March On, March On

[Sweder]

And so it came to pass that Sweder, Moyleman and Rog did meet atop the cliffs and set off into the east. They ran as one under wintry skies, speaking of the challenges to come, exchanging fond greetings with the runners round about. They took to the Jog Shop Jog trail, missing the Big W to complete a circuit of nineteen miles in around three easy hours. And Sweder did test his lungs, bellowing into the hills in the manner of Leonidas; ‘THIS . . . IS . . . . SUSSEX!!!’ And the sheep and cows were sore afraid, and the crows did cackle and flap away across the rape fields.

Though Sweder did complain of discomfort in his calf, and Rog did mutter about a stiffening in his hip, they finished as they started; together, united, ready for their quest to the tip of the southern hemisphere. And they did take upon themselves to Mac’s café, and they did consume large plates of seared pork, fried chicken embryos and beans baked in the juices of tomatoes.

Solid stuff this morning. I eschewed the ibuprofen, keen to learn the full extent of any niggles. Towards the end my back stiffened and the pain my calf made itself known. I’ll be taking a trip to the torture chamber next week to have that looked at, but basically ice, elevation, pharmaceuticals and a lot of rest will be the order of next week. 13 days and counting to the biggest run of my life. I’m feeling good, buoyed by comments from such quality runners as Remmy and Steve who remarked on our apparent speed as we pulled away from the pack in the early stages. The nice thing is we didn’t feel we were pushing it, so maybe this training is starting to pay dividends.

The main group (Paris and London bound) dug in for their 22 today, including the Big W (or for some the Big V). We waited for them to come in, applauding them as they chugged over the final brow, faces flushed, streaked with salt, grins as wide as the channel. Good luck to every one of you.

A midweek five and one more gentle lope next Saturday – an 8 or 12 mile loop around the Snake – and a team breakfast (in a pub, natch) and then its all aboard the Branson Express on the Tuesday. Can’t wait. I’m off to see 300 before I burst. The Bad Doctor says this is tailor-made for Fifteen-year-olds; perfect!