A 7 course meal and 12k trail run in 24 hours...because you only live once

It seems unthinkable that a few weeks ago I was milling around in a t-shirt at midday and feeling smug about not wearing a coat in January.

Corisca has not managed to evade the blast of freezing weather gripping Europe at moment. But with l’ospedale, just a stone’s throw from Porto Vecchio, visibly caked in a layer of fresh white snow, I was reluctant to turn down the opportunity to run in mountains and make the most of the cold weather.

But rather like buses, invites tend to come all at once. I was invited me to eat at a Corsican restaurant the evening before.

It certainly wasn’t a meal for vegetarians or anyone of a delicate meat-eating disposition. The Corsican proprietor proudly explained how they hunt and butcher a wild boar on Wednesday in preparation for opening the restaurant on Friday and Saturday evening.Course one was , pâté de tête, (brain pâté) followed by figatelli (liver sausages) then boudin,( near enough black pudding) followed by pork ribs, then lamb stew served with pasta...needless to say I was glad I had heeded my friend's advice.

I held onto that age-old cliché “You only live once” as several “digestifs” later, I returned home at 2.30am and set my alarm for 7.30am.

The sky was filled with drifting snowflakes as we arrived at the foot of Cartalavonu
, a track usually used for the downhill mountain biking. To our left, a group of camouflaged hunters crouched with their rifles in tow warming them by the fire.

Running in the winter feels a lot like putting your shoulders underneath the water; you know once you get underway you’ll be warm enough but its not much consolation. We started climbing the hill and sure enough ten minutes later my lungs were breathing heavily and my cheeks were glowing.

Whole-heartedly embracing some thigh-burning ascents was key, especially on 5 hours sleep and the very strong chestnut liquor still lingering in my the system. With my eyes focusing ahead, I concentrated on shortening my stride and distracted myself with the patchwork of scenery overlooking the gulf of Porto Vecchio.

An hour and a half later we were weaving through the heavily snow donned paths in a Narnia-like scene, cascades of snow tumbling from the pine needles as we brushed past.
The descent back took around an hour, I opted for bringing up the rear so that no-one would see me fall over, a wise move incidentally.

14km later and back home, I can honestly say I discovered a new level of tiredness. After recuperating with some pasta I crawled straight into bed.

Running through the forests of l’ospedale made for the perfect cold weather antidote; sunday would have otherwise been spent contemplating how much I ate the night before and considering when it would be acceptable to start eating meat again.

Les Restos Du Coeur

I am in the fortunate position of having free time on my hands, something which I’m sure I will be very nostalgic about in years to come so I decided to get involved with “Les Restos du Coeur.” Started in 1985, every year this charitable organisation distributes 109 million meals to nearly 1m people living in poverty in France. Food for thought when you consider that France is hardly a third world country.

So last week I headed to the Restos du Coeur headquarters in Porto Vecchio. For three months of the year, a ramshackle former garage is turned into a food distribution centre for people struggling to make ends meet. Strategically placed buckets in the event of heavy rain, a cacophony of christmas decorations and copious amounts of strong coffee capture in essence Restos du Coeur: it doesn’t claim to be a panacea for poverty with big patronizing gestures but it’s about people doing what they can, to make light of a difficult situation.

Voluntary work has a habit of restoring your faith in humanity. As I arrived looking dishevelled and very much a foreigner (I am still resisting wearing a coat, its 19 degrees in the daytime which I consider tropical) I was warmly greeted by a truly Corsican man who waved and shouted emphatically at every utterance and a woman who spoke four languages within ten minutes,
It’s easy for poverty to hide behind the façade of luxury villas, yachts and throng of four by fours tearing through a town sometimes referred to as Corsica’s St.Tropez. The increasing rich poor divide is certainly not a predicament unique to Porto Vecchio; but perhaps the problem here is sharpened by flocks of tourists descending on the island every summer with their bottomless bank accounts. The double edged tourism industry has undoubtedly created extraordinary wealth whilst pricing out those left behind.

Food shopping is no exception. I struggle to spend less than 35 euros a week on basic items and having managed to track down tinned tuna for 30 cents last week, it’s fair to say I’m not someone with especially extravagant tastes. Admittedly I’m yet to open it, if the truth be told I’m scared about what may lie inside.

The diversity of people signing up for food donations bares testimony to how indiscriminate poverty can be: a woman whose husband walked out leaving her and her four children, , young families unable to pay for rent let alone wrapping paper this Christmas and immigrants trapped in a social security catch 22.

Whilst climbing inside a chest freezer to scrub down the sides and developing mild repetitive strain disorder from lifting 100 cartons of milk from the back of a van, I realised there is a tendency to lose touch with other real living, breathing, human beings. Self checkouts, computers, email and facebook don’t lend themselves to interaction and opening our eyes to problems sitting on our doorstep.

Le Col de Bavella

I have always been a firm believer that there's no room for adventure and excitement staying inside your comfort zone. This was certainly put to the test Friday when I hiked the Col de Bavella.

Perched forebodingly in the stunning Alta Rocca mountains, the Col de Bavella crosses Bavella Needles, a backbone of granite spikes rising high above the ground.

I was a little in the dark about what the walk would entail and I didn’t want to turn up clad head to toe in lycra. As luck would have it, my ‘middle of the road’ hiking attire sufficed...just.
The walk started through a pine forest studded with chestnuts and paths lined with ocre stained leaves. With the backcloth of dramatic mountainous landscape laced in fine mist and clouds, we steadily ascended up a rocky path.

Reaching the top, the track disappeated virtually disappeared. I watched incredulously as my fellow companions climbed effortlessly, one arm and foot instinctively stretching out and gripping the next rock. As I, not so gracefully, reached the top, my stomach turned. With sheets of cloud sweeping low above us, it dawned on me the slightest wrong footing on the narrow, cragged summit would give way to sheer drops. A companion asked me “Are you scared?” and I managed to stammer a very resolute yes.

We continued to rise and fall along meandering paths, although I use path in the very loosest sense of the word. We scrabbled through the 'Trou de la Bombe' - an 8 metre hole in the rock, and abseiled down near vertical rock faces; my companions doing so with the ease of an ape and myself more like a frightened mountain sheep.

In true Corsican style, the heavens opened with little warning. Soon after eating lunch, we walked for an hour through fierce hale and rain along an open path in the midst of dramatic lightning splitting the valley.

Arriving home and peeling off wet clothes, dealing with cuts and scratches on my legs and accessing the damage done to my trousers from sliding inelegantly down many a rock, I couldn't help but look forward to the next time.

Pyramid Training

What started off as a blog about running has rapidly been superseded by tales from Corsica, with food featuring heavily.

Running might have taken a back seat whilst I get to grips with the language and all the highs and lows that come with of living in a foreign country. This week for example, until someone kindly corrected, I realised that instead of making small talk about how much it's raining, I've been saying "It's crying a lot." Fabulous.

However that aside, I've found a very accommodating running club. In some respects, the language barrier is a blessing as I'm not always entirely sure how far we're supposed to be running. If in doubt, I just have to gage how much this session is going to hurt from the various cursing of "merde" and other profanities under the breath of my fellow runners.

We did some pyramid training last week at the track. If getting that 3000m under your belt is a hard pill to swallow after a long day at work, pyramid intervals are the perfect way to make time fly. With long distance running it's tempting to cruise along in your comfort zone without improving. This session is guarenteed to get the job done whilst building up strength and endurance.

10 minutes warm-up easy running.

1. 15 seconds high intensity 15 second rest
2. 30 seconds high intensity 30 second rest
3. 30 seconds high intensity 30 second rest
4. 45 seconds high intesnity 45 second rest
5. 15 seconds high intensity 15 second rest

Repeat 4 times

10 minute cool down easy running

I believe the technical name for this is the swedish word "Fartlek". Yes it does sound funny until you run one.