January 2010

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Sounds to me like you need a treadmill!

[Sweder]

I sat at my desk shortly after 7am, coffee in hand, watching the shadowy sun struggling to rise above the Lewes cliff. The sky above the town wore a coat of gun-metal grey, in stark contrast to the clean white blanket smothering the streets, cars, houses and any other stationary items left exposed to the harsh winter elements. Mercifully the brutal onslaught predicted for last night had yet to arrive in this corner of Sussex. I thanked my lucky stars as I laced up my beloved, embattled Mizunos. Time to run.

A pleasant surprise waited for me at the Marina. 25 hardy souls had gathered to run in spite of tough, slippery conditions and forecasts of bitter, soul-scrubbing winds with the promise of fresh snowfall. The wind-chill was expected to scour well below zero so I donned several layers including two long-sleeve tops, two pairs of gloves, long socks and leggings. My trusty off-roaders, held together by failing stitching and silent prayer, were in for a battering.

We set off, running eastward along the powder-coated cliff-tops. Below and to our right lay the sulking sea, calmly reflecting the dark, brooding skies on its dull grey surface. Clouds laden with snow scudded overhead, resisting the urge to dump on our huddled band as we struggled up the treacherous slopes towards Saltdean. The kilometre climb up Telscombe Tye wasn't too bad. The winds had blown much of the snow into deep drifts along the edge of the field to leave our usual trail dusted in a light crispy skin. Up on the ridge a different story; knee-deep drifts lurked amongst perfectly sound footings forcing us to bob and weave like a bunch of loonies on the run. Once again we were obliged to high-step for what seemed like an age; progress was slow, my aching legs distressed at revisiting the Ministry of Silly Running.

Sixteen of us set out to run the Snake route, our regular challenge just shy of the half-marathon distance. Split neatly into two groups of eight; Natalie and Chris away with the Quicks, me, Jack and Cecilia (co-veterans of the deep snow run four weeks ago) leading five newbies on a more sedate struggle across these wintry obstacles. The views across the valley to Kingston and Lewes revealed a perfect Narniascape. White upon white, broken only by fence lines, the occasional leaf-bare tree and clusters of human habitation, thin grey wisps of smoke rising from their chimneys to kiss the forbidding skies.

My Octet managed a respectable pace. When not wading through horribly deep snow we were skating across compacted snow-ice, staggering along like a bunch of drunks lost on the moors. I lead the way but frankly picking a route was something of a lottery. The Quicks had of course cut their own path, but we could see how unsuccessful that had been in places so I tried to find alternative, less exhausting routes. It was a case of the blind leading the snow-blind. One chap, splendidly defiant in his football shorts and long socks, ripped his knees to shreds when, having followed me rather too closely into what I'd hoped was a shallow cut through some light grass, he fell headlong into what turned out to be unpleasantly thick, thorny brambles. He carried on, pink knees sporting exceptional bloody slashes, with a wide grin on his face. He looked for all the world like he’d been accosted by a diminutive Werewolf.

The old Serpent had her own treats in store. Austin Powers waited for us after the long drop into the Farmer's Field. He'd heard from two runners coming the other way that the Snake was all but impassable; on hearing this three of Chris’s group had turned left at the gate to head for the relative safety of Rottingdean. Chris and I agreed this was likely an exaggeration and we ploughed on. The warning turned out to be partly correct. Alarmingly deep waves of snow washed across the narrow track, sculpted into the exposed hillside by the increasingly intrusive wind. We were obliged to hurdle these to avoid burying ourselves groin-deep, and by the time we reached the summit we were, to a man and a woman, pretty much done in.

I caught my breath and addressed the group. I felt they deserved something, some reward for their gallant efforts, so I offered a pearl to be stored away for the tough times ahead. Not exactly Henry the Fifth perhaps; not even Aslan before the Last Battle, but still.
'You know how knackered your legs feel now?' I gasped.
'Well, that's what it'll feel like at some point during your marathon this spring. Thing is, when that happens, you can remember today and tell yourself 'I felt like this in January when I was nowhere near as fit as I am now, and back then I ran three more miles to the finish''.
This didn't appear to be the fillip many had hoped for. They looked at me, blinking, plumes of steam rising from their open mouths. Apparently I’d lost what few marbles I'd started out with somewhere down there on those soul-sucking slopes.
Then, thankfully, they smiled at one another, nodding as if that sounded rather good, and we were off for the downhill rumble home.

Running on tired legs is terrific training for marathons, though I doubt any of us had planned to feel quite so shattered at this early stage in the VLM/ Brighton 2010 schedule. Battling through the snow has been fun, a terrific challenge and a great learning experience, but it’s high time two Sons of Adam and Two Daughters of Eve took their seats at Cair Paravel.

Enough already; let it melt, let it melt, let it melt.

[ladyrunner]

'Well, that's what it'll feel like at some point during your marathon this spring. Thing is, when that happens, you can remember today and tell yourself 'I felt like this in January when I was nowhere near as fit as I am now, and back then I ran three more miles to the finish''.

Went out with Cam and The Bullet today for 9.5miles around Stanmer Park, and the voice of experience (that's me ) happened to say something very similar to them. For sure today's run will be one of the hard training runs that I'll think back too when the going gets tough at Brighton Marathon.

Reading this post Ash about your run today you are actually starting to sound like you could be Superman - keep this up and you will be super fit for Almeria!!

Julie

[stillwaddler]

I agree with Lady Runner Sweder, you will def. be entitled to wear your knickers over your running tights and a cape would keep you warm ;-)

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

I agree with Lady Runner Sweder, you will def. be entitled to wear your knickers over your running tights...

...he already does sw, he already does...

[Sweder]

I KNEW it!
Get yerself some offies and hit them there trails

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Sweder you are oozing so much enthusiasm it reeks... I am predicting great things for you this year mate, provided you stay healthy of course. Do take care old man... look after that hammy in particular.

[ladyrunner]

Here is a few more photos from our run in Stanmer Park today. 12 miles covered in 2h 10mins, in very slippery snow and ice conditions. Sweder's Running Commentary to follow on:-


Lap 1 - First there were 4 of us. LtoR: Kirsty, Sweder, LR, Jen. Taken at about 5 miles.


Lap 2 - We had two drop outs at 6.5 miles. Taken at approximately 8 miles. The familiar faces of Sweder and LR.


Taken at the end of Lap 2 - approximately 10.5 miles. Sweder and LR regrouping at the Car Park after the second 10 minute hard snow climb.

Julie

[Antonio247]

It´s really impressive! Were you running or skiing?

After that, running on a dry surface must be like flying.

[ladyrunner]

It´s really impressive! Were you running or skiing?

After that, running on a dry surface must be like flying.

We were running Antonio jejjejeje

I hope to be very fit when we get back to road running - it has got to be much easier than snow running. I am suffering tonight now that I am tired - my legs are hurting and so are my feet.

Julie

[Sweder]

Another cracking run with the mighty Ladyrunner, this time around beautiful Stanmer Park (between Brighton and Lewes). As can be clearly seen in LR's photos above there was still plenty of snow and ice about, much of it compacted along the popular woodland trails. A lot of slipping, sliding and near-tumbling ensued.

Around 6k into the run I was feeling pretty chipper. Despite Sunday's tough outing my legs felt reasonably OK. Whilst challenging the terrain was manageable; gentle inclines, kindly winding descents, plenty of crunchy snow to help my battered old runners find some grip. I pondered the rare advantage (one of very few) of being a lardy bastard on days like this. There's no doubt I was having the least trouble of the four of us in the conditions, my usually unwanted extra timber helping to drive my shoes harder into the reluctant, hardened snow. As the much lighter ladies skittered about, arms out-thrust for balance, I allowed myself a wry smile. It's tough out there; chasing attractive lycra-clad ladies across this fabulous winterscape. Tough, yes, but somebody has to do it …

Complacency will, given time, bite you in the arse. Sure enough five minutes later we'd reached the low point in the park (topographically speaking), the road that runs past the impressive Palladian facade of Stanmer House. Built for the Pelham family in 1722 by the French architect Dubois the building recently housed the University of Sussex admin department during construction of the new SU campus. The stately structure stood proudly amidst this idyllic winter scene, surrounded by tall trees laden with snow, it’s well reputed café closed to poor wretches like us.

When you've hit rock bottom the only way is up - and up we ran, up, up, up across the deep snow of the eastern hills, up across the polished glass of the dog-walkers' trail, peppered with partly-sunken canine ordure, and up into the woods. As ever Ladyrunner took the lead, pulling inexorably away from the three of us as we laboured behind. Every right-angled turn through the trees took us higher, for well over a mile (though it felt like five). At every other step I managed to achieve wheel-spin, each sideways slip of a size 12 boot drawing a bluntly exhaled curse. In no time LR was 100 metres ahead, a willowy figure in black dancing through the lofty pines like some shy woodland sprite.

After a brief pause at the car park, where I took time to catch my breath as I ruminated on the wide-as-ever fitness gap and wondered how long I'd be able to follow this tireless Terminator in Almeria, we were off once more. Where? Up of course. At the top of the park Jeanette and Kirsty were making determined noises about heading home and it was hard to blame them. LR, eyes a-blaze, clearly wanted another lap. I was feeling the pace, legs whining like spoilt children passing the Pick-n-Mix, but I'm hungry for mileage just now, mindful of pressing engagements in the coming weeks. In the blink of an eye the two girls were off and we two had started lap 2. I cursed my greed – in no small part encouraged by my desire to advance in LE JOG - and tucked in behind LR, trying not to think about that blasted big hill.
'We'll blast that big hill this time' came the cheery pronouncement from the front.
'Blast it? BLAST it? I'm cursing it already ...'
My mumbled bravado died on the biting wind as my lungs demanded I use all available oxygen to feed the furnace. Twenty minutes later those same lungs were in trouble, wheezing like a pair of moth-eaten bellows as once again I watched LR disappear into the forest.

Another 19.5 kilometres tucked away, another evil snow-run behind me.
My Mizunos are coming apart at the seams; I doubt I'll make another journey in them, unless it's to walk the hounds. I took myself of the Jog Shop where Sam unveiled a shiny orange-and-black pair of Wave Harrier 2's. Never has a fool been more readily parted with his money. To sweeten the deal (or possibly to encourage this large, steaming and far-from-sweetly-smelling man to leave his shop) Sam threw in a pair of 1000 Mile All-Terrain Tactel Socks. I think the old boy was moved by the sight of my big toe winking through my shredded footie socks as I pulled on the new boots. I'll give both acquisitions a spin later this week. For now I'm off for a good lie down.

Below: Elevation map of today's run

[Seafront Plodder]

Now I have no wish to appear a pedant obviously, but pic #1 has the caption

Lap 1 - First there were 4 of us. LtoR: Kirsty, Sweder, LR, Jen. Taken at about 5 miles.

So who was taking the photo?

[Sweder]

Now I have no wish to appear a pedant obviously, but pic #1 has the caption

Lap 1 - First there were 4 of us. LtoR: Kirsty, Sweder, LR, Jen. Taken at about 5 miles.

So who was taking the photo?

Mr. Tumnus

[ladyrunner]

Now I have no wish to appear a pedant obviously, but pic #1 has the caption

Lap 1 - First there were 4 of us. LtoR: Kirsty, Sweder, LR, Jen. Taken at about 5 miles.

So who was taking the photo?

I was just setting up the self-timer (used in the 2nd picture of SW and LR) when a friend Ruth walked by and took the shot. Hence why the feet aren't chopped off!!

[Sweder]

Woke up this morning to the news that Teddy Pendergrass had shuffled of this mortal coil. Sad indeed, but not in itself responsible for the feeling that I'd been battered with baseball bats all night. I was a broken man, struggling to get out of bed; every fibre of my flesh & bone screamed to be returned to the warm embrace of my duvet. I could happily have stayed there all day.

After fighting through slush and filthy, muck-spattered road-side snow to endure a day of frustration fuelled by overtired ineptitude I bailed out early. Tired or not I needed to run today; yesterday was a rest day, as is tomorrow. As it turned out I ran but not for too long; an easy 40-minute jaunt through the melting, foggy streets of Lewes. So authentic was the creepy Victorian atmosphere, tall street lamps casting sinister shadows over the Castle cobbles, I'd have been entirely unsurprised to have stumbled across a handsome cab driven by a thin man in a tall hat or perhaps a nefarious bag-clutching physician skulking after an intoxicated wench.

I decided to repeat a 500 metre loop, starting in the high street, sharp left at the lights past Ask, the Lamb and the Lewes Arms, up the steep, still-icy hill to the Castle, through the keep and back down to the main road. I managed five of these, each proving more taxing than the last, before breaking the cycle and heading home. Not my best work, but an opportunity to try out my new offies - there was just about enough slush to warrant this - and to shake some rust from tight legs. The Garmin results were interesting to those who feel these gadgets are less than accurate. I ran consecutive identical loops, virtually landing in my own footsteps each time, yet the elevation map shows considerable variation in pattern (results below). It is a relatively built-up area; disappointing nonetheless.

6.4 sluggish hard-top kilometres tucked away. Rest day tomorrow, ParkRun Saturday and back to the hills on Sunday.

[El Gordo]

Some great running feats logged by Sweder and LR recently. Very impressive. I've managed a number of my short round-the-block 3.5 to 4 milers in the snow (totally flat, too) but really haven't fancied anything longer in these conditions. It probably doesn't help that I run on my own. The company must be good for supporting each other. Well done, anyway. Great tales.

[ladyrunner]

It probably doesn't help that I run on my own. The company must be good for supporting each other.

Very true EG. If it wasn't for the great network of running friends that I have here in Brighton I wouldn't do half as much.

I've got two sociable runs planned for the weekend:-

Heading to Bexhill of Saturday for the XC with Cam and Jen. No Parkrun for me.

Sunday 12-15 mile jaunt over the Downs with Tom, Cam and Heather. 8:15am at Hill Top Cafe, Top of Dyke Road Ave if you fancy trying this one for a change Sweder??

Julie

[Sweder]

A step back this morning on my inexorable march to fitness.
On the last two mornings I've woken up feeling like a Guantanamo resident after a particularly energetic quiznight. It dawned on me that Mrs S might actually be giving me the old soap-in-a-sock treatment, most effectively depicted in Ray Winstone's carreer-launching classic, Scum. If I'm wrong then my wobbly body is probably revolting (yes, yes) against the recent avalanche of snowy, hilly mileage.


'Oose the Daddy naa?

As a precaution I've ditched this morning's ParkRun. 'Listen to your body' is something I've preached in the past.
Perhaps it's time to try it out for myself.

[Seafront Plodder]

It dawned on me that Mrs S might actually be giving me the old soap-in-a-sock treatment, most effectively depicted in Ray Winstone's carreer-launching classic, Scum

Sorry to out-pedant you old chap, but it was a snooker ball not soap.

Quite where Mrs S obtains this supply of snooker balls is open to question.

[Sweder]

Ah yes; soap in a sock was Full Metal Jacket. You are the Daddy.