Seaford Half Marathon - 5th June 2005

[Sweder]

Time of day: 09:00
Location: Brighton to Saltdean clifftop round trip
Distance: 8 miles (12k)
Duration: 01:08:55
Conditions: Sunny, light breeze, damp underfoot

I’d arranged to meet SP for a post FLM plod along the cliffs, but a belated call late on Saturday indicated that Mr Plodder might have invested a little too heavily in moonshine to make the early morning rendezvous.

The Sunday group chatter post London had been about taking a couple of weeks off, so it was little surprise I found myself alone above Brighton Marina this Sunday morning. The drive across the downs had been shrouded in fog, the heavy mist cloaking my old hunting grounds. As I approached the seafront the skies cleared and the first signs of a lovely spring day formed above the shore.

Despite my ‘solo’ midweek sessions I prefer companionship on runs. This morning I took Williow, our yearling Cocker Spaniel, on what was to prove an interesting and educational journey. I had concerns about the twin perils of dual carriageway and cliff-edge that would accompany us out and back along this four-mile stretch. There was no way I could bring the long dogs on this run – first sniff of a rabbit and all reason departs with the speed of a whippet in full flight, and it’s all pile-ups and nasty smears on the tarmac from there on in. I had reason to expect better from Willow, yet I knew this would be a test for both of us.

Willow, an endless source of energy and inquisition, appeared hell bent on testing my nerve for the first two miles, darting from roadside bush to cliff-top fence as I loped along. The option of keeping her on a lead was a last resort – I wanted us both to enjoy the liberty of running un-tethered this morning. The idea of being pulled from pillar to post over 8 undulating miles was about as appealing as the prospect of Willow spending an hour choking against the lead in a perpetual bid for freedom. So I sucked up the stress and, with regular, alternating cries of ‘NO!’ and ‘good girl . . .’ we traversed the springy cliff-top turf, the sparkling sea to our right, hazy hills to the left.

This route is basically the good Good Friday Friday run. Despite the threat of imminent canine peril my running was relaxed, comfortable; no times to beat today, no fellow runners to keep up with, just a fabulous, warm day to enjoy. We reached the turn in a little under 36 minutes, comfortable pace for both, having developed a basic understanding; I wouldn’t shout like a hysterical loon, and she wouldn’t dice with death at regular intervals. A brief stop at the Wire to appreciate the sea view (and cool down a touch; it had become quite warm by now) and we set off for home.

Occasionally runners exchanged Shearers as we strode West, the quickening, cooling breeze nudging my right shoulder. Willow maintained a steady pace, albeit in her unique, rag-doll style, pre-Raphaelite ears flopping comically as she bounced along. I settled into a smooth rhythm, performing regular systems checks as I ran. Groin comfortable, hips OK, knees a little sore, hamstrings could use a stretch, shins and ankles quiet. It seems the six days’ rest had allowed my nanobots to get a lot of work done on the traumatised muscles and ligaments battered on the hard London streets last weekend.

The marina hove into view, white yacht sails gleaming in the bright sunshine, steel and glass structures winking reflective semaphore to the circling gulls. I’d started the gentle descent from Roedean café when I realised I’d not seen Willow weaving in front of me for a while. I glanced to my right, and there she was, belly flat to the ground, ears pinned back breaking the Spaniel sound barrier . . . in the nearside lane of the dual carriageway.

Cue hysteria. Images of mashed pulp covered in sticky black hair sprang to mind – and that’ just what I’d look like after Missus S got hold of me if anything happened to her dog. Happily Willow elected to rejoin me on the grass before my heart blocked my windpipe, and we finished together, panting, wild-eyed and very, very hot.

On arrival home Mrs S asked how it had gone.
‘Oh, you know, fine’.
‘No problems with Willow?’
‘Not really – a bit lax on the road sense, but otherwise OK’.

Little white lies, perhaps, but a lesson well learned.
Next time I’ll pester SP a little harder – he’s a lot less trouble.