We live in interesting times. As somebody posted on Twitter the other night: “The world looks grim today. The death of a women who wanted to make it better – and a sense that we are about to make a terrible historic mistake”. Factor in what is happening in the U.S.: Orlando and the rise of the idiot Trump and it’s all getting pretty depressing. I may shortly be booking tickets to a deserted Island somewhere. New Zealand for instance.
It has also been very, VERY quiet on here. Is no one running?
My running has been somewhat up and down (metaphorically as well as actually). It has also involved running on wheels – two wheels – yep, I’ve been out on my bike.
So where to begin.
I sent my bike in for a BIG and EXPENSIVE service. So back a week on Monday I went out riding with the Porter the Gladiator. The last time I went riding with Porter he was a mountain biking newbie and I bossed him over the trails and through the woods. Two years later and he’s become the boss. Fortunately, he had some mechanical problems which slowed him down and meant we had to stop periodically whilst he put his chain back where it was meant to be. It was the only reason I kept up. 18 miles of Downland shenanigans and racing through woodland single track was a good way to re-boot my biking cherry once again.
There have been quite a few runs as well, but two particularly stand out.
The first was a week last Tuesday. Herd running was cancelled due to some sort of race taking place elsewhere, so I put a call out on Twitter for volunteers to join me for a jaunt to Caburn and amazingly BGG and River Man Rob decided to put in an appearance. So at 8pm we met at the bottom of Chapel Hill and started to the long ascent to the top of our local mountain. The weather has hot… DAMNED HOT… and humid… REALLY HUMID. And there was lightening striking the hills all around with the rumble of thunder shaking the very trails we were running. And no, this was not Sweder’s constitution for a pleasant change.
A gruelling climb to the top was rewarded with the most amazing stormy views back across Lewes and to the hills beyond. Absolutely beautiful. After a good 15 minutes admiring the view (aka recovering from the ascent) we set off to along the ridge through fields of sheep (and sheep poo). It was along the ridge when I become aware of someone running towards us, shouting. For a moment I thought it was an irate farmer, but having been an irate famer myself some years ago, I soon realised that it wasn’t. It turned out to be a lost runner who was pleading to know the way back to Lewes… I invited him to join us – he visibly relaxed and dropped into our pack. He was a reasonable runner which gave me the incentive to up my pace a little. The run back down the hill was fabulous… with our new friend on my heels I hit a new personal best in terms of pace. At the golf club we waited for the other two to catch up before setting off down Chapel Hill. With the smell of beer in his nostrils, the big man reminded us what he is capable off and set one hell of a pace down the hill… a pace that I could barely keep up with. He kept it up all the way to the pub, where it took four pints of their finest ale for us to properly re-hydrate.
Picture thanks to Sweder
The second run took place this last Friday. Again with a running urge to satisfy I put out a call for the usual victims to join me. The usual plethora of excuses came bouncing back – working away, stuck on a train, beer festival, etc., but Mary-Louise answered the call and agreed to join me.
Mary-Louise, runs with the Herd and has been known to run the Twittens. We set off heading for the Kingston tops and the Valley of Death. It was a glorious run. Skylarks sang, the hills relented with ease to our pounding feet (I exaggerate a little), the valley bottom passed like velvet between our toes (well you get the picture); and Mary-Louise chatted away – she can chat.
It was when we were climbing up the last decent hill of the evening that she mentioned that the longest run she’d ever done was 7 miles. “Blimey” I said, “you’re going to beat that this evening”. And sure enough as we crossed the finish line we had done 7.3 miles (which was 8.3 for Mary Louise – given she ran to the start line and back). But what made it really great was the June weather. Halfway around and the heavens opened with torrential rain. I love running in the rain and through the middle of puddles. Usually though, it is in the depths of winter. Doing this in the ‘relative’ warmth of June was just great. The only difficulty was explaining to my new running friend, why my shorts were foaming!
June, so full of promise
