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+--- Thread: December (/showthread.php?tid=982)
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December - El Gordo - 22-12-2005
I've heard some good excuses in my time, but these are the most nicely constructed ones -- by some distance.
Most of us just say "Too much Olde Festive Ale in Ye Frog And Sprocket last night. Couldn't be bothered running today."
December - Sweder - 22-12-2005
Curses, foiled again!Indeed, I did enjoy some excellent draught Guinness and a keen bottle of Chateau de la Riviere Medal D'Or Cabernet last night. I must say the effects were medicinal bordering on the miraculous. I feel certain that I shall return to loping before Christmas Day, albeit the gentlest of jogs.
Stay that cynical hand, Sir, or you shall force me to yield photographic evidence of the Lurghie.
And no-one wants to see that.
You still in Dusseldorf? (pron. by my good American friend and associate, Mr Micheal D. Kovac of Carmel Mountain, San Diego, Doossel Dorf)
December - El Gordo - 22-12-2005
No, I'm back. It was just a 24 hour job.
I've managed to avoid the usual lurgies so far. You're doing the right thing. It's always tempting to run through a chest cold, but it's never a good idea.
Hope you're up and running by the big day. You probably have a more hectic Christmas Day schedule than me but I always love to get out for 3 or 4 miles on Christmas morning. It's like your birthday. For One Day Only... There's something indefinably different about the world.
December - Sweder - 23-12-2005
On the mend, the last vestige of foulness all but evicted.
I'll leave the shoes alone for another 24 hours though. I've not run on Christmas Day before, but a gentle few miles across the Downs early on Sunday, looking down at the houses, knowing the excitement and joy existing at that moment, would be magical indeed.
December - Sweder - 25-12-2005
A bright, crisp, fresh Christmas morning, perfect but for the absence of a white veil. The Bearded One had been kind; new three-quarter lycra shorts and a beautiful pair of Saucony XT900s that fit as if custom made.
I plodded carefully around my Blackcap circuit, greeting well-wrapped walkers along the way. A shade over 4 miles gently run, breathing kept very much under control for fear of waking the barking beast resident in my chest this past week. The XT's embraced the sticky downland tracks, new runners adding spring to my stride.
Home to a warm shower, friends, Mimosas and Blinis topped with smoked salmon and cream cheese.
Happy Christmas all.
December - Sweder - 27-12-2005
Late nights (watching the morning sessions of the Boxing day test from the MCG) scarfing all manner of festive leftovers meant a late start. I rolled, creaking and groaning, from under the duvet at an indecent 10:30 am.
After two days epic carb-loading a run was in order.
Grey skies cast gloomy shadows across downs lightly dusted with powdery snow. News reports cautioned against heavy weather conditions. The annual ‘only travel if absolutely necessary’ warnings seemed a tad optimistic.
By the time our pack reached the lee of Blackcap the steelhead clouds had turned black, unleashing their fluffy white cargo. A biting north wind added impetus to the falling flakes, driving them against my bare arms and legs. Snow settled on my forearms as I blinked furiously to maintain limited visibility. Walkers shrouded in layers of headscarves, hats, mittens and trench coats gazed in wonder at this lycra-clad lump chugging through the white-out.
Halfway home the cloud broke, warm rays of sunshine flooding the hills as the blizzard abated. Feeling returned to my glistening pink fingers as I pushed hard over the last mile. Willow yelped with delight, darting for the dewpond, only to slide, a slowly spinning hairball of confusion, into the frozen centre.
Home to a restorative shower, the wood-burner, hot coffee, a large slice of sticky chocolate cake and the steady glow of knowing there’s nothing on the ‘to do’ list.
5 hilly, snowy miles banked.
Chest sound, new shoes still wonderful. A New Years Eve Snake-run seems a real possibility.
December - Sweder - 29-12-2005
They come along every now and then, these 'difficult' runs.
Nothing special about the route, my standard 5 hilly, chilly miles, but not one of my better days on the plod. It all seemed to take a great deal of effort. When you run well you run easy, you don't have to think about each step, each breath. This was like a Maths exam you know you haven't crammed for.
It started when the bloke from Comet rang at 8 this morning. Chez Sweder in darkness, curtains drawn, harmonised snoring wafting from the chimney.
'I've come to fix the washing machine. I'm outside your house.'
More a threat than an announcement.
I just couldn't whip up enthusiasm for a run after that, but out I went.
I huffed and puffed across the hills, two day-old snow crunching pleasingly under my heavy stride. The Downs shone, draped in winters' finery, but it was lost on me, my listless gaze locked on the frozen mud a few yards ahead. Cheery greetings from families enjoying winter walks to the Cap lightened my mood. The last mile felt a little easier, and as home hove into view I actually felt like going on.
Hopefully this is my crap run done and dusted; Saturday promises a rendezvous with an old scaly friend . . .
December - El Gordo - 30-12-2005
Good attitude. When you've been running a while you can rationalise bad runs like this. When I first started, I'd get horribly gloomy about them. Now I almost relish a bad one. There's a feeling of relief that it's out of the way for a couple of weeks or so, as (for some strange reason), it seems rare to have two in a row.
Saturday you'll be fine.
December - Sweder - 31-12-2005
Well, the Sauconys are well and truly broken in.
Yesterdays' apocalyptic weather left the downland tracks smothered in a blend of muddy porridge and brackish pools. A stiff nor-westerly howled across the hills biting through my new long sleeve Mizuno top and layers of Christmas blubber, cutting into the very core of my shivering soul. Perfect.
As Andy suggested Thursdays' nightmare run was now a distant memory. I felt full of energy, enthusiasm and blarney as our merry band set forth along the cliff tops. The raucous airstream carried our excited chatter eastwards. I was heartened to see Remy, Jill, Terry and Nigel, Sunday regulars from the turn of the year. Exchanged summaries of our year of running mingled with aspirations for the months ahead. The banter kept our pace steady, bringing us into Saltdean in a shade under 30 minutes. Nigel, suffering soreness in his knee following an epic PB in New York, announced he would push on rather than wait. 10 minutes in the chill wind would seriously hinder his chances of carrying on. I volunteered to go with him.
Before we left I asked Lycra Tony, our cycle-mounted mentor, what route the main group would take. It was to be the New Famous Residences, the same route we’d covered in my last two outings.
‘Not the Snake?’ Eyebrows raised, bottom lip protruding.
‘No, we’ll get everyone up to speed over the Residences and do the snake in a couple of weeks.’
Hmm - sorry, wrong answer.
‘I’m heading for the snake – anyone else coming?’
Affirmative nods from Remy, Terry & Jill.
‘Absolutely’ from Nigel. Snake it is then.
Nigel and I set of immediately, plodding up Telscombe Tye as the wicked wind cut into us from the right. We nattered all the way, again as much to keep the pace sensible as anything else. Nigel and I both suffer competitive hangovers from earlier sporting lives. Our unspoken pact not to push each other held firm.
‘When d’you reckon Remy will catch us?’ I huffed.
‘At least by the snake if not before’ puffed Nigel.
We glanced back. Sure enough, half a mile below us a trio of dark dots bobbed on the trail.
Conscious that the last time I’d completed this route (not counting my summer episode in the heat) was pre London Marathon I’d packed a couple of Squeezy gels. Gels, like many things running, are a very personal matter. Some people say gels make them feel sick, some prefer powder mixed into a drink. Me, I like the Squeezygel brand – but only the Pineapple flavour. They actually make a chocolate version – I can’t imagine what that tastes like; chocolate jelly I suppose. But it’s pineapple for me every time.
The route to the foot (or tail) of the snake includes a wonderful, near-vertical plummet down the side of a ploughed field. I whooped like a small child as I hurtled past Nigel on the perilous decent. My feet flew and I felt lighter than air, skipping over the rutted muddy soil at a ridiculous speed. I love this bit. The drop slingshots into a short, steep climb to a gate, a natural place to stop and regain one’s breath (and senses) and to scarf a gel or swig some water.
A minute or so later I was sucking air, grinning madly as my companion chugged up the slope. As we slurped our gels I spied the unmistakable form of Remy cresting the summit. He bounded down the hill, arms flailing to maintain balance. Remy, as I’ve mentioned before, is the consummate hill runner. He clocks around 3:20 for the marathon but could manage the same time over the hilliest terrain. He joined us, setting off at a comfortable pace towards our scaly friend.
The first few hundred yards of the snake weave through badger country, their scrapings forming slippery speed bumps on the trail. Nigel struggled, his road shoes sliding at every step.
‘Best get some offroaders’ beamed Remy.
‘Those skis aren’t much good for climbing.’
The constant sliding took its toll and Nigel fell back. I glanced across at Remy. He was the perfect image of a man running within himself; breathing easily, everything about his motion suggesting economy of effort. I relaxed into a rhythm, pleased to find I could keep up without busting a gut. We passed through the gate that signals the start of the snake proper, the mile of ascending, twisting hillside path overlooking Death Valley. Remy started chatting. He’d overheard my conversation with Jill at the start when I’d declared my intention to take part in the Two Oceans. He wanted to know more, and I happily told him about my trip to Cape Town and how running part of Chapman’s Peake had awoken my interest in the race. We exchanged thoughts on exceeding the 26.2, running easily up the gently curving slopes.
To my amazement the summit came into view. We were running strongly, steadily; I felt good. Perhaps the gel had kicked in at the right time, or my enthusiasm for the conversation distracted me. Nigel, recovered from his mud sliding, appeared behind us as we surveyed the stunning views across the hills. Rejoined, our trio set off towards Woodingdean, across the main road and onto the nastiest track yet. Hurdling puddles, sloshing through sludge up a slight incline and into the teeth of the wind, this proved far more demanding. Once again we left Nigel behind, the perilous footing causing him no end of bother.
Alongside the racecourse, left onto Wilson’s Avenue and into the long descent to the marina.
As momentum and gravity combined to increase our speed, Remy turned to me.
‘Let’s open it up a bit’ he grinned.
Before I could say ‘Well, err . . . ’ he was gone, accelerating smoothly.
I tried to follow, but no more than ten strides in I got warning signals from my groin and right leg. Even fully fit and on top form there was no way I could live with the blistering pace taking the Incredible Shrinking Runner away from me. Halfway down the hill the gap was several hundred metres. I smiled to myself, recalling my last run before London. I’d hammered down this stretch, as close to flat out as I’ve ever run, much to the amazement of my companions.
Not today old son, relax and enjoy the last mile, get home safe and sound.
A shade over 12.5 miles under two hours - a great way to finish a good running year. Nigel finished a few minutes behind us, Jill and Terry arriving shortly after. We took off for Nigel’s place in Preston Park for coffee, Pan au Chocolat and plenty of endorphin-fuelled banter.
Whatever your running goals may be for the New Year I hope you get there happy & healthy.
December - El Gordo - 31-12-2005
Nice one Sweder. You and that damn snake...
Sounds like a great run.I've just returned from my own 12.5 miler though it took me nearly half an hour longer than you. Time isn't important at the moment. Just grinding out the distance to build endurance. It's good to get into double figures before the year end.
More later, once I've had that shower.
December - Sweder - 31-12-2005
Agreed, banking miles and minutes is the name of the game.
You'll no doubt be warmed by the news that the R's overcame Crewe 4-3 at their place. Sounds like a good match - Crewe were 3-2 up at half time.
December - El Gordo - 31-12-2005
Yep, good news. And with a meal at one of our favourite eateries scheduled for this evening, and that bottle of vintage bubbly in the fridge to see in the new year, it's shaping up to be a pretty good day.