June 2013

[Sweder]

My lungs. Goodness me, they're like over-used tea-bags, dried out, chucked in the bin and retrieved by the cat for mouse-shredding practice. Shocking. I barked like a dog all night and again at 6 this morning as I stirred my porridge.

Then there's the legs. Tired, though recently rested, spared a Brighton Marathon battering by an untimely haematoma. Yet undeniably undercooked. Expectations very much on the low side in the pre-race gloom.

Running newbie and fellow Rooks fan Rob Read was looking forward to his first Seaford Half. This would be my sixth - or seventh, I'm not really sure. The idea was for me to pace Rob round and generally offer advice on course management. For three out of the first four miles the only way is up. Then there's a bit of a rollercoaster, a flash through Alfriston and a gentle meander along the banks of the Cuckmere. This is where you recover, recharge and prepare for the final assault, a brutal climb up the back of Seaford Head before a helter-skelter plummet back to the seafront. It's no P2P but it's still one of the toughest halfs I've run.

Just under two miles in we were standing still. The usual congestion at one of the styles had ground into rush-hour stasis. With a record turn-out the slurry of eager humans was too much for the early narrows. People muttered and tutted, checked and re-checked their watches. Rob's post-race Running App splits showed we lost a good three minutes thanks to Gategate. Agitation filled the cool morning air but it didn't hang around long. A beastly nor'easterly raced in to cool us, whipping into our panting faces as we quick-stepped up onto the South Downs Way.

We took the drop into Alfriston at full gallop, clocking 6'45" pace as we hurtled down the cinder track into town. At the switchback I spied Tom Roper, sadly spectating this year thanks to a badly inflated knee. We hailed one another and then I was gone, thrown into a sharp left-hander and on, on to the heavily rutted riverbank trail. Nettles and dock-leaves grew like Jurassic flora, at times smothering the path so that those with bare legs felt as if we were part of a science project. See the runners get stung! See the dock-leaves ease their pain! Styles and bridges came and went as we closed in on the Golden Galleon and the last hurrah.

I felt OK. My breathing settled down - after I'd expelled a fair amount of lung-butter - and my legs behaved, right up to the final haul when both calves, equally, expressed disgruntlement with the workload. My time of 2:04:46 was five minutes quicker than I'd hoped for. Rob was barely two minutes behind, a fine debut on a challenging course. Now I'm popping Ibuprofen to ward off the inevitable and trying to keep the alien in my chest under control.

   
Medals! Rob & Sweder