JANUARY 2005 - Back in Action

[Sweder]

Time: 15:45
Location: Brighton seafront/ Marina to Saltdean - clifftop loop
Distance: 10 k
Conditions: 40 mph (gusting to 60 mph) South Westerly gale, damp underfoot, mostly offroad
Run time: 01:03:00

The idea was to set off from Brighton Marina heading East at a gentle pace for 5k, turn and blast back as quickly as possible. The best laid plans of mice and men . . .

With a firm but manageable breeze at our backs 4 intrepid runners, including Jog Shop Sam and two people I'd not met before, set off with the sea to our right. The pace was extremely gentle, and we eased through the first couple of kilometres in comfort. I became slightly suspicious when the usual early run wobble didn't occur. The course is fairly hilly, yet even with a couple of steep climbs I was barely breaking a sweat.

Sam carries an old injury which inhibits his running style, and he dropped back a little on the out leg. One of the other chaps (Nigel I think) stayed with him. I glanced back to make sure they were still in touch when I realised that Nigel was running barefoot. Ian (the fourth member of our party) and I dropped back to meet up and I asked him 'why run bareback?'

It transpires Nigel has suffered some sort of appalling ligament injury that afflicts his metatarsals. He is not long out of surgery and, against medical advice, is running barefoot to 'keep his hand in' with 'minimal risk' of further damage. It occured to me that risking the implantation of broken glass laced with canine excrement might be considered slightly more than 'minimal risk', but I kept my council.

Once again Ian and I accelerated gently, and we struck up polite conversation. I informed Ian that I was just getting back into things after a prolonged lay-off after London 04. I think I offered this by way of apology for our modest pace, but I needn't have worried. It transpires that Nigel is a 3 hour marathon man who is carrying some rather unpleasant knee damage. He has regular surgery and is running in spite of constant pain and the possibility of permanent disablement.

At this point the guardian of my common sense started to bang loudly in my skull; you are running with a bunch of debilitated nutters, old boy. Think about it - the weather is building towards some sort of apocalyptic climax (the skies had darkened considerably and the 'breeze' was just starting to lift me off the ground on the clifftops) and the only people daft enough to be out running along the clifftops with you are all severly injured, running against medical advice and each in his own way several sarnies short of a picnic.

We arrived at Saltdean Lido (half way) and took a 2 minute rest.
I gazed out to sea and was slightly concerned to see a proliferation of white horses charging in with increasing gusto. A gust of wind flashed through us, rippling our windcheaters and making absolutely certain I'd need to get home to a hairbrush before visiting the pub. Nigel announced we'd competed 5k in 30 minutes. Really? That can't be right, we weren't even trying. Hmm, that breeze must've been stronger than I thought . . .

And so the homeward leg, or The Afternoon After Tomorrow as I will remember it.
What are those sticks that skiers use to propel themselves through the snow? We needed them now. We climbed up out of the Saltdean valley and as we broached the crown of the rise the true ferocity of the gale revealed its' ugly face. 'Bloody hell' I shouted, with all the impact of Marceau Marceau. My words, torn from my lips, thrashed back down the hill and into Saltdean.

Several seconds later, Ada Gutbucket, 77, emerged from the CoOp with her shopping trolly and was roundly assaulted by a disembodied 'bloody hell'.
'It came out of nowhere' said the shaken pensioner.

We battled on, Nigel sub-3, true to his word, fairing much better than the rest of us. 'I like running into the wind', Nigel had said. 'I have trouble with my breathing and somehow with the breeze into my face I find it easier'.
Well, complete bullshot or not he was now 200 yards ahead and moving easily away. And, to be fair, the breeze was certainly into his face now. I felt like Ellen Mcarthur; not ready to burst into tears at a moments notice (at least not yet), but in terms of struggling with my windcheater as she might a spinnacre rounding the Cape of Good Hope (or as I felt just now, the Cape of Bob Hope).

We fought on - and it was a fight; this had little to do with running.
Remember, this was to be 5K easy out and 5K hell-for-leather back. Well, we've got the hell and I'm not much for leather in these conditions. Finally the marina hove into view, and I relaxed a little, running easier and gathering pace on the final downward slope to the finish.

The return leg had taken just under 33 minutes - 3 minutes longer than the gentle jog out.
The Wild Man of Borneo would have struggled to get into our photo line-up as we gathered our strength and gazed at one another, faces nicely rouged, laced with seasalt, hair . . . lets not go there. Must get the barbers on Saturday tho.

Roll on Sunday morning, when the first leg of our run today will form the warm up for a 16k offroad hack. If the wind blows anything like it did today we'll have heaps of fun. Thanks for watching.