August

[Sweder]

Following Friday's run I've had a bit of a 'mare.
The 'slight swelling' on the right side of my face has developed into a full-blown Phantom on the Opera, half-man, half-Puffafish deal overnight.

To run or not to run?
Apart from the bizarre facial inflation I felt OK. Would a long-ish run exacerbate, alleviate or have no affect on my swollen chops? Only one way to find out . . .

A small but intrepid band assembled above the Marina at 09:00.
A few gentle comments about my appearance as Harvey Dent* and we were away, loping easily into the east along the cliff tops. A kind and gentle breeze cooled our early efforts as the sun crawled into a hazy, partly cloudy sky. I felt good over the opening three miles; the very slight stiffness in my right leg eased as the miles brushed by. I'd told Chris that I might 'limit my run to the the Wire' - an 8 mile straight out and back loop along the cliff tops - a decision I'd take before the turn inland at Telscombe. When the time came I felt good so I carried on. However, half way up Telscombe Tye I struggled with the modest pace, battling on manfully for a quarter mile until announcing my retirement.

Chris and Ade both counselled a rest and then offered to slow the pace to allow me to at least keep going until the next natural short-cut, off to the Famous Residences. Ade was running that route anyway and would accompany me back to the Marina. I was touched by this comradeship. Running is a solitary pursuit. OK, we run in groups, make friends, chat easily about this and that . . . yet we each have our own goals, and where a runner has a target in mind they are usually fairly singular in their pursuit.

We loped on and sure enough I did feel better at a more leisurely 'speed'. The temperature rose with the sun, clouds occasionally parting to allow the full force of the rays to burn our backs. I made good use of the numerous gates and styles, taking on fluids and resting at each point. At the turn off point we bid farewell to Ade. Chris was happy to maintain a gentle speed to the finish (he’s nursing a sore ankle) so we head for the heart of the downs and my old friend The Snake.

The old serpent lay in wait, winding inexorably up her two-mile path. The trail was rock hard and peppered with alarmingly large holes leading to badger-dwellings; one or two looked wide enough to walk into; they were certainly not to be messed with and we afforded them a wide berth. Onto the Snake proper we were hailed by a descending runner. It was Kadir, our companion from Paris, grinning like a loon, waving water bottles in the air, accompanied by a slightly bemused woman.

‘Hey boys!!! Nosh nosh, keep going! Have some water!’
Kadir’s chirpy disposition can lead one to dark, murderous thoughts at times.
Our mentor was marshalling a Women’s race – the Trailblazer. This starts from the top of the Snake, heads off into Death Valley and loops around to finish on a brutal ‘dash’ up the Serpent. Chris pushed on, apparently in danger of stalling at my appallingly slow gait. I loped on up the winding track, determined to get as far as possible without a break. Once more my heart-rate rose and I started to suffer. This confirmed to me that the ‘bite’ suffered on Friday was something a little more serious and I’d have to seek medical attention first thing Monday. I completed the climb, stopping once to take on fluid at the three-quarter mark.

Chris waited at the top of the Snake, fully recovered by the time I chugged in. We spotted the Trailblazer starters’ tent and loped across to take advantage of cool water re-fills. Cam, Chris’s sister, and Clare, one of our winter Sunday regulars, were warming up. Our timing proved impeccable, with only five minutes to go before the start. We happily testified (to anyone prepared to listen) to the heat in the sheltered valleys on the 5.8 mile circuit. A group of boyfriends, husbands, children and friends gathered for the off, signalled via (Jog Shop) Alex’s air-horn.

Chris reckoned that if we took the direct route ‘home’, around 2.5 miles from this point straight across the racecourse, we’d have time to grab a cuppa in the café and be back for the finish. The last couple of miles were steady Eddie for me, Chris bounding ahead down the scorched, tatty rough and into a vast camp site. I followed some way behind, noting a sort of ‘parade square’ set amidst around two hundred tents. A young chap was busily clearing up plastic bottles as I heaved my weary bones past.

‘What’s all this in aid of then?’
‘Eh?’
‘What’s with the big camp site?’
‘Oh, it’s a gay campsite – we're here for PRIDE’

PRIDE is a large gathering of the Lesbian, Gay and Trangendered community, featuring parades, gigs, theatre productions and a fair amount of clubbing and ingestion of recreational enhancers. As it was we’d stumbled (literally in my case) across the overnight accommodation for some of the attendees. I was at this precise moment the only straight in the village.

Something around twelve miles in two hours twenty or so – miles banked, probably unwisely.
It’s off to the Quack’s first thing Monday to get the verdict on my bloated fizzog.

[SIZE="1"]* Two-Face from Batman[/SIZE]