January 2009

[Sweder]

I love this cold, cold weather. Fields of frost stretched out across the Sussex hillside as I splashed water on my craggy, sleep-deprived face in the pre-dawn hour. Toast and coffee followed, then the ritual donning of protective garb; leggings, long-sleeved vest, short-sleeved vest, Garmin, gloves, headband and shoes. I’d started the truck a half-hour before departure, thermometer hovering at minus five, letting the heater melt the ice-glaze from the windscreen. The interior was like an oven as I clambered in, setting off for the marina warm as toast, wondering if I was in fact stark staring mad to leave my soft, super-heated bed when there was no discernable reason to do so.

The Jog Shop group had swelled in numbers. Last week’s eight hardy souls were joined by a myriad of newbies and long-absent old faces. Gillybean, MSilv, Me Ladyrunner Julie, Hootsboy, Le Soft, Suzie, Clare . . . good to see them all back, new-years resolutions polished to perfection, taught, pale faces less assured as they shivered, chattering nervously, waiting for the off. Lycra Tony on foot, Sam mounted, thirty or so well met and finally off across the cliff-tops, heading east into a gentle yet bone-chilling breeze. In an effort to get warm we managed to lop a minute and a half off our warm-up three miles, this in spite of Sams’ barked orders to take it easy from the start. Stevio started shooting snaps as we chugged into the rest point. I stretched gently, easing warm blood into my frozen joints, checking for murmurs of discontent.

At the reckoning we split into four main groups. Stevio, Chris, Richard (a sub-three marathoner who I’d not met before but who looks to be a paragon of natural fitness) and Simon would take on a swift Snake. Ladyrunner, Hootsboy, Ade and I would follow at a more leisurely pace, Gillybean and MSilv announced a Famous Residences and the rest would complete the last eight mile Wire session of this campaign. The four quicks duly shot up the climb out of Saltdean and on up the Tye (fig 1), gaining several hundred metres on my group in no time. I felt relieved that I wasn’t going with them. Lovely though last weeks’ PB was I’d had to fight like buggery to keep up and always felt I was holding the others back. Now, running easily at just below six minute kilometre pace, I felt comfortable, chatting easily with my companions as we took on a north wind that was a frosty shadow of last Sunday’s brutal blast.

At the top of the Tye another runner appeared, coming off the climb out of Telscombe village. I didn’t know him. He looked young and fit, immediately taking up the pace alongside Ladyrunner. I turned to Ade, muttering something about the fickle nature of women.
‘Some young bloke turns up, fancy new jacket, nice shoes, and she’s off. Pah!’
I paused at the ridge, snapping a couple of pictures on my woefully inadequate phonecam. They do little justice to the fabulous Narnia-scape of the downland stretching away towards Ringmer and Lewes but I’ll publish them here none-the-less. When I caught up with the others the new guy was still chirruping away about metabolic rates and calorific intake and how if he didn’t ingest at least 6,000 calories every day he was in severe danger of disappearing up his own bottom. I dropped back, unable/ unwilling to listen. My run-side chat tends to focus on movies and other banal stuff designed to take one’s mind off the run. Hootsboy obliged with a pocket appraisal of Australia, the Jackman/ Kidman epic recently released to mixed reviews. Hootsy enjoyed it, claiming to have learned a lot about the history of the former colony, though how authentic the piece is remains to be seen. Braveheart and others confirm that Hollywood has previous when it comes to historical fact.

Approaching the farmers’ plummet (fig 2) I offered council to the new chap about the treacherous descent.
‘Oh, running down hill’s no problem’ he grinned. ‘You just lean into it.’
I followed him carefully, intent on being right there when he started 'leaning into' the rutted frozen hundred-metre drop, ready to scoop up his bloodied, bone-snapped remains at the bottom. Once we’d started to shift along the frosted mudslide he dropped back leaving me to lead, arms waggling madly as I tip-toed at break-neck speed down the murderous slope.
‘I see what you mean’ came his now somewhat distant, rather more hesitant voice. As my life flashed before my wide, watering eyes I could hear that the smirk had gone.

I regained control, slowing up the sling-shot climb, thankful for this natural brake. After a brief respite and a farewell to Hootsboy – his post-Hastings knee-area niggle persuaded him to head back along the tarmac road into Rottingdean - we set off for Old Snakey (fig 3). Once again the serpent had on her gentle winter cloak, offering little challenge on the ground. The foothills still sapped at the legs and I had to work harder than was comfortable to keep up a steady pace. Onto the main body for some reason I’ve yet to determine I dropped a cog and roared past Ade, Ladyrunner and the new chap, thundering off around the left-hand bend at full bore. Why do we do these things? Perhaps my bullshit detector had overloaded, tripping some self-preserving mechanism that launched me into flight mode. Who knows? All I can say is I didn’t let up, knocking along at 5:30 minute kilometres for the next mile and a half. At the final bend I saw Stevio, Simon and Chris jogging back towards me. Steve reached for his camera so I got my head down and hammered up the last straight, dipping to 4:40 klicks right up to the summit gate, hoping he'd managed to miss my sweat-soaked, bug-eyed face with his lense.

After a brief lean on the gate and a good deal of oxygen-sucking I realised I actually felt pretty great. No doubt the easy early pace had built up some credit, though I felt sure I’d burned most of that up in the last two miles. The jog home was taken at a far more leisurely (but pleasingly even) pace, leaving me to chat easily with Ade and Ladyrunner as we chugged down through East Brighton Park.

Incredibly our time was a single, solitary second outside last week. I found this hard to credit, having fought to keep up last Sunday whereas this week everything had felt much easier. There can be no denying, my fitness is returning and I’m starting to run out of excuses for not going for a good time in Almeria. There; that should put the kibosh on that.

[SIZE="1"]A few charts and maps. First up the figs (1-3) referred to in the report, the sections referred to shown in red with corresponding elevation charts.
1: Saltdean to the top of Telscombe Tye
2: Farmer's PLummet
3. The Snake[/SIZE]