Le cross de Lecci

Christmas has passed with the usual ritual of over eating, drinking and more eating again. It was impossible to bypass the kitchen without taking a mit-ful of roasted nuts or surreptitiously cutting a morsel of Christmas cake, usually justified by coming back for seconds.

So on my return to Corsica, there was definitely no excuse to not take part in a cross country in Lecci, just a short drive from Porto Vecchio.

I appreciate cross country may not be everybody’s cup of tea. Perhaps the memory of being frogmarched through knee-deep mud by sadistic P.E teachers is an unwelcome blast from the past enough to put anyone off willingly partaking. But it is a shame, cross country competitions in England have always been a jovial affair; the odd man down in the mud and the camaraderie that ensues restore your faith in human nature, not the mention the extremely generous spread of sandwiches and cakes which follow suit.

What’s more, the loneliness of a long distance runner does not apply to cross-country, it’s rarely about elbowing your way to the finish line. But perhaps the ultimate joy of cross-country running is the freedom to run off road and enjoy the beautiful trails and parks which are often otherwise unbeknown.

With Christmas having taken its toll and not feeling particularly “en forme”, I couldn’t have asked for a better race to ease back into the cross country season: a flat 4.8k, 2 laps on a bright, warm January day....and a distinctly mudless course. That said, it was a struggle to find a pace which I knew I could maintain, especially with gazelle-like runners in the front of you gliding effortlessly through the air. By the end of the first lap my lungs were breathing heavily and approaching the slightest incline was beginning to fill me with dread. I finished in a respectable position; certainly not the best run I’ve ever had, but the friendly atmosphere and clement weather made for an enjoyable debut in the Corsican cross country scene.

I even had my photograph taken in the local paper; although it’s a shame they couldn’t quite get my name right. Anne-Sophie Marechal the Belgium, whoever she may be, seems to have stolen my moment of fame!

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What started off as a blog about running has rapidly been superseded by tales from Corsica, with food featuring heavily.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

Chesnut flour Cake Recipe

I went to my second athletics training session last night and came face to face with a beep test à la française . Aside from a few serious language problems, (initially the all important word for beep test?!) I knew, just like its delightful english counterpart, it was never going to be a walk in the park. This was confirmed when the coach said "You shouldn't stop until you feel you might die." Having not being prepared for any kind of test, it probably could have gone a lot better and I should have pushed myself a little further.

So after a bit of exertion, I decided to refuel by making a Corsican delicacy, Chestnut flour cake. I borrowed this recipe from a lovely lady next door. Chestnut flour might not be a supermarket regular back home but it's not too hard to track down and well worth the effort http://www.natoora.co.uk/shop/groceries/flour-semolina-and-raising-agents/chestnut-flour/prod16039.html Its also makes for the perfect gluten-free alternative.

Ingredients
475g Chesnut flour
2tsp Baking powder
160g sugar
180ml milk
75g sultanas
The zest of 1 lemon
3 eggs, separated
60g butter, melted
1/4 tsp salt

Preheat the oven to Oven 180 degrees and line a loaf tin with grease proof paper.
Beat the egg yolks with the sugar until nice and fluffy. Then fold in the flour, baking powder and salt and gradually add the melted butter, milk and lemon juice. Then stir in the raisins. Whisk then egg whites until they stand up in stiff peaks and carefully fold them in. (I didn't have an electric whisk handy but its do-able so long as your in no hurry and you're arm is feeling strong) Pop it in the oven for 30 mins. It makes a lovely moist cake that works a treat with a dollop of Crème Fraîche mixed with a little lemon zest. Voilà!

Breaking the Ice

So it's been nearly a week since I've been in French territory. There have certainly been some highs points, lying on a beach in Ajaccio, eating my bodyweight in bread and cheese and discovering that school dinners in France are to die for.It's easy to understand why there is not one single McDonald’s on the Ile de Beauté And undoubtedly, plenty of situations where I've had no idea what's going on in a conversation so I've just nodded, laughed or stroked any nearby pets by way of avoiding

saying "Pardon" for the upteenth time. Yesterday one of my students likened me to Paris Hilton, I would like to think that has more to do with the fact that blonde haired people are few and far between in this neck of the wood and less to do with what the fact I'm making a career out of being pointless.

Landing in a foreign town knowing literally no-one is definitely a sink or swim situation! In the short time I've been here, I've realised people are very willing to help you, but you have to make the effort and break the ice, however painstaking the small talk is in a foreign language.

On the running front, I was disappointed to discover that the beautiful beaches are not in easy reach braving the concrete jungle, I've run along roads complete with hair-raising drivers careering around every bend. Not ideal but needs must when you're surrounded by incredible food. However I've discovered a running track about 10 minutes away which should make for a much better run.


A bientôt!

The Corsica Adventure Begins

After a marathon journey through Marseille and across the Mediterranean, I have finally made it to Corsica. I didn't quite consider the pitfalls of lugging my monstrosity of a suitcase through an airport, train station, up steps and across town. It took some serious mind over matter in some instances. That aside, it was worth fighting against sleep on the ferry and staying up to watch the sun set over wild, jagged cliffs plunging into Mediterranean waters.

I spent the weekend in Ajaccio. It may not boast the hustle and bustle of an average cosmopolitan capital city, but it oozes elegance and the late October sunshine bathing the beaches and town centre is the perfect backdrop for a weekend away. Sitting in a cafe one evening alongside the sea, studded with palm trees I couldn't help but make a sweeping observation: the women looked immaculate with acutely, angled cheekbones, blazers and poker straight hair somehow resistant to frizz. The men are skinny, sit smoking cigarettes and looking depressed.

In the absence of any willpower at the faintest sniff of a boulangerie, I ate a horrendous amount of bread and cheese which I compensated for slightly with a brief swim in Ajaccio's beautiful sea. But I'm not quite ready to embrace the laissez faire attitude to nudity just yet!

Now I'm back in Porto Vecchio, I can't think of a better way to get my bearings and work off the weekend of feasting, than a run.