June 2009

[Sweder]

Followed up the Seaford Half with a couple of recovery plods. Tuesday my legs were still in tatters, the hard climbs and perilous cliff-edge descents having bludgeoned my under-cooked thighs into Tesco's Value mince. I took it easy, shuffling into a light westerly breeze, hunched down into my traditional Quasimodo stance as the lactic acid seeped from my tired muscles.

This morning was a different animal. Stressed - I'm traveling today; by the time I left the house I had precisley 75 minutes to run five hilly miles, shower, pack and load up for Heathrow - I took off at an unusually brisk pace. The dogs looked bemused. Usually I take it easy up the early inclines, allowing the pack to stop and smell the . . . roses. No time for that today.

A mile in and I noticed my bearing felt different. My back felt straighter, my running style economical yet strong. The residual pain had left my legs and everything felt a little easier, a little looser. As I chugged easily up the two and a half mile trail to Blackcap I realised who I reminded myself of; Moyleman. Chris had this terrifically tidy running style, no superfluous movement, just a steady tread, relaxed arms, straight back and eyes fixed on the horizon. I smiled wryly to myself, wondering if the old boy had decided to join me.

The homeward leg saw more of the same. The pace, fast and loose, was as good as anything from me since March. I fair flew over the dusty flint track, my soundtrack - courtesy of Planet Rock - offering encouragement through the Stranglers. Is there a better number for fast hilltop flying than No More Heroes? Burnel's boistrous basslines bounced me joyously down through the rutted paths and over the twisted, partially exposed tree roots. I felt light (though the sweaty, wobbling mass beneath my heaving chest offered evidence to the contrary), this unusual turn of speed both welcome and, apparently, effortless. I slowed a little in the last half mile, my lack of training catching up with me as if I'd deliberately given it the slip at the summit.

Next week offers a tough challenge. Away in the city of Bremen (for work) I'll face ample temptation from a range of fine regional beers, enthusiastic drinking partners and lashings of cream-laden hearty food. I've packed my runners; let's see who wins out.