November

[Sweder]

Another Sunday morning alarm, another tentative peek beneath the bedroom blinds.
Cue sharp intake of breath just as a muffled chuckle sounds under the still-toasty duvet. Merciless rain beat an ominous tattoo on the window, distant tree branches flayed out like a woman’s hair on the deck of a steaming ferry. Bugger.

There were subtle, positive differences from last Sunday's maelstrom. For one the wind was not as strong, coming as it did from landward, its cruel sting drawn by the humps and hollows of east Brighton downs. On the flip side that’s where the boiling black clouds were coming from, driven steadily into our path like a slow-motion scene from Twister. I stared forlornly out to sea, watching the sun-kissed patches of clear sky edged with white fluffy cloud scurry towards France, looking for all the world like the retreating Extra Terrestrials from Close Encounters. Ahead lay only blackness and steady, heavy rain. I sighed, resigned to a good soaking. I was instantly bouyed by the sight of more runners scampering to meet the 9am start, a jiggling rainbow of Goretex and Lycra splashing across the road from the carpark. At least double last weeks’ dozen, including a Special Guest appearance from Brighton Nigel joining Gillybean, Stevio, Ade and a host of newbies. The colourful flock chattered keenly despite the gloom, spirited souls set to fly in the face of the foulest weather. Uplifting stuff.

I wound up chatting with Stevio over the outward miles, resulting in an inevitable increase in pace (for me at least). I covered the three miles to Saltdean in 29 minutes, some 4 minutes quicker than last week. Once more I stuck to my game plan – a steady 8 miles to continue the struggle for base strength. When I get to the point where my legs are running away with me I’ll up the distance, but I really need to feel that pressure, that nagging insistence to go on this time, not simply cave in to peer pressure. For me running injury-free is what it’s all about just now; I’ll know when it’s time to turn inland. Turning to the west, wind at my right shoulder gently nudging me homeward, I realised that time has not yet come. Whilst I easily out-gunned the pelaton on the long drop into Saltdean I struggled on the climbs, at least four runners moving easily past me on the steeper sections. More work needed here.

Running alone, quicker than the pack but trailing the sprightly quartet , my thoughts turned to Remembrance Sunday. My poppy, proudly pinned to my running jacket, hung battered and limp from my cold soaked chest. I have mixed emotions on this day when we remember our war-dead. On the one hand I appreciate the sacrifice made by generations of men and women fighting for freedom and liberty against the tyranny of evil men; on the other I cannot help but despise the bloated, purple politicos and Generals who waffle about making the ultimate sacrifice from their leather-bound chairs as they send young men out to die. T’was ever thus. The current conflict in Afghanistan, played out in this instant media world, raises so many more questions than answers. The battle lines are as blurred as the rain-lashed horizon. Am I safer in my bed tonight because youngsters are being blown to pieces in a far-flung alien land? There's a lot of nonsense spouted in the media about undermining our troops if you question 'our' motives. I'm afraid for me and many others it's just not that clear.

Mischievous as ever my warped mind served up a rendition of Sabbath’s War Pigs. It seems my subconscious has no such ambivalence towards the current conflict. The lyrics unraveled in my head even as two St. Dunstans coaches unloaded a flock of hunched pensioners, no doubt including some veterans, heading for a memorial service in Rottingdean. We owe much to our forfathers, including a responsibility to act wisely for future generations, to hold safe the liberties their blood and toil bought us and to honour their courage in our deeds as well as our words.

The following video was originally published in connection with activities in Iraq. It is reposted here with kind permission, and does not necessarily reflect the views of the author or of Running Commentary.

black sabbath war pigs
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Pics L to R: Gathering; Stormy sea; Stevio, Ade et al at saltdean; Drop down Saltdean cliff