August sweeps in, a dark foreboding figure riding on the back of a brutal deluge.
Oppresive grey-wash skies laden with cold hard rain shroud the hillscapes in unseasonal gloom. Across the country the third day of the third Ashes test soaks away into a flooded midlands outfield. Summer has fled, scared off my the recession she's hiked up her bright skirts and run helter-skelter for the playgrounds of southern Europe.
No matter. For those wrestling with their summer running angst this is good news.
Heat is the enemy; cool breeze and overcast skies our unexpected, convenient allies.
Time to run.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
A much brighter start to this summer Sunday. High thin cloud and strong sunshine greeted our gathering, vested torsos bathing in the glow, caressed by a most tender, whispered ocean breeze. I'd risked ridicule, donning the Vibram FiveFingers for their first Jog Shop Joggers outing. The ribbing was mercifully as gentle as the wind, good natured and laced with more than a dash of curiosity.
In keeping with the manufacturer's advice I'd decided on a truncated out-and-back session, a return trip to the Wire being an even 12 kilometre blast across the cliff tops. Last Sunday had drained too much from my undercooked legs. I needed a confidence booster, to finish a run with plenty in the tank, ideally feeling strong and capable of more. This is the start of the long road to Connemara by way of Almeria; nothing can be won at this stage but plentry can be lost by way of macho over-indulgence and resulting injuries.
Most of the regulars were heading inland for a 20k snake but I wasn't remotely tempted. Joined by Janet and Terry I held course, cresting the tough climb out of Saltdean and staying steadfast on a due east setting as the others wheeled away into the hills with cheery farewell cries. After a brief pause at the Wire, officially a metre shy of the full six klicks from the Marina marker, we set off at a leisurely pace. We talked about keeping it steady and finishing strong and that's how it worked out. Chugging easily over the hills we chatted away and I felt my running strength returning, seeping into muscle and bone as if emerging from hibernation. My feet felt terrific. Running free, cool air between my toes, the intimate touch of whispy grass and soft turf a rare pleasure, I'm coming to very much enjoy my time in this new footgear.
We did finish well, upping the pace as we hit the drop to the finish three abreast. I plan to repeat this over the next few Sundays, to build on that feeling of strength, before carefully upping the distance. I'll be travelling a lot through the autumn so I'll save my long runs for November when the cool(er) air and damp conditions should come to my aid. I'll probably be back in the Mizunos for those but hey? Who knows? We'll have to see.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
No running since last Sunday, although I'm claiming fifty holes of golf - thirty-six of them in one day - as cross-training. It was certainly closer to some kind of Tourettes-driven cross-country than the Gentleman's game, such is the paucity of my current stick-swinging form :o
Excellent outing this morning under high cloud and a partly-filtered sun. A delicious, teasing sea breeze cooled our jets but it was still plenty warm enough for light vest and shorts. The Quicks - Stevio, Ade, Gillybean et al, set off at a rare pace, racing off across the seaside turf to lead us out of East Brighton and on to Saltdean. Jules, fresh from her camping adventures, joined we lesser mortals at the back, as did Janet (after a blistering start chirping with Stevio) and a few newbies. Concern was expressed at the unexpected absence of Steepler. I have to say the lack of chippy North-East vernacular was quite disconcerting, even if it made for a strangely peaceful session.
Having pfaffed about like a befuddled tart for much of the morning I managed to leave late, eschewing the (temporarily) mislaid barefoot skins for the shamelessly available scarlet Mizunos. My associates saw this as an admission of defeat (or 'de feet' if you can stand the dreadful pun) re: the barefoot experiment but it really isn't. I'll have to alternate as the longer runs planned for later this autumn will be over hostile terrain, plus I have some hard-top miles planned to prepare for Almeria and Connemara. I doubt my dainty plates, albethey hardened by miles of barefoot plodding, will be up to the task.
The chat was easy and amiable as we loped eastward. I hadn't seen Julie since Bewl and was surprised to learn she was still suffering the after-effects of the South Downs Relay. Cam had confessed a similar reaction last week.
Note to self: avoid getting drafted for SDR duty next year ...
Twelve rollercoaster grassy kilometres banked in a shade over sixty-nine minutes. Happy enough with that I'll continue this steady leg-strengthening lung expansion until my travel season - from now until mid-November - closes and I can get into some serious mileage.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Managed a dart across the downs with the hounds this morning. A day of kart racing and radio listening beckons. It's been another barren week on the running front. I'm still not fully recovered from whatever Gremlin boarded the good ship Sweder after Orlando so I'm taking it easy until I know what's going on.
Beautiful day for it. Clear blue skies, firm cool breeze, strong sunshine and acres of fabulous downscape rolliing out before us. I sweated like a member of the Scottish Judiciary on a US holiday but enjoyed it for all that. Nothing special in terms of time; to be honest it was a relief to get round unscathed.
Singapore this week for work where I don't expect my weekly mileage to improve. Still, I'll try and hit the treadmill at some point :o
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
