August 2013

[Sweder]

Mapped the third section of the Lewes Marathon route this morning. Aghast at the lack of spring in my legs today, despite quite an easy running week. I'll write this 10 mile section up shortly. Just strapped myself into an A380 for the 23 hour hop to Melbourne. A reunion - and a run - with MLCMMan is scheduled for the end of the week in Sydney. Can't wait.

Here's a taster for LM3. This is the final 'big' peak on the route, a real calf-killer.
Mount Caburn, or as we shall come to know it, Mount Doom.

   

On, on.

[Sweder]

Nipped out for an hour's plod alongside the Yarra this lunchtime. Spring has come early to this part of Australia. Warm sunshine and a cool breeze offered perfect running weather.

I wove through the milling throng of lunchtime office workers and distracted sight-seers, darting here and there to avoid oncoming cyclists and the ubiquitous Chuggers. After a mile or so the riverside path pulled clear of the city. Across the water loomed the Martian light towers of the MCG, home in just a few short months to the Boxing Day Ashes test and Cookie's finest hour. I passed a parade of Melbourne Rowing Clubs. The first proudly announced 'since 1862'. It's neighbour offered, somewhat tamely, 'since 1863'. I wondered if this was a source of racour between the competing oarsmen. They probably don't give it a second thought.

Right across a couple of streets and I was into the Royal Botanical Gardens. This handsome collection of antipodean flora is criss-crossed by a series of cinder trails known locally as the Tan Track. I crunched along, enjoying the leafy parade of every variety of Gumtree known to man interspersed with an impressive array of flowering cacti. I kept an eye on my pace, concerned to note it was way up over 9 minutes per mile. I wasn't looking to push it today - I have a date with MLCMMan on Friday that promises to be a stern test, so I want to keep something in the tank. Yet I felt if I had to push it there wasn't much there. Probably the aftermath of Sunday's Marathon mapping session and an extraordinarily long journey. Oh well.

   

I completed a circuit of the gardens and set off back towards my hotel. The boardwalk was if anything even more crowded. Fortunately I was now a good deal sweatier, breathing heavily as I lumbered through the parting sea of business suits and elegant skirts. My pace dipped under 8 m/m as I closed on the hotel, some sense of rhythm returning to steady my cadence. More core work needed, I fear. That comes tonight, in the dreaded hotel gym.

Showered and hydrated I'm heading out to meet one of Moyleman's old pals and brief RC resident Simon Payne. Simon upped sticks and moved out here a few years ago. It'll be good to catch up over yet another chai masala, my current Wagoner's drink of choice.

5.8 miles, 61 minutes

[Sweder]

Banked a belter with MLCMMan this morning, 18 kilometres of unrelenting undulations to stretch mere mortals' sinews. Sydney may yet endure another day of Winter but no-one told the sun. Clear blue skies and rising temperatures waited patiently as we scarfed a hasty breakfast.

The first four klicks accompanied roads teaming with traffic. Giant cement mixers jousted with throaty Harleys just a few feet away as we dropped out of Gordon. Mercifully in no time we were in the soothing arms of the Lane Cove National Park. Gum trees offered lofty respite from both sun and hubbub as we loped off, chatting easily. My legs felt stron, road shoes, large and flappy on Wednesday, full of that new-shoe bounce. The road wound into the heart of the park, our soundtrack the occasional swoosh of passing cyclists and raucous cackling from rude avians hidden in the branches overhead.

9 ks in we turned into the heat of the run. That same road, benign and gentle on the descent, snaked up and away into the forest. I still felt great, bouncing up the road, chirruping away about all and sundry. At times I could barely feel the incline, embracing the cool breeze on my beading brow. Soon enough the Freeway bellowed a throaty welcome as we emerged from the foliage to rejoin the hot pavement. Just as I was wondering if we might add a mile or two to make it a proper Half the big climb home bit down hard. By the time we'd reached the summit we were both bathed in sweat and gasping for air, stretching our tight-wound legs. Any offer of extras here would have met spluttered derision. We chugged back to Chez MLCMMan, taken aback by the brutality of those last two kilometres. I took full and unfair advantage of my 'guest' status, claiming first dibs on a restorative shower whilst G fired up the coffee machine.

18 kilometres of serious hill work, two hard-working hours in the bank.