Sunday run: Blairgowrie.

It was a perfect summer morning, sun ablaze over the bay and just a gentle breeze to stop the heat getting too oppressive.

We started at the house and jogged gently down to Tyrone Beach near Murray Street, then along the beach past Blairgowrie village and the yacht club.

People and dogs were enjoying the early morning air, there's a lot of dog lovers down that way. On any day you will usually see labradors, golden retrievers, schnauzers, poodles, germand shepherds, spaniels, terriers of various types and the occasional boxer.

We left the beach, and ran back down the highway towards Blairgowrie, turning right at the village and through the maze of streets back home. I finished off with a 100 metre sprint to the house, then ran back a kilometre or so to catch Tracy, then repeated the sprint finish.

And that was this week's Sunday run. It sure makes lunch taste good. (And the coffee at the Blairgowrie cafe - excellent.)

Try this session some time.

This is a particularly difficult one.

The usual warmup:

Run three laps (400m) gently. Stretch gently for five minutes.
Run two laps. Stretch five more minutes working through all the muscle groups.
Run one lap. More stretching.
Three 100m stride-outs (75% effort), walk back to the start.
50m high knee lifts (raising kness as high as possible) and 50 high back kicks (kicking leg back towards your butt as far as you can). 100m side strides (runnning sideways, alternating sides to swap leading leg).

OK, you're warmed up.

Now, run 6x1200 metres with three minutes break in between each.

Pace is strong but with sufficient in reserve to get you through the session. If you feel yourself flagging, think about your form and concentrate on keeping your hips high, your arms at 90 degree and your head high.

When you're done, do a ten minute cooldown jog and stretch for 10 to 15 minutes.

It's a tough session but somebody has to do it.

You.

Fighting like cats and dogs. No. Fighting like humans.

Seriously, some people are totally nuts.

Barking mad, if that doesn't insult dogs.

Check out this from today's Herald Sun:

DOG lover Deborah Parkhouse has spent $87,000 building a pooch palace for her adopted afghan hounds.

But the cat lover next door threatens to destroy this doggie haven.

There's a cat lover and a dog lover living next door to each other. Kind of OK so far, it is in the country.

Cat breeder Alcira Crosby has complained the howling dogs disturb her peace; and the local council has ordered the doghouse be moved.

Now just hold on a minute. The complainer ... is a cat breeder?

That I have a problem with. The country is overrun with feral animals feasting on native wildlife and this woman is ... breeding more.

Let's compare that to what the poor dog woman is doing. What the poor dog woman is doing is picking up the pieces after humans have dispensed with these innocent and beautiful creatures. After they have admired their regal features but got sick of looking after them. After they have turfed them into the RSPCA or the Lost Dogs' Home to be put down, their bedraggled hair uncombed, their pack instincts of running for joy in the field sadly unfulfilled.

Except they won't be put down, because this angel-woman has saved them.

So, we have in one house, someone manufacturing cats for humans and in the next door house someone saving animals from humans. So you know who's in the right already. I mean no argument, right? Any talk of noise or inconvenience is just talk, right?

No. The case is going to the Victorian Civil and Administrative Tribunal.

The cat woman says this: noise from the afghans (and three terriers and a trio of cats) is driving clients away.

'Clients'? How about the 'clients' go to the Greensborough Cat Shelter where they can have all the cats they want, abandoned by humans. But no, we have to have another human manufacturing more cats.

'Clients', presumably going there to buy animals, object to the sound ... of animals. 'Oh excuse me, I heard a dog bark, goodbye.' Yeah sure, that's likely. My god, I hate that word 'clients'.

So let's see what the cat woman and her 'clients' object to.

The "shed", as Mrs Parkhouse describes the doghouse, has thick concrete floors; the walls and ceiling are insulated for temperature and noise.

The flue from the dogs' stove is fixed inside the roof, and a front porch allows them to gaze down on the ornamental lakes in which they swim.

"I am not moving the doghouse," Mrs Parkhouse said yesterday. "It would cost twice as much as it already has to build, and it would be virtually impossible anyway."

Mrs Parkhouse built the shed especially for her pets' comfort on 12 hectares bought in 2001.

"Some people would say it is extravagant, but I wanted something they considered comfortable and, I thought, humane housing for large dogs," she said yesterday.

This is heaven on earth for dogs, but God's creatures deserve it. Abandoned by bad humans, they finally enjoy some of the pleasures many humans will not enjoy. In classical Greek philosphy and literature this is called nemesis.

And cat woman wants all this to end because 'clients' might object to a dog bark. And what is the spineless local council doing when it should be fixing roads and collecting rubbish?

Macedon Ranges Shire has intervened to impose conditions on the annual permit that allows Mrs Parkhouse to keep her nine canine companions.

These cover feeding and exercise times and the location of their house.

When someone complains these days, everyone listens. Even the local council.

But Mrs Parkhouse argues the council has no jurisdiction to order changes to her permit and that the conditions are unreasonable. "The irony is that I have done everything by the book, when I really need never have bothered," she said. Mrs Parkhouse said she had lived alongside her former good friend for two years before their dispute flared this year.

She's done everything right, but some whinging loser complains, so her entire benevolent, altruistic venture is thrown into doubt and chaos. Like, Happy Christmas, neighbour!

Mrs Crosby's complaints have brought her her own council woes – officers are investigating whether her cattery requires a planning permit.

Yeah, well, what goes around comes around. Let's hope it's goodbye, cat manufacturing business.

And goodbye 'clients'.

Good riddance. Hey Towser, here's a nice bone for you and one for all your shaggy friends. Enjoy.

Return of the Sunday run.

I've done a few of these in recent months, but none as long, and none in such heat.

We started at Aberfeldie Park next to the running track, headed over to the river and struck out along the river path westwards. This is truly one of Melbourne's most picturesque locations.

The hills started about 2 kilometres out with a series of switchback rises leveling out at a point overlooking the Maribyrnong valley. Superlative views. A kilometre further along, we descended again into the Steele Creek valley, ran another couple kilometres, and rejoined the Maribyrnong after another huge climb and descent.

The next eight or so kilometres were relatively flat, following the river from Maribyrnong (the suburb) well into Avondale Heights and almost reaching Keilor. The track here is heavily treed and it feels like you are running in the country. It could be anywhere.

Then, we turned around. Around this time, the sun broke through the cloud and it started getting really hot. It was hard to hold the pace. The last couple of kilometres were very hard and I was getting really thirsty - don't want to get heat stroke.

Headed straight into the cold shower, drank about a litre, cooled down and stretched with the others for about half an hour.

That's the best Sunday run for a long time.

Running hills at the Tan.

We met at Anderson Street (Royal Botanical Gardens, otherwise known as the Tan) for a nostalgic 'hills' session. I haven't run here for many years, and I had of course forgotten how hard this session is. So I was looking forward to it.

I drove into East Melbourne, found parking restrictions had been further tightened and drove back to the Treasury Gardens. That meant a warmup jog of about an extra kilometre. The Tan was extra busy with serious runners, casual joggers and people just out walking. I met the group at the Tan starting their warmup. We did about twenty minutes of jogging, stretches and strides, then started.

On each repeat, we ran the entire side of the Gardens, right up to where the path turns the corner into Domain Road. It's a relentless climb to the peak and then you try to maintain a good pace over the top to the downward curve.

Ten Anderson Street hills later, I was spent. Some of the group were going over the river to Olympic Park to watch the Zatopek 10k on the track. I went home, walked the dogs around the block and then had dinner.

Storm damage.

Took the dogs down to Merri Creek last night - it seems to have disposed of the dump within twelve hours, with just a few parts of the pathway washed away.

The papers this morning were full of news and pictures and the damage it caused.

Had it broken just a few hours earlier than it did (between 1am and 3am) it may have pushed the Latham acendancy off the front page of the previous day's Melbourne Sun - 'Mr Clean' ran the headline, with Latham promising no more foot-in-mouth gaffes or obscenities. It was hugely valuable front page for Latham. Mind you, a previous reputation for being loose-lipped didn't seem to hurt Jeff Kennett much after his rise to power - Latham may find himself in the Lodge next year.

Apres moi, le deluge.

Or la, bit creaky on my French.

Anyway - back to Merri Creek. The dogs were excited, there were rabbits everywhere. So we know where to take them to give them a really good workout. Half the time Billy the lazy greyhound doesn't want to go very far at all.

I jogged for about half an hour and dropped in a few sprints on the hills. Very easy session.

Record rain as storms upset the dogs.

Tuesday night's session was 10 x 300 metres on the track, two lots of five with a ten-minute rest. Got through it OK, a little slow perhaps, but running conservatively. Don't think I could have run much faster though.

Thunder and lightning started early afternoon, broke for our training session (convenient) and then resumed and continued throughout the night.

Goldie the Brittany does not like storms at all. Billy's OK with them. Goldie darts about, panting as if she's been out for a run. She just won't settle during a storm. After a while she was OK and then just fell asleep I guess. I slept well after the tough session.

In the morning, I took the dogs out for their usual walk, there was a lot of water about with garden beds washed away, etc. Seems there had been 120mls of rain, not sure what that is in inches, in two hours - some kind of 100 year record. Tonight we'll walk the dogs at Merri Creek to see if it has broken its banks.

Wild weather at Portsea.

Portsea back beach was wild with thunder, rain and lightning on Sunday morning as we set off along the sand for a run.

The weather was strange - cloudy one minute, blistering hot sunshine the next. The wind was squally and seemed to be ever changing direction.

After a good warmup, the session consisted of diagonal sprints up the beach to the foreshore. They get increasingly difficult as you move from hard sand to softer sand up the beach. A gentle jog back down the beach and repeat fourteen times.

The sprints are hard but short enough so that you don't end the session feeling drained. You do feel it next day though, with upper quads and hips taking the heat.

Afterwards, I plunged into the swirling ocean as the heavens broke open. It's quite a dangerous beach - the flags were up and the lifesavers were having an induction day for their juniors.

An hour later found us at an outside table at the Blairgowrie cafe having a hard earned coffee with the dogs at our feet. Then it rained again.

Back to the drawing board.

No posts for a few weeks, so here's a bit of a summary.

After a slowish 3k walk at Aberfeldie, the back tightened up again, so easy training for a few weeks. This is a real pain in the butt.

Tried to make it up in the gym. On the bike, I did a speed session consisting of 1 minute easy, 1 hard, 2 easy, 2 hard, 2 easy, 3 hard, 2 easy, 4 hard, 2 easy, 5 hard, 2 easy, 4 hard, 2 easy, 3 hard, 2 easy, 2 hard, 2 easy, 1 hard, 2 easy. This is a killer session, of course it depends on your intensity, you basically tailor it to your ability. The idea is to get through the session, so don't blow up on the first few.

In the following days I dropped in a few light runs of 20-30 minutes. Early last week I joined the group for a Tuesday session without knowing what was on the program - it was their 'special' - 6x1500 around the top end of Princes Park with a jogged 300m break. It's more like 1600 metres and if you don't really pace yourself you just will not get through the session.

Having not done any speed for three weeks, I got through three. But even that was good.

The following Saturday, the 2k walk was a real struggle for 8:35.

Then, the night before last, I finally got back into the swing of things again with three laps of Princes Park, the first easy, the second with two surges of about 1k each, and the third with three surges of about 700m each. Good strong, very hard session.

Dogs and beaches.

After yet another back attack, it was necessary to take a couple of days off work, away from the computer, out of the chair, and try and get it right.

Three days at the beach helped. Lying in the sun, a little gentle walking and swimming. Perfect weather helped. Got a little sunburnt, had a picnic on the beach - waldorf salad, hardboiled eggs, fresh rye bread - and generally took it easy.

The dogs love the beach to bits. When we walk, Goldie is OK with other dogs and Billy barely glances at them. However, once we sit on the sand, Goldie immediately regards it as 'our' territory and barks madly at passing dogs. Billy digs a hole, sending sand in all directions, and then sits himself in the cooler sand below.

Get a life. Go home already.

Daylight saving started last weekend so everyone can enjoy an extra hour of daylight, right?

Wrong. This is what I've noticed happening every year in the city workforce: people stay at their desks longer because they don't want to be seen to the first to skip out into the daylight. It suddenly feels too early. People might think they are slacking off. Letting the side down.

GO HOME, LOSERS!

Run! Walk your dogs (which now have to be alone even longer). Get into your garden! Go for an evening swim! Visit your mother for an al fresco dinner!

No. They work until it gets dark and then slink off after the 'important' people have left.

Losers.

Another runner joins the pack.

Out for the usual morning walk with Goldie (the Brittany) and Billy (the Greyhound) to get the paper at 6.30. Arriving at the shop we were greeted by a couple of fierce-looking characters, a German Shepherd and what looked like a pit bull crossed with maybe a labrador, both obviously strayed, the pit-bull cross looking particularly emaciated and possibly dangerous.

I dashed right into the shop - with Goldie and Billy! - where the shopkeeper raised a voice in protest. Meantime a guy (not the owner of the dogs) came along having seen what had happened and shooed the strays away.

Outside the shop, they were sitting - in the middle of the road - looking back at us. We hurried away and soon the pit bull followed, caught us and ran ahead as if happy to join the pack. The German Shepherd also followed.

Back home, the first dog followed us to the front door whilethe German Shepherd disappeared. I sent Goldie and Billy out back, and fetching some dog food, I offered it to the poor stray which was clearly starving. He ate hungrily, then I put him in the yard and brought Goldie and Billy inside, just for safety, although the stray seemed grateful and not about to attack anyone.

After a half-hearted howl, the poor semi-starving dog, clearly pleased with his unexpected meal, had curled up on Goldie's bed and fallen asleep, where he was to remain until the ranger called by to take him to the pound - from which he will hopefully be rescued by someone human enough to treat a dog properly - and hopefully not his present 'owner'.

Maltreatment and neglect of animals makes me very angry.

Winter training in spring.

The heavens broke over the city late afternoon and when I reached the car I made a snap decision (bad weather, getting over back strain) to head home instead of joining the training group; or at least go to the nice warm gym on the way where I could have a quick pedal, do a few stretches and then get into a nice hot spa.

Then I hit the traffic sitting at a stand-still. I wasn't going to sit in steaming traffic and watch the training group run past, so with a quick U-turn on Royal Parade I was right there at Princes Park and got out into the bad weather with misgivings.

The group numbered about seven, a bit less than usual. The session: 3 x ten minutes strong broken up by four minute jogging - a real slog through the wet and slush.

Bad weather benefit #1: the tracks are almost empty so no people- bike- and dog-dodging required. Hell, I didn't even dodge the puddles, they were too big, I just ran through them.

Back held up fine. It's on the mend. Touch wood.

Run badly and you'll get shot.

That's what happens to hundreds of professional runners in Britain and probably thousands around the world. I'm talking about those noble and misunderstood dogs - Greyhounds - of course.

Read the story here.

Greyhounds graced the courts of the Pharaohs thousands of years ago. Nowadays, they're used by cruel people with dollar signs in their eyes to make a fast (pun!) buck. So we've advanced as a civilisation? No.

Adopt a Greyhound. They are happy, lazy, languid, beautiful, graceful creatures with stunning Cleopatra eyes. No wonder the ancient Egyptians loved them. Call your local Greyhound association today. Most of them worldwide now have adoption programs.

Have you taken your pills yet?

Patrick Smith writes in The Australian about the drug epidemic in athletics.

Now I know why it's so hard to get over injuries and compete. Everyone else is taking performance-enhancing, injury-masking, go-faster drugs.

The only drug I use is the endorphin buzz I get when I'm out on a run. And that's in short supply at the moment!

The physio feels my pain.

Literally. He gets his fingers into the spot and loosens it up while I tell him what I've been doing.

After half an hour of work it has loosened up such that I have a range of movement I didn't have when I went in.

My physio's attitude is more important than what he does. He has a she'll-be-right air that is infectious. After wondering whether you'll ever be free of back pain this is a good feeling.

Having walked in feeling like I had a switchblade in my back, I walk out much happier. And promptly sit down at my computer having arrived back at work.

We never learn.

Anyone wants a good physio, email me for his name and address.

Greyhounds are lazy.

Too sore to run Sunday, so to the local pool for a little hydrotherapy. Six-year-old Canisha played find the coin, made a friend and showed off her backstroke while Tracy swam thirty laps and I just hung out in the shallow pool, watching Canisha, swimming under water and doing a bit of stretching.

Billy the Greyhound and Goldie the Britanny were more than anxious for a walk by mid-afternoon, so we drove them to Princes Park where an off-lead area is popular with inner city dog owners.

Tracy went off for a half-hour run, while I took the dogs. Two great Golden Retrievers loped over to greet us along with a brindle mixed breed. There were maybe a couple dozen dogs tearing about and having a great old time. Terriers, spaniels, retrievers, all kinds.

Goldie trotted off immediately to sniff around the park, but Billy just dug his front paws in and refused to move. Several terriers sped over to check him out. He doesn't really mind, but he's not as inquisitive as they are. He had wanted to go with Tracy, but being lazy, could not have kept up with her. He kept looking towards the direction she had run. Silly Billy. I slowly coaxed him over towards the playing dogs but after a few tentative steps forward, he lay down, content to watch from the sidelines.

From behind, a newcomer, a large black dog of mixed breed, approached him. He immediately sprang up, tail wagging and was suddenly happy to trot about. You do wonder what they are thinking.

Meanwhile a couple with a 12 week old English Springer was admiring Goldie, not recognising the breed. I told them Britannies are extremely active and can run for hours. Having taken on the English Springer to run with, they were quite impressed.

An American woman, running laps, stopped to admire Billy's fine features and colouring. She had wanted to adopt one for herself, but is moving to Brisbane and has to wait.

There's no doubt Greyhounds are fine looking dogs. Shame they're so lazy (except when cats enter their yard - that's another story), despite their racing reputation.

Home to a superb home-cooked meal of chopped liver, rice and vegetables. (The dogs, that is.)

28 celsius one week, cold and wet the next.

Second round of track & field for summer 2003-4. Clouds eased to sunny breaks for the first event. It looked like a nice day.

The 3000 metre walk was spent looking over my shoulder, with someone not too far behind. I'd started reasonably quick and thought I may fade. Not to be however. Finished in front, 13.16. Back very stiff after, however.

I spent the next three quarters of an hour placing the lane blocks at the 300 for the 800 metres before the clouds returned, blacker than ever, and proceeded to dump on the track.

(The lane blocks: the 800 metre runners start and run in lanes for 100 metres then revert to the inside lane. An official is required to check that runners comply with this, and then remove the two inside lane markers before the field comes around on their second lap, and then to replace them for the next heat.)

The meeting was cancelled after the eights, as 75% of the meeting could not have been completed in order that points stand - field events become dangerous in the wet, and cancellation is complusory.

Several disappointed 3000 and 5000 runners staged their own event.

The curse of the protruding disk.

The disk between L4 and L5 is the source of pain for millions. My latest episode has lasted three weeks and several times it looks like abating only to flare up again.

Doning all the wrong things doesn't help. Like sitting at a desk for hours on end. Or manual labor in the garden. Or running.

What the hell else is there? You can't lie on a bed all your life. I spend my weekdays working in front of a computer and weekends being active. My gut feeling is that the sitting around is worse than being active. This is backed up by latest medical opinion which says active is best.

Just don't go lifting concrete blocks. Get a landscaper or leave the garden as it is.