DISPATCH 12

I think of the CLOBBER Dispatches like a puzzle or a mosaic. Each piece has its own story, but in isolation has little significance. When pieced together over time, they reveal a larger narrative. The story of the brand’s evolution and the references that have shaped it along the way. Reading back over Dispatch 1, it’s wild to reflect on where my head was at back then - what was inspiring me, what I was reading, the places I was spending my time. 12 months into our existence and 60 Dispatch stories later and the first small, corner-segment of the mosaic has been laid. 

This first year will always be remembered as an experiment. A period of putting ideas out into the world without certainty of return. Of testing a perspective. Of signalling outward to see who might respond. 

The norms of human movement continue to evolve. The purist way is a thing of the past. More and more people are training across disciplines, but stylistically, the space feels static. If you look to other sports - running, hiking, cycling, skating, climbing - the gear has energy. It says something about the people that participate. But for those who train like we do, blending the principles of strength and endurance, the same cannot be said. 

This is who CLOBBER exists for and this next year, this next segment of the mosaic, is about creating something for you.

On 19th February, ski mountaineering (skimo) clicked into the Olympic schedule for the first time at the Stelvio Centre in Bormio, tucked high in Lombardy’s mountains. Milano Cortina got its debut skimo event, but did it capture the essence of skimo origins? Skimo started as life in the Alps. Villagers strapped planks to their feet to hunt, trade and get through the winter months. By the early 1900s, with the improvement of gear, informal races, more handshake than rulebook, were being organised in the mountains. 

In 1933, came the Trofea Mezzalama. The Marathon of the Glaciers. Long climbs, thin air and a route that crosses some of the highest terrain in Europe. It wasn’t the first race, but it became the icon. Back then, skimo was mountain culture. Competitors were guides and local alpinists, covering 30-45km across glaciers and high passes. Navigation and alpine competence were part of the craft. Races and tours could last over ten hours, often at altitudes above 3000m.

Fast-forward to the Olympics and the contrast is sharp. A tight, 3-4 minute sprint on a fixed course. Easy to schedule. Easy to film. Easy for spectators to understand. The condition element, so central to skimo history, is stripped away. Rules are set by international federations. Glaciers are replaced by manicured runs. Purists will say that the Olympic format robs skimo of its essence. Modernists will say that visibility matters more than nostalgia, that the Olympic stage will bring new athletes, investment and global attention to a sport once confined to mountain communities.

It’s no coincidence that some of the top skimo athletes come from trail running. Both sports share the same mountain DNA. Long, unpredictable races where terrain and weather shape the outcome as much as individual capability. That’s why they’ve both traditionally sat outside of the Olympic format. But with skimo adapted for Milano Cortina, does it pave the way for the introduction of trail running to the Games in Brisbane 2032?

If you follow us on IG, you’ll have seen that we recently started a new series - ‘Liminal Zones’. The series is a celebration of edge spaces. Forgotten corners and nothing places. Where being still is disorienting, so the only option is to move. This will be an ongoing series, shining a spotlight on the weird and wonderful places we get to train. From state of the art athletics tracks to old-school weightlifting clubs to unspoiled trails in remote corners. 

We started the series at Crystal Palace Athletics Centre. Opening in 1964 as Britain’s first National Sports Centre, the complex was designed to support both elite training and public participation. Crystal Palace soon became a hallmark of British athletics culture, where communities gathered and records were chased on summer evenings. But over the decades, aging facilities and funding challenges have transformed the once state-of-the-art facility into a place that feels post-apocalyptic. An indoor sprint track where puddles have formed from the damp and weeds creep through cracks in the rubber surface. A weightlifting club that would go undiscovered if it wasn’t for the muffled sound of weights dropping as you pass by the door. Outside, the athletics stadium has an eery stillness, like its slowly turning into a relic before your eyes. A maze of brutalist architecture concealing decades of human performance. 

Without movement, we’re limited to what we already know. But by physically interacting with new places, we are exposed to new experiences, new people and new ideas. The ‘Liminal Zones’ series serves as a reminder to step away from the familiar every once in a while to discover some place new.

At the big city marathons, race organisers and marshalls line the course in high-vis jackets, scanning for bandits. Banditry is a type of organised crime committed by outlaws, but in the world of running, a “bandit” is an unauthorised race participant. Someone who runs without registering, paying the entry fee or wearing an official race bib. They violate race rules by finding a way to break onto the course, run the race and flee at the finish line. Some do it because the race sold out or because the entry fee is too steep. For some runners, it’s about the rush of rebellion, about reclaiming the open road. And for others, it’s about standing for something.

In 1966, women were officially barred from the Boston Marathon because race directors believed women were physiologically incapable of running the distance. As runners toed the starting line, a 23-year-old Bobbie Gibb, hid in the nearby bushes, wearing her brother’s Bermuda shorts and blue hoodie. When the gun fired, Gibb waited for half the field to pass and stepped out onto the road. Somewhere along the course, the men around her noticed what was happening. Instead of pushing her out, they encouraged her. Bobbie pulled off the hoodie and became the first women to grace the route of the world’s oldest annual marathon. She finished in 3:21:40, faster than two-thirds of the field, disproving myths about women’s endurance.

The figure of the race bandit triggers different reactions from different crowds. Sometimes a nuisance, a freeloader. Sometimes a legend. And sometimes just someone who wants to run the road everyone else is running. Who's right and who's wrong? Or does it just depend on what set of rules you play by?

Introduced in 1986, the E30 M3 was created so BMW could compete in touring car racing. Regulations required manufacturers to build 5,000 road-legal versions for a car to be approved for competition. BMW’s answer was to build a racing sedan, and then sell it to your average Joe. The result was the first car to carry the now iconic M3 name (“M” for BMW Motorsport and “3” because the car was derived from the 3 series). Although it resembled the standard E30 3 series, the M3 was re-engineered for pure performance. 

Claus Luthe, the renowned designer of the M3 edition who was later in life convicted for killing his son, obsessed over weight reduction and aerodynamics. The body was reshaped with wider fenders, a revised rear window angle and a raised trunk lid to improve airflow and high-speed stability. Most of the exterior panels were unique. Under the hood, the car represented a time before heavy electronic and digital driver aids. Its high-revving S14 four-cylinder engine was developed directly from racing technology. Paired with the lightweight chassis and analog setup, the E30 M3 is said to create one of the purest of driving experiences - one that modern cars can’t replicate. Technical, precise, not decorative. Aggressive but simple. It became the most successful touring car racer of all time and an icon of functional beauty.