January

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Finally, mercifully, more by luck than judgement, we arrived home without major mishap. The hounds stared at me as we stood, dripping and shivering together in the hallway, each delivering a look that required no translation.

You took the dogs out in [i]that?! Sorry, but I'm reporting you to the RSPCHounds... I wouldn't even take my neighbour's dog out in that kind of weather!

Still, I'm mightily impressed you ventured out there... I'll drink a fortified stout to that. You are completely, utterly, undeniably, indisputably 110% stark raving mad, Sweder.

I doffs me 'at.

[stillwaddler]

Why on earth did you go out in that?

Your brain has obvioulsy atrophied possibly due to a lack of liquid nurishment - go pour yourself a Guinness before lying down in a darkened room for a while ;-)

[Sweder]

Why on earth did you go out in that?

Err . . . it was Thursday.
I always run on Thursdays.
I'm a creature of habit (but not very bright) :o

[stillwaddler]

I see Wouldn't have caught my now departed dog going out in that, he would have poked his nose out of the front door, given me an old fashioned look and nipped smartly back into his basket - I miss him, roll on retirement when I can get another - only another 5 years to go - YES!!!

[El Gordo]

[creep]
[INDENT]You look way too young to be retiring, SW.[/INDENT]
[/creep]

[Sweder]

A beautiful day for a difficult run. We decided to add a couple of miles to the Snake route, doubling back behind the serpent into Rottingdean, up Windmill hill and around St Dunstans for a two mile cliff top finish into the westerly breeze.

It was all pretty routine, save perhaps for the pace which thanks to myself, Chris and then Sarah in that order was pretty swift. We were joined later on the route by Gary and, briefly, at the head of the Snake, by fellow TOM entrant Dave. Despite the clear skies and relative lack of wind there was no sign of the expected cold. My Thierry Henrys looked incongruous in the bright sunshine; three miles in I was cooking in my windcheater.

My problems started as we cleared the downslope behind the Snake at around mile eleven. There’s a half-mile section of tarmac, hard, unyielding road. I recently calculated that my beloved Addidas Climacool off-roaders, just shy of a year old, have clocked up well in excess of eight hundred miles. Shamefully that’s at least three hundred miles past their bin-by date, and as I thumped onto the hard standing the lack of cushion and spring became instantly and painfully apparent. After barely one hundred metres I got an almighty pain in my upper abdomen on the left hand side. Stitch! Blimey, I haven’t had stitch since I was at school! You were always told to run off stitch – a euphemism coined for a sharp and persistent stabbing pain in the side or stomach whilst running or playing sport – so I plodded manfully on. My companions rightly struck out, taking full advantage of the gentle slope into Rottingdean. I watched them go unable to respond, all the while listing to port, my left hand clamped over the afflicted area.

I suppose from another point of view I must’ve looked pretty comical, loping along in a kind of run/ shuffle, a lycra-clad Quasimodo in fruitless pursuit of his Esmeralda. There was no humour in it for me. Having reached the village and crossed the main road the pain eased slightly, allowing me a run at the dreaded Windmill Hill. I made it half way, the others only fifty metres ahead and above me, but already partly recovered from the climb. As I walked the last few steps the others set off to disappear behind St Dunstans as I continued to limp-lope behind. Once back on the soft cliff top grass the pain eased and finally vanished, allowing me to pick up the pace for a sprint finish. I was less than happy with the run though, stretching out at the meeting point as I refilled my lungs. As I reached to stretch my left leg up onto the parapet something squirmed in the bundle of glands and gristle buried in my left groin, causing me to wince and quickly lower my leg. Ouch! I tried a couple more moves with similar results before limping off to the café for coffee and fruit cake.

At Macs the fellow from Brookes was already seated and I confessed my embarrassing shoe story. He paled as I detailed the mileage, staring first at my mud-plastered boots and then back to my apologetic and equally mud flecked face. We agreed I should make it my priority to source replacements before next Sunday and I left, chastened, to bathe my wounds and rest my twisted groin, the injury almost certainly resulting from my awkward gait. In fairness I do have my barely used Sauconys (I just don't like 'em!) and some old Mizunos (no longer fit for purpose). I just really, really love my Climacools and I can’t find their like in this country. Some net surfing’s in store, methinks.

Fifteen miles in around two hours thirty.
Looks like a repeat next Sunday; here’s hoping I’ve invested wisely by then.

[Sweder]

I took the old track
the hollow shoulder, across the waters
On the tall cliffs
they were getting older, sons and daughters
The jaded underworld was riding high
Waves of steel hurled metal at the sky
and as the nail sunk in the cloud, the rain
was warm and soaked the crowd.
[SIZE="1"]Here Comes The Flood - Peter Gabriel[/SIZE]

Biblical stuff once more on the Sussex hills.
Wind gusts of over ninety miles per hour made venturing outside an act of folly, so of course I wrapped up, harnessed the hounds and struck out like a latter day Captain Oates for a ‘short plod’. Five battered miles and fifty-six hammered minutes later I returned, ashen-faced, plastered in mud and quite appalled at my own lack of common sense.

Once more the real danger out there was in the descents. The climbs were horrendous; I almost came to a standstill battling up Blackcap. You know it’s tough out there when your whippet, no more than a foot off the ground, gets blown sideways as she’s charging uphill. A gorse bush came out of nowhere, celebrating its new found freedom by bounding maniacally across the downs and crashing into my frozen, rain-lashed mush. I’d just fought through a five bar gate and turned into the wind when the flailing ball of spikes caught me unawares. I felt like the Newcastle back four must have done last night – overwhelmed. Perhaps I should have turned back, but like the BBC keep telling us in their insipid self-promoting ads; this is what we do. Besides, I needed to test out my groin injury. I'd not run since Sunday. OK, I could have taken a safer route along the roadside, but the thought of four miles into a headwind a few feet from a moving CO2 farm was too depressing. Happily there was no sign of the tightness I'd suffered on Sunday, and Lord knows this was as stiff a test as I could find.

Back in the warm, a steaming mug of coffee set next to a plate of honey-laden granary toast, I pondered the news that Andy is starting an affair with off road running. This has rekindled my enthusiasm for an RC Blackcap plod, Niguel having mentioned on several occasions that he’d like to join me sometime. As I sipped gratefully on my hot drink, the warmth spreading through my chest like colour seeping into a black-and-white photo, I had cause to ponder a less pleasant aspect of life in Britain today. News radio was dominated this morning by speculation over the loathsome antics of a number of Zed list 'celebrities' taking part in a ‘reality television’ show. I don’t want to mention the name of the show, less the people involved; suffice to say I’d like to see them all loaded up with the hairdressers and estate agents a la Douglas Adams and launched into outer space. What rankled with me this morning was the inability of our media to discern between newsworthy items and salacious self-publicists playing us for all we’re worth.

Here I sit, just returned from a brush with Mother Nature in all her fury, railing against the excesses of mankind in her loudest voice, decrying the thoughtless mistreatment of our planet. A container ship is sinking fast off the Cornwall coast, lifeguards risking life and limb to rescue the crew. Our leaders continue to pour oil on the troubled waters of the Middle East, one man seemingly determined to fan the flames of all-out war, the other meekly trotting out vulgar platitudes, both men raging against the dying of their own political light. The man who would hurl more of his fellow countrymen into the dark heart of despair is the same beady-eyed maniac who refuses to acknowledge the terminal injuries his own nation inflicts on the environment of our homeworld. History may judge these people as righteous fools, but will anyone be left around to read about it?

It's little wonder then that the Bulletin of Atomic Scientists announced yesterday that the Doomsday Clock has ticked 'two minutes closer to midnight'. We are entering an age described as the ‘most perilous since Hiroshima’.

Still, who gives a toss when there's the terrible accounts of almost possible racism and ugly playground bullying to be poured over ad nauseum?
I’m off to find my Babelfish and a good towel.

[Nigel]

Well done, Sweder. It was quite a day.

With no running on the cards this week due to injury, I decided to go for a 'gentle' cycle yesterday lunchtime. And wow, what a blast. The first five miles east to Copthorne were completed in not many more minutes. I felt fit, and very fast, and if it hadn't been for the full-on powerhose experience of the driving rain at my back, I might even have been enjoying it.

And then I turned south, across the wind.

Suddenly, I had to lean so far to the right to stay vertical that any reduction in the windspeed would certainly have seen me floundering. But in fact there were only stronger gusts, so I nearly fell off to my left several times instead.

On the way back to Crawley and directly into the gale, I briefly touched 10 mph. Which was amazing, actually, corresponding as it did with an airspeed of well over 80. A couple of small twigs landed on my hard hat during the return journey, but mercifully the only tree I saw down was the one I had glimpsed resting squarely on Charlwood village's telephone junction box earlier in the morning.

I retired to the office to allow the skin on my ears to grow back and to ponder the folly of my deathwish dash.

But hey, it was marvellous fun. It really was.

[Sweder]

It really is fun though, eh?
I mean, as much as we whinge about taking a beating in these storms (and not to make light of the fact that people died yesterday) it is exhilarating to battle through such ferocious weather, and then there's the fabulous c-a-l-m when you finally reach safety. It's a rush.

I forgot to mention my big news - yesterday's madness was in part to celebrate the arrival of my new Brookes Adrenaline off roaders. Purchased from the good people at the Jog Shop (thanks Sean) they're a road shoe upper/ off road sole hybrid, built for comfort and grip, and my first venture into the world of Brookes. I tried on around six pairs, including the latest Sauconys (nice) and Mizunos (a favourite brand) but the Adrenalines just felt right.

Hardly a fair try-out yesterday so I'll reserve judgement, although I didn't fall over which I'd have to say is a pretty good sign. A stern test awaits on Sunday when I'll be running in sticky mud and on tarmac.

A farewell then to my beloved Climacools.
They enter my own running shoe hall of fame where I keep beloved/ memorable boots, still wearing their final coat of mud, to be lovingly admired in my dotage.
So long, and thanks for all the miles.

[El Gordo]

Hey, Brookes Adrenaline?

They must have changed their function over the years because they were the second pair of proper running shoes I owned, back in 2002. My Brookes accompanied me round the London Marathon. But they were very solid road shoes, with hardly a contour on the sole. Sounds like the designers and marketing boys have been at work on them over the years.

Hmmm. I wonder what adventures await the three of you?

[Sweder]

1 howling wind
8 dark miles
12.8 concrete kilometres
72 rasping minutes
287 roaring motor vehicles
12,120 choking litres of Co2
187,426 stinging drops of rain


. . . and an ipod.
Motorhead, Girlschool, Rush, Led Zeppelin, Red Hot Chilli Peppers and Blink 182.
Best tracks on the run:
‘Nobody’s fault but mine’ – Led Zep
‘Trigger’ – Motorhead
‘Come on up’ – Girlschool

Favourite lyric from the evening goes to Motorhead for Dr. Rock:

I've got the medicine you need
I've got the power, I've got the speed
I'll find out how to stop your clock
We sure ain't talking Doctor Spock
Hear me talking, Doctor Rock.

It ain’t Shakespeare, but I loves it

[Sweder]

I love this time of year. Our Lady of Winter swished her skirts to flash a hint of the chill to come. Starlings launched in mighty swirls, swooping and rising in a beautiful ballet above the pallid wheat fields. The ocean roared, violent waves hammering the shoreline, white horses cavorting as far as the eye could see. Ugly gulls wheeled and screeched in twisting thermals along the cliffs’ edge. Battling runs across bleak, exposed landscapes, testing the mettle of mortal men; this is why we rise at dawn on a Sunday.

One or two newbies failed to show this morning, no doubt traumatised by their first visit to Telscombe Tye and the Famous Residences last week. I talked to two brave souls (June and Sue) who’d returned, worried yet determined to have another go. I assured them that today would be marginally less painful than last week, and so it will go until they’re bounding out nasty twenty-milers and wondering what all the fuss was about. They smiled politely, the look in their eyes betraying their belief that I was off my trolley. They’ll see.

The usual suspects formed familiar ranks, Sarah and Chris joining Paul and I to retrace our steps over the fifteen mile loop. Paul The Goat and Steve left all for dead, bounding effortlessly into the distance. Glen too, a cumbersome pack strapped to his back. A double-loop for Glen today, two laps of the Snake circuit (around 23 miles). A few short weeks hence the shifting sands of the Marathon des Sables await.

The Snake enlisted the wind as an ally, forcing us to fight hard for the summit. The two mile climb proved a tad more challenging, the pale sun unable to suck up last weeks’ rain leaving a tricky blend of tacky mud and outright slop. Slippery People by Talking Heads played in my head as we slid about, seeking respite on the sparse clumps of grass. The new boots performed well. My only complaint they were marginally less stable than the climacools but hey, I’m not about to admit parity with my favourite downland Hall of Famers. They came into their own as we reached the hard road into Rottingdean. This time there was no sign of the debilitating stitch as I bounded eagerly alongside Chris and Sarah, thundering out of the hills and into the sleepy village. Even Windmill Hill seemed a smidgeon less brutal, though the final two miles home, into the teeth of a persistent, strengthening wind, drained the life from my rapidly leadening legs.

Chris had opened a fifty metre gap on us as we left St Dunstans to join the cliff top path. I gritted my teeth and dug in, trying to reel him in. But as with the Trawlermen in the excellent BBC series hauling in a catch exacts a heavy toll. For every few yards I closed on Chris, resplendent in bright yellow New Balance rock-huggers and alarmingly fetching purple tights, I felt another layer of resolve ripped from my body, swept over the cliff edge to an untimely end on the battered rocks below. I caught up barely a hundred yards from the finish, staggering alongside, breath rattling in my burning throat, eyes distended; a picture of health!
Fifteen miles in a shade under two hours twenty; good work in tough conditions.

More ponderings on Cape Town strategies over pale instant coffee at Macs’. To gel or not to gel, carrying food, water, stopping, walking . . . at least I feel a little less anxious now thanks to Ed Brickell’s excellent advice. If there’s one thing everyone should do before tackling their first Ultra (or Marathon, or Half come to that) it’s consult with those who’ve been there, done that. Ed’s pointers are succinct, do-able and far from daunting. Thanks again Ed.

By the time I got home I realised I’d failed to stretch anywhere near enough, so I harnessed the dogs, climbed into my wellies and set off across the local hills for an hour. Back at home I went through my usual routine, gurning madly as I squeezed the lactic acid out of my legs. I took a call from Sue, one of the girls I’d spoken with before the run today. Sure enough it had been hard going but it was slightly less crushing than last week and they’re looking forward to next Sunday already. Good on yer, ladies.

Almeria next week
No thoughts of times – this is a ‘step back’ week in my training schedule. I’ll give it a right old go of course but to be honest it’s the craic I’m hungry for.
That and the Guinness

[El Gordo]

Well done.

Disastrous day for me. Kept putting off the run even though I was looking forward to it. Spent ages fiddling about with Google Earth to work out how to squeeze 12 undiscovered miles out of the local landscape. Eventually got out at 1 0'clock, and knew within 200 yards that it wasn't going to work. I plodded half a mile and turned back. It happens very occasionally.

So I need to eke out a long run over the next couple of days.

Bad luck on the football. What a sickener. Neither side were at their best but thought Utd did enough to get a draw.

[Ana]

Dear boys,
Are you already happy and prepared for the Almería race? I am quite sure, I was reading you all this time, but haven’t posted because I am guilty of not running at all. I was swimming… except for some days, where I was training the muscles of my legs... at the shopping center. I can avoid it because it is sales time and I am a girl…
Ok, Saturday night, and thanks to a lot of (alcoholic) drinks I have promised never die before running my own marathon, so… I was with a friend of mine who has already running 52 Marathons (and he is only 32). He told me that he has already made the Almeria HalfM and he will be happy to do this the next year. He has promise me that I will go with (behind) him on the next small race. He says that I could run my half marathon in 1h50m. As he is an optimist person I will put my PB in 2h30m. Is it too ambitious?
I send you all my best wishes for all the travellers to Almería. Have a nice meeting, do not forget your wallets at the plane, and try do not empty our wine reserves after the race. Also, you must be ready for cold weather. Even if this winter was really sunny, it seems that a big storm comes. It is a pity, but for you, north people, it is an advantage over us. Please Anlu, take care of them. We know how dangerous the wine is after one month of abstinence, especially just after sweating.
Ana

[Sweder]

it seems that a big storm comes

You got that right

[Antonio247]

Well, Ana, it will be a pleasure to run with you and your friend next year´s half marathon in Almería. I´ll have to train hard to do it under one hour 50 minutes. You´re lucky to have a friend who has run more than fifty marathons and he is only 32 years old. He must be very strong.

I´ll take care of these friends. I won´t let them drink too much.


Saludos desde Almería


Antonio

[El Gordo]

I´ll take care of these friends. I won´t let them drink too much.

But rehydration is very important after a race...

[Sweder]

I´ll take care of these friends. I won´t let them drink too much.

But rehydration is very important after a race...

Yes, and he did such a sterling job of keeping us out of the bars last year . . .
. . . though we are tragically a key man down this time.
(Sigh) we'll just have to roll up our sleeves and do our best . . .

[El Gordo]

Yes, and he did such a sterling job of keeping us out of the bars last year . . .
. . . though we are tragically a key man down this time.
(Sigh) we'll just have to roll up our sleeves and do our best . . .

It's too bad about SP not leading us into temptation, but at least we won't have to put up with the company of a smoker this year... :o :o

[Ana]

I can believe, SP is an smoker too... terrible guy,
I will be wachting TV during the weekend, perhaps there will be news from Almería, too rehydration...