When September ends . . . again . . .

[Sweder]

I read a piece in The Times this week comparing current Government missives with an episode of Seinfeld. The American sitcom takes themes and runs them cleverly through each show, weaving them seamlessly with the characters' lives. One such was Yada yada yada, the lazy, uniquely American Ism tagged onto the end of a story or sentence to indicate the passing of time or inconsequential happenings.

The writer referred to a Seinfeld episode where George became increasing frustrated with a potential girlfriend's habitual use of the phrase. Pressed about his last significant relationship, tragically ended when he procured some impossibly cheap, fatally toxic envelopes for their wedding invitations, George invokes the phrase to avoid the potentially deal-breaking detail.

‘We had the wedding planned, the invites printed, the honeymoon picked out,
yada yada yada . . . and I’m still single.’

Well, I woke up this morning, hooked up with the usual suspects down at the Marina on a muggy, overcast morning and yada, yada, yada . . . I banked eighteen tough, hilly miles.

Oh alright, there was a little more to it, but I’m feeling lazy, I'm a little tired and I have to pack. I spent most of the morning watching the speedy trio of Micheal, Paul and Steve pull away as Chris and I fought the ‘stop and rest’ demons. We changed the route to reflect the early phase of the Jog Shop Jog, dropping down to sea level at Saltdean, running through the tunnel under the main road and into Telscombe village. Whilst this meant a weekend off from the long hard slog up the Tye we faced an equally tough climb out of the village and onto the Downs proper.

As we entered the cattle fields leading to the North Face a formidable beast stood astride the muddy path. This creature, as solid as I’ve seen in these parts, lacked the usual array of teats and sported a natty piece of bony headwear.
‘Err . . . is that a Bull?’
‘Yep’
‘Shit’
None of us wore red, but just now that particular urban myth lacked creditability. The bull eyed us directly, chewing slowly, purposefully, no doubt savouring the regurgitated breakfast as it pondered our presence. We bunched up, five as one, and picked up the pace. For the first time this morning I stopped inwardly moaning about trying to keep up with the quickies and stepped on the gas.

With Bull and YBR safely behind us we opted for the first ‘V’ of the Big W then a cut back and down into Death Valley to take on the Snake. The long and winding trail sucked the life out of my legs so I throttled back, happy to chug gently to the top. I thought carefully about what this is teaching me. There’s no doubt I am, compared to my fitter, stronger companions, severely under-prepared for these Sunday sessions; yet I feel my way of coping, learning to hang back, taking it easy whilst others race on, is all good mental preparation for the Two Oceans. I pulled alongside the parked cars some two hours forty after the start and several minutes after the others, bending to hug my knees and suck in lungfuls of air as my sweat splash into the dirt. The ‘well done’ offered by Paul was well meant and accepted with a grin/ grimace; despite his vastly superior fitness he recognised the effort I’d put in. We all agreed it’d been a bastard today; muggy early on, the barest whisper of a breeze even on the cliff tops, then just plain hot as the sun burned the mist away to shine on our battle across the windless, heartless hills.

A chaotic travel schedule offers limited opportunities in the weeks ahead. I hope to squeeze in a mid-week repeat of this run between shows, perhaps on the 27th; otherwise its time to dust off the road-shoes and steal a few concrete miles on the streets of Shenzhen and Moscow.

The Jog Shop Jog awaits, less than a month away.