March Madness

[Sweder]

Ah, yes . . . err . . . that old chestnut.
Actually, I have broken the news, and it's gone down suprisingly well to be honest. The girls can't come - at least not for the race itself as Phoebe has a dance comp that day - but we may still make it a half weekend in Paris with me staying on for the run on the Sunday.

Mrs S says I've been much more chilled out this year and 'that's obviously because you haven't had the stress of training for a marathon.' You will deduce from this remark that I have not revealed exactly when the opportunity to run Paris came about :o I'm currently parked in the corner of the hotel bar in the Best Western PAX (accompanied by Grace Jones performing Slave to the Rythmn via the carefully secreted hotel speakers), one of Rotterdam's finest temporary residences. The wifi revolution has reached the lobby but has yet to make it to the rooms. I packed my new runners - they have just the Houston 10K under their belt so far, and I'm planning to run Paris in them - on the offchance I might slip the occasional 3 mile roadplod in during my few days here. Happily the rain is constant, so I'll feel right at home.

I nipped out for a gentle ten this afternoon before braving the VLM Puddlejumper from London City Airport, running with the hounds over the mist-shrouded shoulders of the downs to Ditchling and back. I've wanted to verify this particular distance for some time - early sorties were estimated, based on time spent running, at 8 miles, but the signpost at the turn suggested Lewes to be a full 5 miles hence. SP's Garmin announced the round trip at 10.3 miles, news which brought a self-satisfied grin to my rain-plastered chops.

Huge puddles of muddy filth lay in wait on the downland paths. Willow embraced each and every one like a long-lost friend; I took a more circumspect approach, taking great delight in skipping and hopping between them, my feet moving with a dexterity I'd not credited them with before. Quick feet - the second time in a week I've used that thought to negotiate downland obstacles. It seems to work for me, the mind-movie of a boxers' boots dancing and dazzling his opponent helping to generate the reponse in my own great plates. Running on the grass verge and soft mud was akin to loping across shagpile carpet, more than making up for the limited visibility and relentless dousing. Having spent the best part of last week with a bathroom strapped to my backside I was grateful to my battered body for providing a comfortable outing. This was always going to be the first of two Step-back Sundays, though I had rather hoped to join the Sunday Downlanders for a 12 mile Snake run today. I fear my delicate constitution would not have enjoyed what would almost certainly have been a competitive hammer up the Serpent's spine with El Rodge; far better to go for a lonely lope in the misty mountains where any unexpected calls of an urgent nature could be taken in relative privacy.

I took a couple of phonecam shots to be uploaded later - that is, when I've unpacked the 'phone to laptop lead.
For now I'm off to yet another new bed for some zeds before an un-naturally early assault on the Ahoy Centre, home this week to STOCEXPO, the international exhibition and conference for movers and handlers of aggregates and bulk cargo.
Oh no, there goes my will to live . . .