Good heavens, is it 2011 already?
Dammit, I'm late. That's the last of my New Year's Resolutions in tatters.
Truth be told I took my first annual leave of 2010 and let it flow seamlessly into 2011, taking in Marco Island and the Florida Keys in my search for sunnier climes. I had my e-mail surgically removed before I left (though not Twitter, a forum for expression I find compulsive and attractive in equal measure) and managed to sidestep running for a few days. I have however vaguely complied with the rigours of Janathon (so far) by swimming/ snorkling, cycling (between bars) around Key West, playing volleyball with the CWD teens for several hours (subsequently losing the use of my forearms) and jogging gently in the Floridian surf.
I arrived home on Saturday afternoon to be told that England hammered Australia 3-1 at their place (including three wins by an innings and plenty), Man United are playing like Bolton under Big Sam yet have overturned Chelski's 'unassailable lead' in the premiership and that Kenny Dalglish has flown in from Bahrain to take over at Liverpool. It's not clever to mock the out-of-touch you know: just stop it, all of you.
Overheard in the quite wonderful Hog's Breath Tavern last week (and the cause of mirthful tittering amongst the extremely well-oiled):
My lemming's become rather fond of James Brown.
Shall I take him to the bridge?
Happy New year y'all.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Sounds like a good (and well-earned) break. You've missed the worst of the cold snap; there's some pleasantly damp and misty outings to be had on the Downs I should imagine.
BTW is "seemlessly" a typo, or is it a Freudian union of "seamlessly" and "unseemly"? I suspect that the latter might be appropriate.
Lemming? James Brown? I thought he was the Godfather of Vole?
Get up offa that thing!
Or it'll be a trip to A&E for you, and they won't believe you when you said you just slipped and fell on it.
(12-01-2011, 07:46 AM)marathondan Wrote: BTW is "seemlessly" a typo, or is it a Freudian union of "seamlessly" and "unseemly"? I suspect that the latter might be appropriate.
Typo ah well, it's been a while since I scratched out more than 140 characters ...
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Just completed my entry for the Steyning Stinger, to be held on March 6th 2011. I've entered the half marathon with an option to upgrade to full on the day.
Hi Dan. No, no plans to head for Ireland this year. Financial restraints in effect after an expensive trip to Florida and pending visit to MLCMan country for the Point to Pinnacle. Besides, no-one else is going and I didn't fancy sitting in those endless Irish bars downing pint after pint of ...
... I'm reviewing ... the situation ...
Hi SW. I'm not sure I am back, in the sense of regular posts.
Time is the enemy just now. Work is grinding like a desperate hoare - it's less pleasant than it sounds, trust me. I hope by the time Almeria rolls around (crumbs - two weeks!) I'll have worked my way though it and find some time to scribble. Or run, come to that. I'm getting out once a week at the moment, albeit dragged over miles of rough terrain by the merciless Ladyrunner. It'll all end in tears ...
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Planning an outing at the marina first thing where I hope to meet up with this year's Jog Shop Joggers for a gentle lope up the Snake. The weather's been apocalyptic so far this weekend, howling wind, lashing rain. Let's see what tomorrow brings ...
I dragged myself for another early Sunday outing with Ladyrunner, joined by fellow Almeria Armadians Moylebird and Simon plus two others. I'd unstrapped an unfeasibly large aircraft from my ample bottom some 18 hours before. Studying the array of lycra-clad racing flesh around me I felt horribly underprepared for a slog up to Ditchling Beacon. I needn't have worried. My under-prepared legs managed to drag me around the course without holding the others up. The freshly watered, yielding turf felt soft and welcoming under my heavy stride as we ascended through Stanmer Park and the flint-strewn fields above Falmer.
Simon looks like a runner. Tall, gangly, loping stride as easy and untroubled as his affable countenance, I suspect he'll go well in Almeria. He's a triathlete, preferring endurance to speed, yet judging by the ease with which he kept pace with me and Jules I can see him clocking a decent time though the gently undulating Spanish streets.
I was feeling it by the end, legs tight, back strained and lungs sucking hard. We banked around 17.5 kilometers in just under two hours. I'm happy enough and so out of form I really don't need to worry about my expectations for the first half of the year in two week's time.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
A delightful sojourn with the Jog Shop joggers, all 43 of them. The wind did it's best to push us off our cliff top trails but in all honesty it was a half-hearted effort, never likely to dampen our cheerful chatter. The sun lurked behind rippled cloud like a small child banished to the stairs, trying to peep through to see what the grown-ups get up to after bed-time.
Despite (or perhaps because of) my lack of mid-week effort I felt refreshed and ready for battle. With Almeria only two weeks away I'd decided to visit my old slithery friend, El Snake. Resting briefly at our customary 3 mile Saltdean shelter I said as much to Sam who, mounted on his (t)rusty two-wheeler, invited me to take a small band of marathon hopefuls with me. We would be the slow 'straight' Snake group. The quicks, adding a double-back through Rottingdean and St Dunstan's, would be lead by Natalie and a late-as-usual yet horribly fit-looking Austin Powers.
We made steady progress, chatting between ourselves about running hopes and aspirations. Two of my charges were taking on Brighton followed a week later by the VLM. They asked for advice on what they might do between the two. I quoted Mr Sheehan, cautioning them that one man's sound advice might be another's nonsense before holding forth on the importance of eating 'as soon as possible' after the first race to aid muscle repair, then rest up and maybe - if they felt like it - spin the legs a couple of times mid-week over very short, easy distances.
Later I told tales of the Steyning Stinger, the Two Oceans and Connemara. My new friends seemed genuinely interested, which pleased me no end as most normal* people glaze over after a minute or two. It's equally fair to say they were a somewhat captive audience. At the Farmer's Field, a perilous drop and slingshot up to the track leading to the Snake, I was asked about downhill running.
'A lovely man called Chris Moyle taught me how to run down hill' I told them. 'Lean into it and let your legs deal with getting you safely to the bottom.'
With that I launched myself into a mad scamper across the ploughed mud, skipping over flint rocks as big as a baby's head. I felt elated, running flat out until I hit the upslope and finally, tears streaking from the crow's feet at the corners of my eyes, I chugged to a stop at the gate.
One of the girls doing both races limped in looking rather forlorn. She'd not gone particularly potty but had felt something 'go' alongside her knee. A friend offered to walk her in (there was a shortcut to Rottingdean a few hundred metres away) and I agreed this was a good idea. Had she run on there's no telling what damage may have occurred. Best to cut this run short and live to run another day. I did wonder if she'd feigned injury to avoid more Tales of Sweder; she did seem genuinely distressed.
At the foot of the Snake I invited the remaining six to run the two kilometre climb at their own pace and we'd re-group at the top. Halfway up I found myself running with a lady from New Zealand and a fit looking fellow wearing pre rahaelite locks and sporting a camelback. They kept up a fair old pace (around 5:40 minutes per kilometre) and still managed to chirp away. We finished by running down through East Brighton Park. At the highest point I bade the three fastest to have at it and race each other home. I waited for the slowest two, persuading them to run as hard as they could over the last mile. This is where the best work is done, learning to run on tired legs.
All told 20.22 kilometres in a hair over two hours. I'm happy with that. One more next Sunday and I'll be ready to dance with La Ramblas.
*non-runners
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Another excellent outing this morning with the Brighton/ London Marathon hopefuls. Fourteen rough, tough, blustery miles over chilly, sticky hills, last Sunday's Snake route with added double-back to Rottingdean via the reservoir, the cruel verticle challenge of Windmill Hill and an exposed blast home along the cliff tops. Good to see Stevio, Adi and Simon out and about, racking up the mileage and sharing pearls of wisdom with the Newbies.
At last my lack of midweek training has reared its' ugly head. I'd been waiting for a signal, a reality check in the form of a tweek or a twinge, and here it was. Turning west onto the clifftops at St Dunstan's (two miles from home) I felt my calves tighten. I can't remember this happening over such a short distance before. The feeling of warm muscle turning to twisted lead was unmistakable. I used the Chris McDougall's technique of shutting off sensory information from the area - in other words I ignored the pain and plodded on. The twin spasms eased after half a mile or so but the warning was pretty clear, as was the keen ache in both legs when I stopped.
Hydration may be a factor. I fell off the wagon in spectacular fashion on Friday, joining SP and Captain Tom for a few pints of Tanglefoot washed down with a few pints of Pickled Partridge. My usually fastidious approach to drinking plenty of water every day has slipped of late. From now until Sunday I'll drink a lot more water and hope nothing flares up in Almeria. With another heavy workweek ahead I doubt I'll get many chances to run, though a gentle local plod would probably do me the world of good over the next couple of days.
Underprepared? Most certainly.
Bothered? Do I look bothered?
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
ah well, it's been a while since I scratched out more than 140 characters ...
