December 2008

[Sweder]

A dull old morning awaited, heavy grey clouds slouched over the south coast like moody teenagers looking for trouble. I met up with Stevio, Ade, Jill, Helen and the FLM training group. Lycra Tony and Sam, our redoubtable Mounties, arrived to escort the trainees to the Wire and back. Steve was looking for a leg-loosener after his Hastings conquest and I was happy to tag along on the understanding that he wouldn’t push it too hard. He's got previous; I've been dragged up the Snake at break-neck speed by Steve 'on an easy one' before. Ade suggested a slightly adapted Famous Residences and that sounded just about right.

My right knee is still a work in progress. After six hilly off-road miles we hit hardtop, the errant joint making itself known through a series of niggling quibbles. The pain that had lounged in my fat pad (south of the knobbly cap) has migrated to the centre, although occasionally it pops up on the outer knee-cap edge. Perhaps my knee has its very own Poltergeist. I mentioned this to Steve and he offered sound advice that, if I’m honest, I’d already given myself in those quiet, private moments in recent weeks. Once Almeria’s behind me I need to get a scan and/ or visit Withdeans’ fabled Knee Whisperer to find out what’s going on. This may or may not lead to surgery and a prolonged layoff, but there’s little point pretending all’s well until the darned thing drops off. Or, more likely, seizes up.

I was right to treat Steve's innocent assurances with caution. Having plummeted down the mud-track behind St Dunstans and hit the cliff-tops once more - this time facing west into a boistrous headwind - the curly-haired one bounced off on a seemingly effortless yet impressively swift jog, leaving Ade and I gasping in his wake. Just over fifteen kilometres in 1:32 with a decent stretch-out to follow. I’ll need to extend that next Sunday but, for now, I’ll take it to the bank. Or, at least, the sofa.