Since Christmas Eve, the miles have been stacking up, and one thing that occurred to me this morning, is that I haven’t had to cut my toe nails for over a month. The constant pounding is grinding away the alpha-keratin and keeping my toes in a condition that a nail bar would be proud of. If they liked gnarly, slightly discoloured claws that is.
Last night was the monthly Herd pub run. As had to be explained to Mr Roper, this doesn’t mean we run to a pub, and then run back after a few ales, but rather we start and finish at a pub (and then have a few ales). This particular affair started at the John Harvey Tavern, opposite Harveys itself, and the end of the Moyleman. I was expecting a wee jaunt around town, but a group, including Radar, were planning to run the Caburn Massif. So without a torch, thus running close on the heels of Mary-Lou, we set off.
There is something strangely satisfying about running over the hills in the dark; more so, when you are running in someone else’s light. Outside the immediate pool of runners, the landscape was pitch black, apart from the occasional glimpse of Lewes behind us, and the snatched reflections of sheep’s eyes staring out of the abyss.
It was also cold, but conditions firm with a slight spring to the trails; much improved over the two days since we were last up here.
Having reached the top, we stopped for the obligatory photos, before setting off, downhill now, back to town. For all that Radar struggles on the up hills, she flies on the flat and descents. Knowing that if she got ahead I would be running in the dark, I had to knuckle in and keep pace.
More quickly that expected, the lights of the golf course appeared, signalling the plunge downwards back into town. And for the second time in two days, I could hear the echoes of the Moyleman crowd cheering us on to the finish.
Things are definitely improving in my running world. Eight miles over Caburn last night, and I can hardly feel it in my legs this morning. This is the last run now for a week and a half, as the Alps beckon. Tomorrow we set off to swap running for skiing. Now you’re talking!
