Running in a winter wonderland . . . or so the fairytale version would have it.
The reality this morning proved a little grittier, a devilish blend of the frozen and the slippery. Frost-kissed pathways laced with frozen puddles still firmly in the grip of Jadis. Aslans' breath had reached the east-facing trails where the ice duly turned to warm, sticky mud liberally splashed with mud-filled pools.
11 miles (17.5 k) of hills and dales swept the Saturday Christmas shopping cobwebs away. A late start (I confess, I rolled over after hurling the bleating mobile/ alarm across the bedroom) meant I missed my usual pre-run feast, a hastily scarfed banana and a half pint of water being all that time allowed.
I joined the Brighton group, around 10 well-wrapped souls, atop the marina.
Much to my chagrin I learned we'll not scale the Snake 'til January. Today's run, the 'New Famous Residences', involved three major climbs and several minor ones. I chugged along, mindful of my light fuel load, listening to the eager banter of several 'newbies'. After a brief stop at Saltdean we turned inland to climb Telscombe Tye, 1.2 kilometres of grassy, muddy hill. The view from the top of the Tye was spectacular, and I sneaked a couple of snaps (below). There's little to beat such a vista - distant hills swathed in silky mist, strong winters' sun blazed across the downland.
Along the ridge behind the village of Telscombe, past the gate leading to the North Face and some dear old friends from last winter. A sharp left at the third gate, the track leading to the foot of the Snake heading due west - but not for us today. I bit my lip and plunged down the rock-strewn slope towards the farm buildings and our second major ascent.
The hill from the farm up to the downs above Rottingdean is a killer. Easily as harsh as the North Face one cannot run the full climb without a walk break on the first time of asking. I managed about two thirds before my burning lungs demanded respite. Joss, a horribly fit and flexible young man, bounded Bambi-like all the way up, seeming to revel in the challenge. I muttered a terrible oath against youth and staggered on.
Across another ridge, this time headed south-west towards home base. Down the sticky trails into the village of Rottingdean, through said village, past the postcard perfect duck pond and into the allotments. Ah, the final climb - to the Windmill. It's only 300 metres but it might as well be 300 miles so steep is the gradient. Once again I huffed and puffed in Joss’s wake. Alongside the miniature golf course to St Dunstans', through the loose wire fence and then - oh joy - the 'Little House on the Prairie' moment as we hurtled down the close-cut slopes of the school towards the tunnel. Under the main road and onto the cliff tops for the last mile and a half.
I finished with Joss The Younger and his female companion in 1:45 ish. Steam rose from my heaving, sweat-drenched carcass as we stretched out above the marina, gasping our congratulations to one another before welcoming the second tranche of runners home.
A very satisfying run, one we'll repeat next Sunday.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
