With a number of the crazy fools in Almeria, I was determined to do at least thirteen miles this morning to accompany them in spirit, if not in person. Radar, who is winding up the miles ahead of the Moyleman had a 16-17 miler in mind…. So I decided to join her (and Rachel) with the option to turn off at various points to shorten the route home.
At 7:30 this morning we trotted down Cliffe High street and onto South Street to find the east bank of the Ouse (it’s much dryer than the west side). A four mile easy run down the river took us to the start of the Moyleman second half. From here its five tough miles of up-hill, starting with the infamous Itford Hill.
As a pleasant change to my usual running style, there was a little spring in my step as the sun rose, and before I knew it we had reached Bo-Peep, which meant I was now committed to doing the full distance.
Bo-Peep means tarmac; about a mile of steep, hard on the knees, hard-top... plunging downhill, before a sharp left slingshots you onto the coach road, which is long, gravelly and wet (big, big puddles). Through the switch-backs around Firle, and over the road into Glynde landed us at the foot of Caburn. The conditions here were treacherous… the footpath mullered by radish eating sheep, made the climb very challenging. As we launched down into the valley, the old calf muscles started to pop, but as the rollercoaster slung us back up hill, they started to behave again, pushing hard to meet the golf course.
From here it was down Chapel Hill back onto Cliffe High Street, where the imagination kicked in… the crowd roared as I sprinted up the street, round the sharp corner towards the brewery, and across the line in record time. As the dust settled, a little old lady pulling her shopping trolley gave me a funny look, popping my bubble, leaving me feeling a little bit silly standing on my lonesome at the closed gates of Harveys yard. Seventeen miles on the nose.
