentiously late hour, it must be said) the social scene was as fresh and dynamic as its vivid New Forest backdrop. Many tasteless jokes were told (almost all of them by Mr. Respectable Ben Hope) and at points Emma felt compelled to leave the room for fear of being morally violated.

Still, she was not completely blameless in this department herself, exhibiting a strange desire to reel off chucklesome Blonde jokes… and even one so rude she wasn’t sure she could tell it sober^^^. Shame on you, Miss Pooley!

A bit of healthy competition over loo paper and plenty of quips about Ben’s hair fuelled the banter-machine from dawn till dusk, while our nights were filled with the usual bizarre noises, seriously disturbing dreams about Ed Brady, the discovery of my brother’s soiled silken underpants, and the overpowering stench of last night’s curry. Elaboration on any of these subjects would probably be dangerous, so you’ll just have to use your imagination.

Karaoke

Hang on a sec… there was no karaoke!! Instead we present a selection of controversial soundbites. Hehehe…

“I get the impression I’m stronger than a pony.” – Lucy
“It’s like squeezing a melon out of your urethra.” – Emma (possibly referring to the cereal box game?)
“Or an orange through the nostril.” – Lee
“I just like all the different ways of murdering people.” – Alexia
“Just spread your legs a bit wider!” – Captain Lucy, to Captain Ben
“The floor doesn’t taste very nice.” – Lucy, disappointed
“It was like a dream within a dream and Ed was in both of them.” – Andy (ummm… I can explain!)
“There’s a website on how to do that for people who are really desperate… Errr.” – Jacob
“Yeah, that’d be a challenge – to nick the Bayeux Tapestry” – Will
“Runners are the filthiest human beings alive.” – Jacob, shortly after moving into Lee and Andy’s room
“If only you weren’t a couple of hours behind everyone else.” – Alexia, to Ben
“Well, maybe not naked.” – Claire Day, to Phil
“I desiiiiire cheese.” – Aidan
“We had it hard the other day!” – Claire
“Get out of here, you pervert!” – Jacob, to Ben
“Shut up, Jacob. You’re talking shit.” – Lucy
“No one’s shafting me today!” – Lee
“I have SUCH a big #!?#” – Jacob
“Maybe it will end in a homosexual embrace.” – Neil (it didn’t, as far as I know)

Credits

Well, that was training camp! It couldn’t have happened without the superb organisational talents of Ben Hope, or the driving skills of Si and Neil, or indeed without Alexia’s climbing equipment and expertise… or Will’s trusty playing cards, or that great Manic Street Preachers tape I brought along. And Lee’s tartan leggings were absolutely essential. OK, maybe we’re getting a bit far-fetched now.

Seriously though, a big thank you to our dear captains for masterminding such a brilliant trip, and to Si, Neil and Alexia for helping it to run so smoothly. You are Giants among Men.

A. B. A. A. A. Bell

*	The Year of the Badger… I think.
**	Feel free to repeat this pun if you enjoy the sound of it.
***	And possibly fictional.
^	Which is Emma… or maybe Julie. Who knows?
^^	Phil still claims that it was just a REALLY wet burp.
^^^	“Emma (blonde): What’s the difference between a blonde and a mosquito? All: No idea. Emma: A mosquito stops sucking when you slap it!”