TwinBikeRun cover photo montage of Andrew and Iain Todd

TwinBikeRun

Andrew and Iain Todd write about endurance sport, football and the everyday absurdity of life. Twin brothers, occasional triathletes, and authors of six books between them.

Cover of Norseman: Two Brothers, Forty Years of Failure and the World's Toughest Triathlon
Cover of The Celtman Diary: Six Months to Prepare for the UK's Toughest Triathlon
Cover of The Sound of Football: Every Club, Every Song

  • Running with Illness (Andrew)

    Often, when I’m running on my own, I can tell I’m ill before I’m ill. My body reacts differently, easy sections become much harder, I’m sweating pulling my shorts on, before I even start running. Running alone can a great early detection system as you spot your running with an illness before…

    … you run with an illness. 

    Some runners live for the machismo of running in any conditions. Wind, rain, hurricane, plague of locusts, it doesn’t matter what is happening in the world they will keep running. Even injury and illness don’t stop them. One leg broken? Just hop? Two legs broken? Switch to a marathon in a wheelchair. Clinically dead? Not an excuse, where’s the spark pads?

    I’ve also operated under the maxim “above the neck, fine, below the neck, rest.” I do not know where I got this from or whether it has any connection to any known medical science. Given it dismisses all mental illness, I suspect it’s from TwinBikeWife’s mum’s little book of medical sayings. My mother-in-law used to be a nurse, in the same way that quackery used to be a legitimate medical science. She was a nurse in the 1960s. She quit to raise a family and has been using the same medical knowledge as The Beatles ever since. The Beatles, whose song ‘Doctor Robert’ recommended their friendly GP, Dr Bob, whose prescription for a grazed knee was LSD and whose prescription for a headache was, you guessed it, LSD.

    TwinBikeMotherInLaw last saw the inside of a hospital before decimalisation was invented. I suspect I may have got this advice from her. Don’t listen to it. Don’t run when ill, below or above the neck, but do use your solo runs to check your own body. You’ll be surprised how a run can warn you that blue light is about to flash.

  • Running Alone (Andrew)

    In 2024, I had two goals, complete a triathlon in June after running an ultramarathon in April. 

    I thought my training had been going well for the ultra, but then I injured my foot before getting a chest infection just as I was getting ready to start running again. Between illness and injury, I cancelled the ultra and I managed to run only six times between Easter and taking part in the triathlon in June. 

    I wasn’t disappointed, just realistic. Injury and illness are part of running, and they have a way of forcing you back to the simplest version of it: just getting out the door, on your own, with no plan beyond moving forward. In those six runs between Easter and June, every single one was alone. And I’d argue that every single one was better for it.

    Running alone is a great way to stay healthy. Not just for the benefits of exercise and a healthy life but also because you rarely encounter anyone who is ill when you are running. It’s not like you take a route through the tropical disease ward at your local isolation unit. Or even run within coughing distance of someone with the flu. When you run on your own, you isolate yourself from other people. 

    If I’m running down the street and see someone ahead of me, I make sure to give them plenty of space as I pass. Like a super-tanker approaching the Panama Canal, I assume the more distance between us, the better. No one wants to hear the swish of Lycra shorts right behind them, feel a runner’s breeze brushing past their arm, or catch the warmth of someone’s breath as they sidestep around them at the last second. That’s not running; that’s practice mugging.

    I will occasionally cross the road. I am conscious, as a man, that my perception of what is safe and a woman’s perception of what is safe are very different. For example, my perception of a well-lit street in December at night, occupied by several parked cars, a white van, and a woman walking alone is that this street presents no danger to me whatsoever. The woman, on the other hand, may have her keys in her hand, ready to strike like the point of a knife, and is eyeing up me, the stranger panting and running and dressed entirely in black, and my grab-van and thinking that this is how Silence of the Lambs starts. If I ask her to move a sofa, I’m getting maced. 

    In that circumstance, night, me being the only other person on the street, I cross the road to be polite and non-threatening. I even sheath my knife, pull up my balaclava and shout “I’m not going to hurt you” to make it as safe and comfortable for her as possible. I’m not looking for you to call me a knight of the night, or man of the year, but if those are the words you want to use then don’t let me stop you. 

    My regular solo run takes me four miles through the southside of Glasgow, past the same houses, the same corner shop, the same park. I know every pavement crack. I know where the footpath narrows near the school and where the dog is always behind the gate. I don’t think about any of it. That’s the point. The run thinks for me, and by the time I’m back at my front door, whatever was tangled in my head is either resolved or forgotten. I’m not sure which is more useful.

    Running alone should be safe. Both for you and for others. You don’t meet, speak or interact with anyone except the occasional 40mph Deliveroo rider on a moped modded with a NASA rocket who gets a well deserved: “Oi, you should be on the road”. Other than that, you’re on your own. It is liberating, it’s just you and the world. For me, running on my own with no phone, gives me a chance to think about problems at works and to try and solve them, or to plan ahead and bounce ideas around my noggin, or just to tune our completely so that by the time I get home I’m not thinking of anything at all. My solo run is just me. Your solo run is just you. And on the right evening, on the right street, with the right amount of quiet, that is enough.

  • The ‘Favourite Bin’ Run (Andrew)

    I have a ‘favourite bin’ run. It’s three miles from the house beside a roundabout and a small ornamental flower bed and black metal bench. I like to run to the bin, take out a gel, sit on the bench, finish the gel and put it in the bin. I don’t like eating an energy gel and then putting it back in my shorts pocket, where it will either leak or remain forgotten about until I find it in the washing machine later, blocking the outflow pipe. I prefer to put it straight into a bin to avoid emergency call out plumbing mishaps. Running is good for your health – and your bank balance.

  • Race Report: Scurry to the Sea 2026 (Andrew)

    Scurry to the Sea is a 12 miles-ish race from the Pentlands to Musselborough. I think of it as a downhill race as most of it is downhill but, as this elevation shows, there’s an awful lot of climbing in the first two miles.

    This is the third time I’ve entered Scurry to the Sea so for more details you can read 2024 and 2025. It was only on re-reading my 2025 report that I realised I made the same mistake this year as last year: I entered both Run The Blades and Scurry to the Sea despite them just being a week apart. My legs were heavy last year and, while I felt it again this year in the fast few miles, by mile four I felt okay and continued to feel okay until the finish. Maybe that was because we found a shortcut?

    I’m not sure what we did, but we finished the race about a half a mile shorter than in 2024 and 2025. Given we were following the runners in front, I can only assume one of the leaders had worked out a new shorter route to run between start and finish while still passing all the checkpoints. If so, my legs thank you!

  • The Morning Run (Andrew)

    I am not a morning runner. I have tried to be. The evidence is not encouraging. Every morning run I have planned has involved setting an alarm I either slept through or turned off with the specific intention of getting up and then did not get up. I have run at 6am perhaps eight times in my adult life. Four of those were races. One was an emergency. Three were genuine morning runs that felt so unlike my normal experience of running that I am not sure they count. The morning run belongs to a different type of person. I respect that person. They probably also buy Christmas presents in August. I am not that person.

  • Running on Trails (Andrew)

    I love running trails, there is no better feeling for me than to be in the middle of nowhere, on a rough track, and surrounded by hills or lochs or forest or anything but concrete. It is running stripped back to the essentials, following paths that are man made, following routes that have been walked out of the landscape by necessity and ease of all those who have come this way before us. We are running in history, in the footsteps of previous centuries. It inspires and humbles and, I admit, frightens me too. What happens if I’m injured? How do I get home?

    I was 47 miles into a 52 mile event on the West Highland Way when I couldn’t walk any further. I’d had a stress fracture in my left foot. I couldn’t put any weight on it. I was five miles from the finish line at the top of Loch Lomond. At least two miles from the nearest road.  

    I could do nothing but walk. Slowly. Shuffling. Right foot out. Right foot down. Steady myself. Left foot out. Left foot down. AAAAAARRRRGHHH! Breath. Repeat for five more miles. 

    Or you might worry about getting lost. I ran hills on the western side of Loch Lomond. I didn’t. I had been turned around and I was running further and further away from the car. It was only when I met someone walking in the opposite direction and we had a quick chat about where we going did I realise that they were going where I want to go: the car park.

    If you’re thinking of running longer trails, then always think about running with other people or telling people where you are going and what you’re doing. 

  • Hyrox Glasgow as a spectator (Andrew)

    How much?!?

    Blimey!

    If you want to watch Hyrox prepare to take out a loan as it costs £7 to watch live. Which seems expensive (because it is expensive) but maybe in comparison to other events it’s actually quite cheap. You are watching ‘professional’ events alongside the amateur categories and, compared to other indoor sports, £7 is reasonable for all day access.

    But, compared to watching any running race, it seems wrong to charge anything.

    Maybe £7 is fine, maybe it’s a rip-off? I don’t know, I just know that it felt wrong to me to charge to watch a bunch of men run indoors around the Scottish Exhibition Centre when you could watch the same men run outdoors around the SEC during the Men’s 10K for free.

    Saying that, what we the experience like to watch Hyrox?

    Very straightforward is the simple answer. Hyrox – more details here – is very well organised and all of the events are set up so that spectators can stand at barriers next to where their ‘athlete’ is performing. If you’re following someone around, you’ll easily find a good spot to watch them at every station. Except for station 5, which is station 6 and station 6 which is station 5. The two stations are swapped around so if you’re following someone from station 1 to 2 to 3 to 4 to 5, like I was, then you’ll stand at station 6, thinking it’s 5, only to realise that there’s no ‘athlete’ to see.

    I’m sure there must be a good logistical reason why the two stations are swapped around, but it did make it confusing to follow where Iain TwinBikeRun was going to next.

    I have TwinBikeChild with me and she enjoyed the music and watching the running track. It was busy but not so much as too intimidate her. But with 90 minutes of moving around, it was a lot for a five year old to follow and she was getting cranky towards the end. Top tip, follow someone faster than IainTwinBikeRun!

    Overall, spectating at Hyrox is simple, straightforward and well worth £7, if you think it’s fair they charge a fee in the first place! Otherwise its simple, straightforward and a complete rip-off.

  • Run The Blades Half Marathon 2026 (Andrew)

    Screenshot

    It’s been 10 years since I first ran the Run The Blades Half Marathon and, in that time, I’ve become 16 minutes slower, which is either a fair reflection of athletic decline or more easily explained by it being BOILNG today and I didn’t want to run fast.

    Honest, it was a choice, not a reflection of my decrepitude…

    The UK has been in the midst of a series of heat waves and while Glasgow has not experienced the high temperatures recorded in London and the South of England, it has seen the mercury hit 27 degrees most days this week. It was so hot, the Run The Blades bog almost dried up.

    The Run The Blade bog is at the furthest point on the course. A deep, muddy bog that crosses the track and causes runners to tread carefully in case it sucks down their trainers.

    This year, after three weeks of dry weather and a heatwave classed as a dangerous to life, it was still there, just a little bit smaller. Bog 1 heatwave 0.

    As it was warm I wore a race vest with two water bottles. I thought it would be overkill, but it turned out to be just right, as I drank both bottles and refilled them twice on my way round. Without them, I would have been on my hand and knees and lapping the bog with my tongue to get some relief…

    Run the Blades was sold out this year so, if interested for 2027, make sure to get your entry in early, especially you, Iain TwinBikeRun, who tried to apply after entries closed.

  • Race Report – Brian Goodwin 10K (Andrew)

    “We’ve lived here for 15 years and we’ve never seen so many cars parked here”

    After the Brian Goodwin 10K I met a couple in Pollokshields who were standing beside my car. I was worried. I’d parked in a cul-de-sac with “Keep Clear” in big yellow letters on the road. I thought they were going to tell me off. I had thought of continuing to walk while loudly tut tutting: “I can’t beleive someone would park there!” And then doubling back once they’d gone.

    Instead, they were just curious.

    “Is there something on?” They asked.

    “Yes,” I said, “the Brian Goodwin 10K. I think he was… a runner”.

    I realised halfway through my explanation that I didn’t know who he was. It turns out, now that I’ve checked, that he was a longstanding member and organiser of Bellahouston Harriers, the race organisers. He’d competed at a high level in the 1960s before he became secretary of the West District track and field commission for over 25 years. He played a significant role in the development of cross-country and road running in Scotland.

    In his memory, the Bellahouston Harriers established the Brian Goodwin Memorial 10K, which is held annually, typically on a Friday evening in June, starting and finishing at the Cartha Queen’s Park Rugby Club in Glasgow, with a route that takes in two laps of Pollok Park.

    I’ve entered before, but not for several years, perhaps even 10 years or more. And given Brian Goodwin died in 2007, I must have raced one of the first, or even the first, race.

    It’s now a busy race, which sells out quickly. It has many club runners, based on the number of singlets on display, and a lot of faster runners, if the race pens were being honest.

    That’s right: race pens.

    Larger races have race pens to manage large numbers of people to avoid overcrowding at the start. The Brian Goodwin 10K has race pens to manage the corners immediately after the start. There’s a sharp left then right turn as soon as you pass the start line so, to avoid everyone slowing down, there are three pens. One for under 42 minutes, one for under 48 minutes and one for over 48 minutes. I was optimistic and went into the under 48 minute pen.

    A couple of minutes before the start each pen was led to the start line with the fastest running first then we followed. It was a good system even if it seemed overly formal for a 10k.

    Screenshot

    The course is two laps through and around Pollok Park. It’s mostly flat or downhill, with one small hill. The hill must make up the elevation because for two long stretches you can see the road fall away before you. It feels like a fast race.

    Screenshot

    The the second half of the race is along Haggs Road but the road is wide and an area is cordoned off with cones and tape so there’s plenty of room to run, even if along a road.

    With an evening start at 730, it’s a tricky race to plan dinner. Do you eat early or late? I chose late, but did feel heavy and lacking energy towards the end. On the other hand, I didn’t feel like I needed to go to the toilet so I think eating after is the way to go. There are burgers at the end, but I didn’t have one as, while the idea is a nice one, I didn’t fancy a burger two minutes after finishing a race. I wanted to get home, have a shower, then eat.

    But I was hungry, so, as the photo shows above, I ate my race number instead.

    And, I also ran my race number, as I finished in 48 minutes. If only it had been 25, I might have set a course record.

    The race is well organised, the route is decent, with Pollok park being a nice treelined route with a chance of seeing Highland Cows in the fields as you run, and well worth entering, if you’re fast enough to get a place.

  • Walk (Andrew)

    I’m going to challenge you to a race. I will run a mile, and you will walk a mile. I will be wearing a heart rate monitor, phone, technical t-shirt, lightweight leggings and sunglasses even though it’s not sunny because I want everyone to know I am a serious runner. You don’t need to change. It’s just a walk. Wear what you like. 

    I will start and, within the first few steps I will already be a few metres ahead of you. Within a minute my heart rate will have soared, we’ll have reached the chorus of Survivor’s ‘Eye of The Tiger’ and I will be imagining reaching the finish line and fist pumping the air like Rocky Balboa on the steps of Philadelphia. 

    You will have a nice stroll. It’s nice out. 

    At the end, arms triumphant, I will try and control my breathing, I will have light sweat and I’ll take a large swig of my raspberry and yuzu electrolyte blended water from one of my two hydration sacks in the front of my hydration vest. Where I also keep a compass, just in case I ever accidentally get lost in a jungle. About 10 minutes later you will finish. You won’t need a drink or a gel or an energy jelly. You will still be you. I will have to change. But I will have run it so I must be fitter than you. Right? Right?!? 

    Various studies have shown that walking or running a mile will use the same number of calories. All running does is get you to the end faster. It doesn’t increase the amount of energy you use; it just decreases the time you use them. 

    If you want to lose weight. Run 10 miles. 

    If you want to lose weight. Walk 10 miles. 

    But only one of us will need a shower.

    My Dad never ran a day in his life. As a younger man, he played rugby. But he never ran purely to run. Instead, he would walk everywhere. He had an office on the edge of Stornoway, a mile and a half from home. Regardless of the weather he would walk to and from work, not just at the start and end of each day but also for lunch where he would walk, with long strides, back home to have lunch with us, and then back to work.  From the school window we could see him, a tiny silhouette across a playing field walking up a hill. Eager to get home, long legs striding, bent forward against the wind, like an LS Lowry figure made flesh. 

    When we woke up, we always knew what the weather would be as, if it was likely to rain, he would have his black waterproofs ready. Rain didn’t stop him. Which was good, because in the Western Isles, if he jumped in the car every time it rained, he would have had to buy a full tank of petrol every night. 

    I was reminded of his walks 15 years ago when I snapped an ankle ligament. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t walk, at least not at first.

    “What you can’t do is turn,” said the Doctor, “if you turn, you’ll place lateral strain on the ankle and it will collapse. If you walk in a straight-line, you’ll be fine.”

    I was Derek Zoolander, the international male model who couldn’t turn left (in the film Zoolander). I was not, in Zoolander’s words, “an ambi-turner”.

    “How long will it take to heal?” I asked. 

    “12 weeks,” she said.

    For 12 weeks I walked in a straight-line to and from work. I worked out a route that involved only turning right at the start and left at the end and was otherwise three miles along straight roads straight into Glasgow city centre. Like my Dad, I bought waterproofs, and, like my Dad, I wore them a lot more than I wanted because Glasgow weather was not much better/dryer than Western Isles weather. 

    At the end of the 12 weeks, when I started to risk dangerous experiments such as walking around a square, and the occasional jog (in a straight line, avoiding hedge mazes) I realised that I had not lost much in the way of fitness. Within 13 weeks I was running again, within 14 I was back at the same (average) level I was before I snapped my ankle. 

    There is a thought with some runners that walking is a defeat. That if you have to walk part of route or a race you are somehow failing. You should run all of it, or nothing. I don’t get that attitude. If you are moving forward, you are ‘running’. In nearly every race I have ever run, I have walked. I can’t drink water when running so will stop at any water station and walk to drink some water. Yet I don’t call that the end of my run. I don’t perceive it to be any better or worse than someone who can chug a Highland Spring while maintaining a 6 minute 45 second per mile pace.

    Walking is part of running. My dad knew that without ever having to think about it. He came home at lunchtime because he was running to see us. He wanted to see his wife and sons even for just long enough to sit down, eat up and to head back out. He did that every day. You can also lace up. Step out. And if you don’t have time to run, or circumstances prevent you from doing so, you can always walk.