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RE: What next eh?
Eleven miles into the run this morning, I started to hallucinate about a roast dinner. Yorkshire puddings the size of saucepans, the beef red and bloody in the middle, roast potatoes as crisp as your granny’s bed linen. Perhaps a large glass of red to compliment the gravy and to wash down the vegies.
Then another gust of wind blew a flurry of snow over us, and suddenly I was back, running down Itford Hill heading towards the river, where I knew we’d have to turn north to wind it in back to town. It was a shock… a big shock.
I could however, take solace from the fact that Radar was still chatting away. Helping me to forget that my bare legs were starting to hurt from the cold, and my hat was becoming heavier as it absorbed the endless mix of rain and snow. We passed a couple of walkers dressed as for the artic. I’m sure they muttered something un-printable as I lumbered past.
This was a Moyleman route checking run. There is a section which always worries me, and I wanted to check it. So contrarily, we set off from the finish and ran backwards over Caburn, Glynde, through the switchbacks to Firle, but then to keep the distance to a planned (and promised) thirteen miles, we turned upwards at Firle, leaving the Coach Road for another day, and plodded our way to the top. The plan being to dump some of the Moyleman miles, to give us the distance to run back home from Southease along the river.
A gentle buzz of my watch at Southease harboured the news I feared. We were already at twelve miles, with four left to go. I kept quiet, smiled a warm loving smile at Radar, suggested we had a couple of jelly babies, and kept going. As she was mumbling about not getting the distance in this morning, I thought I would get away with it.
Me and rivers don’t get on. I don’t know why, but I always find them particularly tough. I’d much prefer a hill then running along a river bank. However, a reasonable pace was set, and we started the long-haul home. Then my watch whispered that we’d just tripped thirteen miles. In my ‘excitement’ I mentioned it to my esteemed friend, who had at this point resorted to playing a running playlist to keep her legs moving along (or to drown out my endless agricultural, and birdlife facts).
Then the brain pixies set in… having run the thirteen, my body decided it was time to finish. I went from a nice little trot, to a complete bonk in terms of energy. Ok, I admit, I hadn’t eaten this morning, so last night’s carb loading (beer and fajitas) were going to run out at some point, it was just the speed that they ran out that surprised me.
For the first time this morning, I dropped in behind Radar, who fed me jelly babies and encouragement, dragging my sorry arse home. As I collapsed on the doorstep, I breathed a sigh of relief and reflected how we’d managed to run sixteen point two miles, instead of the thirteen planned.
It was a marvellous jaunt though.
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