Author: andy

A busy week on the hills and seafront and bowling greens, and in the park and the cemetery. Saturday 31 May No parkrun today as I had a bowls triples competition to attend to at 10am. Instead, I had the clever idea of getting up shortly after dawn — as 07:00 seemed to be — and heading down to the seafront to get an ersatz jaunt under my running belt. As tends to be the case, my clever idea turned out not to be clever at all. It was a hot and airless morning by usual coastal standards, so after flapping along the promenade for 45 minutes, attending to a smoked salmon sandwich and coffee at the Fish & Crab … …

A squally, hostile 5K plod along a desolate seafront yesterday, the bad-tempered sea giving it large every squelchy step of the way. Quite exhilarating. The first human I encountered was Josh Babarinde, the local MP, being interviewed by an earnest-looking young guy whose tie was flapping around his ears. The MP was more rustically, and appropriately, attired in waxed jacket and brown cords. As a backdrop, they’d chosen the gritty end of the seafront, the bit with the stacked lobster pots and lines of rusty old fishing boats moored on the beach. “We’ve got to help our fishermen”, he was saying. Beyond that, like most of those local fishermen on a day like yesterday, I caught very little. The seagulls … …

After a week of sunshine it was disappointing to wake at 7am to the sound of rain sploshing on the wooden decking beneath the bedroom window. The prospect of the parkrun wasn’t overly appealing at that moment but I didn’t seriously think of missing it. Running in the rain, as long as it isn’t freezing and persistently heavy, as it was throughout the Zurich Marathon in 2006, can be quite a pleasure. In the normal world we do anything to avoid getting drenched. But when out for a run, the rules change. If the first thing we do when we get home is have a shower and change into some fresh clothes, it really doesn’t matter. In fact it’s quite … …

After my run this morning, I sat in Glasshouse, enjoying a brunch of shakshuka and strong coffee. For the 30 minutes or so that I was there, I watched a clapped-out wasp repeatedly trying to scale the window beside me, only to flop back down to ground level — before immediately starting the ascent anew. For those with a particular interest in wasp welfare, I should mention that I tried several times to open the window to give the little chap a helping hand in reaching the fresh air he craved, but I was eventually advised by the watchful waitress that the window was screwed shut. Unlike my wife, I’m not a keen handler of creepy-crawlies, and flightless wasps … …

It’s been an odd few days. Wednesday’s hike around East Dean and the Seven Sisters was splendid but it knocked the stuffing out of me. I was still sensing the retreating ripples of stiffness this morning, four days later, but a sunny Sunday morning was too irresistible, so I pulled on one of my Almeria shirts and headed out. Glad I did. A warm weekend means a busy seafront, and would normally be a time to avoid. But my physio had instructed me to “have a proper run” over the weekend, and this was my chance. As it turned out, leaving home a few minutes before 10am was just early enough to enjoy plenty of company while missing the worst … …

Another couple of weeks on from the calf injury, and I’m still on that uncertain frontier between a life of grinning, carefree athletic endeavour and an existence of grey, listless stagnation. But I do at last seem to be facing the right way, and perhaps even edging across the border in the right direction. To test the troublesome right calf, in the last few days I’ve managed to include some tentative plodding in the brisk walks I’ve been on. On Saturday I managed five two-minute bursts of controlled jogging, and earlier this week, on a chilly, overcast seafront, it was six. In between these vigorous eruptions I’ve been striding purposefully for two or three minutes. So far so good. Perhaps … …

Nearly four weeks since my calf pinged while out on a carefree seafront jog, and the light at the end of the tunnel is still only a faint flicker. Last week began with me thinking I’m all sorted now, and ready for a relaunch. So on the Tuesday, I opted to explore the Cuckoo Trail, a local path converted from a disused railway line, a victim of the Beeching Axe, and now part of the Sustrans cycle network. After a half mile of determined striding I exploded into the gentlest of jogs, and a bit further on, a more purposeful run-type movement. All was going swimmingly. This is the life, I thought. Which, naturally, was the point at … …

Injury doesn’t come bundled with many benefits but one of the few is that it’s forced me to look at other forms of exercise, all of which should prove useful for getting back to steady running. Using some recently acquired dumbbells and a kettlebell, I’ve embarked on some rudimentary strength training though it’s annoyingly hard. As is the merciless seat of my Concept2 rowing machine, or erg, as it’s sometimes mysteriously called. It’s surprising, and gratifying, how quickly one can get back into rowing. It’s good to make use of the equipment though as it’s an unconcealably large object that doesn’t justify my ownership if unused. I have to keep the beast upstairs in a bedroom as it’s the … …

Wednesday Today, without a care in the world, I set off on a sunny seafront jog that would lengthen my runs further. Yesterday it was 2 x 10 minutes. Today I was pushing that to 12 and 8-minutes. The 12 went well. I walked for three minutes and set off on the 8. Just over halfway through, it happened. The ping.A sudden sharp pain in my right calf. I pulled up immediately and sat on a bench dedicated to someone who liked to sit there gazing at the view. I too felt all at sea. How can this have happened without warning? But then I recalled what I wrote just seven days ago: “The final 2-minute stretch was supposed to … …