Rocktober 2013

[Sweder]

Getting back on the horse this Sunday proved a chastening affair. Teaming up with fellow Moyleman conspirator Rob, I set out to map that tricky section between Firle and Glynde. The first mile and a half was a straight slog up the face of Firle Bostal. At the summit my lungs felt like moth-eaten teabags, incapable of drawing in the oxygen my flagging muscles craved. Rob appeared similarly stressed, yet from that point on he seemed to draw energy from the turf.

We bounce along the ridge, chirruping away about our plans for the race. We passed the point where a few weeks back I'd gone off-piste. A mere 200 metres on lay the turn down to Bo Peep farm. I'd been so close. We passed Charleston Farmhouse, home to the Bloomsbury Set. I'm hoping Mr Read will craft a historical guide to the Moyleman circuit.

Following the trail beneath the downs, Rob gleefully leaping miniature lakes lurking in the pot-holes, we zig-zagged around an idyllic cottage before entering the Firle Estate. Firle House loomed to our left, splendid, in every way a stately home. By the time we returned to Glynde I felt all in. Mount Doom reared above us. How on Earth I would scale that after 22 miles of this next Spring? Ah well.

I drove back to Lewes, gutted to feel so shattered after a mere nine miles. By the time the town came into view I'd decided to add a few hills. I parked up at the golf course and took the trail back towards Glyndebourne, dropping down into the valley before dragging myself back up on a 2.7 mile loop. Now I was properly done in, but I felt I'd won a small victory by adding those last hard yards.