FEBRUARY 2005 - Week 1

[Sweder]

Time of day: 10:00 Hrs
Location: South downs, Lewes to Black Cap and return
Distance: 5 miles
Time: 44:36
Conditions: Cloudy, dry, cool breeze
Companions: 3 Hounds
Soundtrack: Planet Rock (Aerosmith, Oasis, Thin Lizzy, Rush, Meatloaf)

Guilt won out and I decided to hit the trail in my new Mizunos.
The first thing to note about off road boots is they are far less spongy than road runners. The soul is harder with little or no cavity (to prevent accumulation of mud/ cloven hoofed animal gifts/ general downland detritus) and initially I worried about extra impact on the ankles and knees.

I set off at a gentle pace. Mindful of Nigel’s wise words regarding poor runs following competitive halves, I determined not to expect too much this weekend. The boots felt good – solid on the loose ground, supportive with excellent grip. I pushed on past the stables, offering the Shearer salute to a couple of jockeys returning from morning gallops. The sheep are once again in the field at Black Cap, but this morning they’ve elected to camp on the far side. The dogs are more interested in potential bunny action in the woods to my right, and they streak across the springy turf, tails waving, in pursuit of imagined prey. I reach the summit in 23:44. 9.34 minute miles – not bad uphill, although what breeze there is has helped me on the ascent.

A brief rest and we’re off back down the slope. I haven’t noticed the boots for a while, which is an excellent sign that they’re spot on fit-wise. The dogs close ranks with me and form a Canine Convoy on the flint-strewn path. The image brings to mind my HGV training, and some words of wisdom imparted by my teacher.

My instructor was a gem of a man. Roy was a grizzled highway veteran, a hulking, wrinkled sage of the road. He had a unique style that included planning routes around the best transport cafes in the South East and the deployment of a rolled-up tabloid newspaper. The latter came to the fore when, relaxed and into my role as a budding Yorkie star, I'd rest my left hand on the gear shift, right hand still on the wheel, slipping into King of the Road mode . . . thwack!
‘Always keep 2 ‘ands on the wheel son. Always.’ Thwack!
This method proved highly effective. Today, some 15 years later, as my left hand drifts towards the gearshift in repose, that gravelled voice drifts up from my memory. I re-grab the wheel and straighten my posture, glancing nervously to my left. Sorry Roy.

Roy had a collection of sayings relative to guiding 38 tons of motorised metal through the busy streets of South London. On pulling away from a set of lights: Thwack! with the newspaper.
‘You just crushed that 5-year old kid.’
‘What 5 year-old kid?’
‘The one you didn’t see come up the inside on 'is bike. You didn’t re-check your pavement mirror’.
Harsh, but effective.

The phrase I recalled this morning as my convoy cruised through the stables and into the sheep field and the gentle down slope towards home related to Roy’s general philosophy on driving HGVs.

‘You gotta make progress’ he’d say. ‘That’s what it’s all about. Not speeding, not taking short-cuts. Making progress.’ What he meant is that whilst you have to take great care when in charge of such a potentially lethal weapon, it's your duty as a driver to reach your destination as efficiently as possible, without fuss, excess speed or elaboration.

And it’s this thought I take into the weekend.
I will make progress. I won’t record an impressive time, I won’t lead the pack to muddy glory. I will sit back and run efficiently, relax into the run, enjoy the scenery and chalk up 14 miles to conclude a restful week.

Next week? That’s a different matter.