Aid Station muffins

As running is an excuse to eat a lot, here's a recipe. I call these Aid Station muffins because if I was a race director I'd have them at every aid station instead of snotty gels. Gels are evil and there is no sane reason to eat them, at any time. They have the consistency of nose-gunge during a particularly bad bout of flu and the taste of a prison meal from a dystopian future full of 'meal substitutes'.

Anyway, these muffins are loosely based on bran muffins from the Edmonds cookbook (one for Kiwiana fans) but with no bran and added vegetables and fruit. So almost completely different.

They have fueled me on many a long run and are apparently quite nutritious and full of energy. On a practical note, the spices make them more interesting without being so sweet that they are sickly during a run. And above all else, they are pretty foolproof.

They turn out best when made while listening to loud music (Kyuss is ideal).

Here's what you need to make about 12:

¾ cup flour (either normal or spelt)

1 cup rolled oats

1 tsp baking powder

2 carrots

1 egg

1 cup milk

1 tbsp golden syrup

1 tbsp butter

¼ cup dates (instead of dates you can use ¼ cup of poncy muscovado sugar or similar. If you omit dates, chuck raisins in)

1 tsp cinammon/allspice

¼ tsp salt

Optional: bunch of chia seeds, handful of raisins/dried apricots

Method:

Preheat oven to 200 C

Grate carrots, chop dates finely

Throw everything except eggs, milk, golden syrup and butter into a bowl. Mix it all up.

Melt butter and golden syrup together.

Throw milk, syrup mixture and eggs into the bowl as well.

Mix just enough to combine – do not overmix! It should be pretty gloopy.

Put the mixture into dainty little cupcake thingys.

Bake for 15-20 minutes (the time depends on moisture content of carrots; the muffins look brown when they're done).

Presentation is key

I usually eat a couple as soon as they are done (they are better with tea than coffee) then freeze the rest, ready to take out and stuff into a pack for a long run. By the time I need to eat one out running, they are thawed but still fresh.

Best laid plans and why I don't like 'work'

Right. Confession time. I haven't yet traversed St Swithun's Way, as I had promised in my previous post (over a year ago). But I will. Last year's run was pole-axed by summer, to be frank. Or actually a summer of family coming to visit and a six-month-old baby.

But it will be done. It's sitting there, just over the hill, like a 34-mile long snake, lurking, waiting to see if it can chew me up and spit me out.

Enough crappy imagery - it's just a trail. Quite a nice one, actually.

One thing I have learned over the past year, training for St Swithun's way then for a 50-miler (I didn't make that start-line either, although three weeks of being violently and unpleasantly ill put paid to that one) is that I don't like work unless I am getting paid for it – and what's the point of doing something you don't like for free? I exclude housework because that is marginally better than living in a pig-sty.

But hill-work, speed-work, gym-work.. nah.

Sure, foregoing all these things won't make me the fastest runner I can be, but I am not really interested in running fast. I just want to run.

Take the half-marathon I ran a few weeks ago. Once again, summer had got in the way of anything that could be construed as organised training. I had gone for a long run every week (around two-ish hours – no idea of distance, most of my runs are classed in the “naked” or “stupid” category, with no gadgets) and I'd also biked to and from work every day. But all that dull repetitive stuff like sprint-work (there's that word again) that I had classed as “training” and considered doing when I signed up for the run was soon forgotten.

So when I toed the start-line my goal was to finish – and enjoy the scenery. A personal best was out of the question.

Or so I thought.

At halfway I felt great – and that was after the so-called tougher part of the course, over tree-covered hills and rolling farmland. So I set about going faster in the second half. And guess what? I even had enough at the end for a heroic sprint finish. And I got a trail half-marathon personal best, as well as a raging thirst for beer.

All without “training” (as opposed to running) a bit.

So back to St Swithun's way... my new philosophy is to not train at all for it. I'll just run a bit longer every week. Then one day (soon, I promise) I'll run the whole damn thing.