October - Race crazy

[Moyleman]

A tough 19 miler a couple of weeks ago on the Jog shop course. A good, resolute, hard run at Lewes last Sunday
- the Downland 10.

Now a stern test awaited me in my lead up to the Beachy Head Marathon. The Jog shop Jog, 20 miles of mostly offroad,
unrelenting downland slopes.

What is it when it comes to racing that the body fatigues and yet you can have a blinding training run on the same
course. Perhaps it was all the races this year, I need to look at Sweder's adage that less is more.

Brighton half, Steyning Stinger Marathon, Two Oceans Marathon, 3 forts marathon, Seaford half, Dorney 10k, Bewl 14,
Henfield half, Firle 20k & Lewes 10. A lot packed in this year already - calf and achilles trouble aplenty. Methinks I need
a rest after the Seven Sisters shenanigans. Ah but the Brighton 10k, Duck Pond Waddle and Mince Pie 10 also loom.
Who could not be tempted with names like those.

A swift start from Brighton Marina, a couple of miles in the bloody left calf is grumbling - f*^k, still 18 to go.
I calmed myself, eased off a bit, waiting for the offending muscle to calm down and hopefully warm up. This injury
has been off and on and flares up, I run through it and suffer at the end. Today was no different.

Espied me old mucker Soft Al at the first drinks station, has been loyally doing this for the past 6/7 years taking
Sam's laissez-faire attitude to race organisation in his stride. Turning up at the shop the day before the race to
organise the 2 most important water stations on the race. Carting all the prizes, finish paraphenalia and
water barrels. Enduring a farmers wrath for being 'On moy land' having to backtrack down a private road, to a
safe haven. Luckily there was plenty of marshals this year to cover for any miscreant's endeavours to remove race
markings, which they had done again.

Anyway I digress with a rant. Once water and gel had been supped I eased through Saltdean, past the football
pitches onto familiar offroad terrain. The first killer hill - a half mile of torture then followed by a tranquil
half mile of deep tracks, cows and their respective pats. LouLou & Clare marshalling 2 gates, it's great getting
local support, people you know and respect cajoling you on.

The steep descent into the North face, today foggy and less resplendent then usual, the vista obscured. I was
chasing fellow B&H runner Amanda, my strong descent and calf behaving pulled me ahead to slingshot up the hill.
A strong steady climb ensured I past several runners, content in my knowledge of knowing the course intimately
enough to approach the obstacles with hard work and certain respect. A second gel at the top and a slug of fluid,
Amanda caught me - I gave chase onwards and upwards over the course of the Yellow Brick road. The approach a slim
hedged corridor between 2 houses suddenly opens up onto the downs and 2 little tough ascents before the road itself.

The Road long since faded is a mere carriageway for farmland vehicles, but is etched indelibly on the minds
of anyone that has endured long winter months of training on this course. It is exposed and catches the best and
worst of weather, but to me it is simply glorious. I edged up to Amanda vowing to look for her on the snake when I tired.
I continued ahead picking up the pace, bounding down the first section of the 'W' - better known as the first 'V'.

Many runners taking the safety of the gate in the descent - I cleared the cattle grid in one bound, scooting around
the corner for the first hideous ascent. Right, "I'll walk up the steepest sections and rehydrate and 'drop the
hammer gel on the second V" I thought aloud to myself. I trotted up the last bit, a short cross downland path to the
second descent and took this steady, it was treacherous underfoot in places. A water station loomed, I eschewed it,
had plenty on board - at least another half litre. Glug, gel, glug up the ascent. Great thats the toughest section
out of the way.

A fairly effortless trek for a mile and descent down the steep Castle Hill, into the nature reserve. Felt good,
didn't want to put the mockers on it yet - calf was behaving at the mo. Caught several runners and sped into the
Snake approach this is particularly arduous after all the climbs covered and isn't even the start of the hill proper.
Remy was marshalling the bottom, no one there last year and some people went wrong. Took another glug at a gate,
right let's go - then the calf problem flared up - "Bugger". I strolled up one section taking my final gel, some more
fluid and resigned myself to a slow down and slowish time. Had hoped for under 3 hours. Poodled up the many windings
of the hill and approached the last bend. Gary who I hadn't seen since Saltdean, then Amanda caught me. She was
hurting she said but obviously not as much as me, as she sailed by - "come on, moyles" but I couldn't respond.

Met my sister at the top gate - encouraged and elated to have pushed hard this far. I decided to enjoy the last
5 miles of reasonably flat trail, road into the finish. Ticked it over down to the reservoir and the aforementioned
'Farmers land cum private road'. The last water station - Al there to greet me. I had picked up a bottle of Sports
drink at the top of the Snake and this helped me survive the last few miles, easing some of the tiredness out of
my limbs. A pose for the camera at this point with my customary reversed two fingered salute and trying to show
a look of confidence and effortlessness.

I sped down the road, knowing the end was only a couple of miles away - easy miles normally after a short run,
but hard after this endurance fest. I clambered up Windmill hill to be greeted by 'Paul the Goat' and a welcoming,
glorious vista of the Marina. Going through the back gate of St. Dunstan's (home for blind servicemen) - I know
an altogether weird route in it's entirety. A short hop under the road at Ovingdean and the last Mile and a bit.

I had a fellow B&H runner in my sights Dave 'the hat' Whittle, a fellow struggler. Just didn't have enough to reel
him in though. I plodded along and allowed myself to cool down into the finishing stretch, a couple of minutes
behind Dave - No idea of time, I never wear a watch these days. Dave was 3:05, myself a couple of minutes behind.
Same as last year - bo**^%ks, oh well next year will be better, I hope. Train harder, avoid injury, less is more,
build up my core strength!, quality over quantity. My third JSJ in a row, and no nearer sub 3.

Lets hope the Marathon looming will see me have one satisfying run, aside from Lewes this year.

At least I have god botherer Rog-air for company. I think I need some divine intervention.

[El Gordo]

Really good stuff, Chris -- running and writing-wise.

I'm glad we're all relearning old habits.

Some more please...

[Moyleman]

Having just read Sweder's humorous account of getting out after a non-running month, I thought I must post my Marathon journey before the fragile memories become too distant in the ether.

My month contrary to my good friend has been one of the most hectic of the year.

3 races; Lewes Downland 10 - an able, reasonably strong 81 mins, Jog shop Jog - a lethargic 3:07 and now Beachy Head a reasonable 4:18 – 20 miles of good, solid running – but as always a tough battle with the Seven Sister’s cliffs into Birling Gap and the trail in over the country park covering the last six miles .

My good friend and stalwart Soft Al chauffeured us into the Pilot car park (decent boozer, 100 yards from start) around 8:30 in plenty of time for last minute crapola, banana snaffling, vest adjustments and hydration chugging. GB Rog-air was in fine form supplying me with one of his 500 calorie energy bombs, taste like a rather stodgy cold Xmas pud. Not very appetizing I’ll grant you but anything that might help with sustaining us through this tough day.

The sky was consistently grey and overcast throughout, but the temperature was nice and mild – no thermals required, a superb autumnal day. The start was soon launched with a firework and air horn, no hurry here as the first few hundred yards is a steep incline. Once free of the sidelined spectators the noise level dropped, so all you could hear was earnest shuffling up the ascent, runners breathing hard. A road crossing navigated and the trail evens out, a steady flat trail for some distance, before you heard and then saw the lone Piper – bellowing out a stiff quadrille or whatever it might have been on the bagpipes.


The first hour, 7 odd miles covered, incorporated another 2 stiff ascents up Willingdon Hill and the first pass through Friston forest - Windover Hill, near the Long Man of Wilmington. No mud here just a lovely scattering of autumn leaves. Me and Rog covered these together in relative conversational ease. A gel/piss stop ensued on the hour at the top of the 2nd climb and we then got separated. I pulled away - my confidence and natural ease at a higher pace at this point in the race. I felt good and little bit selfish about leaving Rog – but a race is a race, if you are having a good day, you want to take advantage of it.

I consider myself a pretty good descender and stomped down the flint covered track to the first Checkpoint at 8.8 miles just above Alfriston. Espied Alan on the first photo op here, a comfortable pose complete, I sped on. Acknowledged a few spectators that I recognised with a quick ‘Shearer’. Bade the lovely village a fond farewell and prepared myself for what I consider the toughest part of the course. The ascent, Bostal hill rises out of Alfriston for a fair way, this is both the descent on the Seaford half and part of the climb over the downs on the Firle 20k. It eventually arrives at Bopeep (checkpoint 2, 12.2 miles), where the course turns left and continues for over 4 miles on a picturesque flat trail into Litlington, checkpoint 3 (16.7 miles) . I was ticking over quite nicely at this point overhauling quite a few runners, Frog Firle came and went, this area has been quite sodden and treacherous underfoot in previous years , the mild weather recently had dried out the route considerably.


Litlington village loomed once I had gotten over another road crossing. I encountered Al again here and another Photo op. ensued. I cruised by the heaving drinks table, soup, hot cross buns, mini mars supplied, with the brass band on song in the background. A short ascent out of this lovely village, I necked a gel and slugged some fluid and kept at my steady rhythm – knowing that the wheels might come off soon. After a sharp descent, a second encounter with Friston forest came and went fairly rapidly, this also entails 2 nasty timbered stepped climbs. The second climb has Joe the lone piper again about two thirds of the way up, the bagpipes gave me a great lift and I applauded my benefactor - we both were inhaling great, gasping lungfuls of air to keep going.

At the top of this climb is a wall, with a kissing gate or stile I can’t quite remember, but once through the Cuckmere valley opens up with the meandering river down to the sea and the Sevens Sister’s country park in all its glory. This is when the real work begins! The route used to follow the tow path to the seaward end, but now they have stuck an additional climb into the equation, eventually coming back down to the towpath and beginning the climb up the first Sister, a good half mile. The hills then do become a blur, just head down and try to tough them out, no time for the fantastic view. One foot in front of the other, jogging down the steep descents, crawling up the other side. In running terms a great big rollercoaster of slopes until a welcome, gentle descent into Birling Gap.

Alan was waiting, another few shots fired off – I felt good, better than some previous years, this being my fifth Beachy Head fest. I slugged out the last 3 ½ miles with steady walking up the remaining climbs and a chugging jog on the flat, picking it up into the last mile toward the finish, which is mercifully all downhill. Got a mention at the finish, which is nice as it rarely happens. Took a good while to calm the legs down and recover sufficiently to change and stretch – Roger came in about 20mins after me, a big smile and another convert to this great run. We hobbled and joked to the car, medals proudly adorned, and a perfect morning over.

Another medal garnered, another sigh of relief, another marathon completed – number 14, waheh! Enthusiasm for doing another undiminished, the pain and tough parts forgotten amidst the satisfaction of running another hard off-road marathon and enjoying such a great, picturesque run.

Photos

[Sweder]

Simply magical Moylesey.
I'll be with you next year - it sounds too good to miss.
Look forward to rejoining on our Sunday sojourns as soon as I'm back from my travels.

Well done mate