Time of day: 11:15 Hrs
Location: South Downs (Black Cap, Falmer, Lewes)
Conditions: Sunny, still, warm
Muddy in places
Distance: 8 miles (estimated)
Run time: 01:22:26
Soundtrack: Talksport Talk At The Test: 4th Test from Johannesburg
Companions: Gypsy, Tess, Willow
I had always intended taking the morning off to run to Black Cap, but two things confirmed the decision. Firstly Phoebe, my daughter, woke up looking like an extra from the Sixth Sense and was obviously staying home from school. Secondly, this is by far the most beautiful day of 2005, and I simply had to get out and enjoy it.
I worked through the early part of the morning, keeping an eye (actually an ear) on Phoebe. Thankfully her sickness did not prevent her from eating - a major problem for insulin dependant diabetics - and she wolfed down a good breakfast and mid-morning snack. I scheduled my run between snack and lunch and arranged for Granny to pop 'round for an hour to cover.
Having dressed for running from first thing I received constant badgering from the three hounds. Somehow they knew I intended to take them today - I don't often, as my evening runs are road based and not suitable for inquisitive, cat-chasing cannines.
We set off into an immediate mile long uphill climb. I could see the bridle path was going to be pretty boggy so we ran through the vacant sheep field up towards the racing stables and on up to Black Cap. The views today were breath-taking; South West I could see the Brighton/ Shoreham skyline and the hazy ocean beyond; South East the crest of Seaford Head, preamble to the Seven Sisters, rose from the misty foothills. To the North, from East to West I could scan the Weald, up past Hever Castle all the way to the hills adjacent to the M25. Simply stunning, and in places very Tolkein, in a Peter Jackson stylee.
Feeling good and not wanting to miss anything I elected to push on towards Ditchling. As we approached the point where the National Trust trail divides I noticed a couple on horseback plodding steadily off to the right. To prevent the dogs causing havoc with the horses and so ruin their peaceful morning I turned left, assuming I could loop around the adjacent sheep fields at some point and return to the foot of Black Cap a couple of miles later.
I am reminded at this point of the early part of Thomas Harris's novel, Silence of the Lambs. Jack Crawford (FBI) is speaking with student Clarice Starling, making conversation before revealing her daunting task. Starling is reminded of one of Crawfords' early lectures, where he used the cliched example of the word 'assume'.
'Never assume. You will only make an ASS out of U and ME', he'd said.
Well, I made a complete ass out of myself this morning. Not only did the left hand path degenerate into a quagmire some 500 yards on (I accrued an impressive number of thick 'booties' despite my best efforts to pick gingerly through the sludge) I soon realised my 'loop' assumption was ill-founded. This path continued, unbroken, to the horizon. I was probably only a couple of miles from Falmer, where I could return to Lewes along the A27, but the company of dogs ruled this out as an option. I plodded on, perhaps for a mile or so, and accepted the inevitable; I could either cut through the occupied sheep fields to my left with three excitable dogs . . . or I could turn back. Quagmire or not, this was a no-brainer. Explaining how I'd managed to get our beloved pets shot for sheep-worrying to Mrs Sweder was not on the agenda. Back it was then.
I should tell you at this point how things were going in the cricket. Before I left the house, England had won the toss, elected to bat and lost Marcus Trescothick. Robert Key, a man who seems to know what a knife and fork is for, joined Andrew Strauss and survived through to Lunch. I started my run as the two came out to bat, and settled into an easy rythmn as Mike Atherton, former opening stalwart and many-time saviour of England, described the action via my portable DAB radio. Strauss is in imperious form; his bat appears to be 3 feet wide, and he wields it with the authority and confidence of a man born to play test match cricket. Pollock, by far the most impressive of the South African bowlers, plugged away without reward, unlucky not to have Strauss trapped LBW on 70.
Key, playing for his place in the absence of the injured Butcher, played conservatively, nervously prodding and poking about at the crease, as if his form was somewhere just beneath the crusty surface of the wicket. Strauss kicked on. As we bounded down the sunlit hillside of Black Cap towards the stables, he began to open his shoulders and treat the Jo'burg crowd to some lofty hitting. One Nicky Boyer delivery was met half-way down the pitch and planted into row 12. I hoped this fine young batsman would reach his hundred as we neared the end of our journey, but sensibly he resisted the temptation to complete a perfect morning for the slightly podgy, mud-splattered listener crossing the Downs into Lewes and played each delivery on its merits.
Finally, sadly, our wonderful run came to a close. The dogs were as happy as I (if I had a tail I'd've been wagging it furiously at this point) and we crashed through the back door, making for our respective water bowls.
I figured 1 hour 22 (82 minutes) approximate 10 minute miles . . . we'll call it 8 miles. I will get SP out on this run one day to verify or correct these estimates. But as Glaconman remarked in his excellent introduction, we need not be quite so obsessed with times and distance. At least, not on a day like today.
Strauss reached his 5th test hundred as I made cheese and pickle sandwiches for Phoebe. As I write, an hour after my run, he's still there on 120, with Rob Key nurdling his way to 82. In the words of Ritchie Beneaud, 'What a fine days' play it's been out there today . . .'
JANUARY 2005 - Back in Action
