July

[Sweder]

Always first draw fresh breath after outbursts of vanity and complacency.
[SIZE="1"]Franz Kafka[/SIZE]

Sunday 1st July – Rock-N-Roll Fartlek

May was a month of recovery; June one of base-building.
July, therefore, should be about stepping things up. Trouble is, my main goal for this second half of the year, the Jog Shop Jog, is no longer on my radar. I’ve lost my focus and am in real danger of letting things slip.

Those great Liverpool defenders-turned-BBC Pundits Hansen and Lawrenson talk about ‘getting the cigars out’ to describe an easy afternoon’s work at the back. I’ve been getting the cigars out lately. Oh there’s no harm in that, especially in the aftermath of a testing period of running where my comfort zone was a distant memory and every outing seemed like a step into the unknown. It’s just that it feels like time to crank up the effort a tad.

July offers opportunities. There’s less travel on the horizon, more likelihood of settling into a routine of running and gym work. Despite a brave effort in June the beer belly remains. But then, I will drink beer, so it’s a fair cop. My long run Sundays have faded over the past few weeks; my Cape Town comrades set off for a slog around Bewl lake this morning, some 14 plus miles over a tricky course. And me? A gentle scurry up to Blackcap after a heavy downpour, fresh breeze pushing the clouds into the west to leave the afternoon bathed in pleasant sunshine.

I tried something new today, a bit of i-pod Fartlek. Never tried it? Get a good mix of hard-n-fast and easy-going tunes on a playlist and hit ‘shuffle’ – then simply run according to the pace of the music. Started off with the Propellerheads' Matrix theme, a good steady beat, not too demanding. On the outward climbs I pounded along to Girlschool, Motorhead and Tom Petty, sticking strictly to the new rules. I reached the turn in good time, slightly stressed, red in the face and sucking wind. The briefest pause before loping back down the face of the Cap, then launched into a manic hurtling charge as Motorhead kicked in with R.A.M.O.N.E.S., a tribute to New York’s finest, a one-hundred-miles-per-hour, balls-out thrash. I responded in kind, feet flying over devilish clumps of thick grass, skipping over hidden hollows and almost rolling an ankle into a treacherous bear-pit of a ditch lurking beneath cleverly matted foliage.

Pink Floyd’s Great Gig In The Sky provided much-needed respite across the top of Wicker Man Hill before Status Quo chipped in with Mystery Song on the climb back up to the Stables. I hammered up that slope, elbows pumping, cheeks blowing like an old-fashioned copper chasing a stripey-topped villain up a cobbled street. Blimey, this rock-n-roll Fartlek kicks bottom and no mistake; we're out of the comfort zone now sure enough; this is hard bloody graft.

I rolled back into Lewes courtesy of the Red Hot Chilli Peppers’ Under The Bridge, a wonderfully poignant song and, more importantly, one of exceedingly gentle tempo. Home in under 44 minutes, a reasonable enough effort for the five hilly miles but well short of the unofficial target discussed with Moylsey recently. He reckons I should be aiming to at least hit if not break 40 minutes. He’s right of course; if I can run a half in (unofficially) sub 1:40 this should be well within my compass. We’ll see what July brings.