May . . . the farce be with you . . .

[Sweder]

Popped out this morning for a more sedate 5-miler over the hills.
The euphoria of Tuesday long past I expected this to be tougher and so it proved. I stopped to rest a few times, enjoying the sunlit vista to the south, the snout-nosed silhouette of Seaford Head, the shimmering sea between Seaford and Newhaven, the dark hills of the Sunday run rising above me, a green tsunami frozen in time.

The hounds seemed to sense my casual mood, running easily around me with no real urgency, happy to be out in the early sunshine. A lone horseman rode the crest of Blackcap as we reached the beacon and I pondered turning back, as much to save my labouring legs as to avoid canine/ equine conflict. But I need to build the mileage just now, and to shorten a run without good reason can be as addictive as a hi-ball before breakfast,* so on I plod.

I finished in a shade shy of an hour, hot, tired, sweat-soaked with aching legs but pleased to have ‘got out there’ and banked a few miles. There’s a longer run in prospect this Sunday when the Jog Shop Joggers are planning a visit to the Famous Residences, somewhere close to ten very hilly miles and not one of my preferred routes. Should be interesting.

[SIZE="1"]* hi-jacked from a quote from Sam Snead, golfing legend, where he referred to ‘quitting between tee and green’.[/SIZE]