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July
I know; it's cheating, and I don't much care for them.
Horses. Oh, please yourselves.
Yes, well, and here we go again.
It'd been a good longly while since my last Sunday outing with the JSJ-ers, and with the exciting prospect of attending the CWD Friends For Life conference in Orlando next week it'll be a couple of weeks before I do so again.
I'd looked forward to hearing details of Gary's Duke's Mound experience via Stevio but sadly the big fella didn't show. In fact very few people showed at all; three in total, me included, and two fellows I'd not met before. A shabby turnout in part explained by Moyley's text at 8 this morning assuming the yellow jersery of lurghie from my still slightly sweaty hand. Get well soon Bubba. Also in part by the extension of the Trailblazer, a hitherto girls-only cross-country 5.8 mile blast incorporating the Snake as a finishing section, to an all-comers event. If only I'd known! By the time we three unwise men flogged our sweaty bodies over the post-Snake ridge it was far too late to contemplate entry. Next year for sure - make a note in your diaries folks - early July, Trailblazer, Brighton (start and finish in Woodingdean). Sponsored by Saucony there are prizes, cakes, treats for every entrant and a darned good offroad 9.5k run.
As for me and my efforts, B-minus I reckon; must work harder. The results of on-off running, travel, lurghie and apathy were fairly modest. I stole shamelessly from those magical lyricists Simon and Garfunkle as I hit the foothills of the snake, butchering (mercifully only in my head) their classic Sound of Silence . . .
Hello Serpent my old friend
I've come to dance with you again
To your soft winds I am listening
Whilst your slippery scales are glistening
And the acid that's burning in my legs
Makes them feel like lead
Old 'n' dead
Listen: it's the sound . . .
. . . of wheezing
Actually I felt pretty good. Half way up the Snake's back I glanced to my right, inhaling lusty views of Death Valley and Castle Hill. It felt good to be alive, drinking air cooled on a gentle breeze, bounding steadily up this twisting trail safe in the knowledge that the finish was only three miles off.
The Trailblazer HQ, a hazy mirage of red tents and a hastily erected finishing funnel, hovered in the field next to Woodingdean car park. Tables laden with cakes, prizes and cups of water were administered by vounteers and Jog Shop employees as a healthy queue of racers formed at one end. All this orchestrated by none other than Yoda himself, Sam 'the legend' lambourne, decked out in hi-vis racing vest and fetching cycle shorts, a vision in lycra.
'Hoi Ash!' came the gravel-pit cry, a luminous arm extended my way as I bounded past. It was great fun to run through the assembled Trailblazers, Jill and Marion amongst those calling to me as if I should stop and enter the race.
No thanks! I've sucked in my gut and forced my shoulders back just for this hundred yard bounce. As soon as I cross the road I'll slump back into my customary Quasimodic hunch and lope home, desperate for rest, rehydration and Esmerelda. Thanks for thinking of me though! Byeeeee!!! :o
Some thirty minutes later I made it back - avec wheels - to welcome the finishers.
First man home came in a shade over 41 minutes, a great effort on a blustery day. Clouds gathered and the temperature dropped inducing goose flesh and a craving for hot tea and my beloved sofa. I turned tail, vowing to take part next year and, hopefully, to bring a few more along for a race that finishes conveniently adjacent to Sunday opening time and is no more than a stone's throw from a most acceptable downland boozer.
On-On! On-on indeed, for Tuesday sees the running of the 19th Oil Industry hash at a leafy location to be confirmed. I shall attend and hopefully meet up with our Niguel. Good conversation and a couple of pints of excellent ale - what more can we ask for?
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
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