January

[Sweder]

More muddy mayhem in the Sussex hills this morning.
The meeting point was littered with lycra-clad running folk, around thirty-five hardy souls ready to do battle with the elements. Brookes, the running shoe and equipment manufacturer, has cut a deal to sponsor a range of adverts on Runners World and in the running press to highlight the excellence of Sam & Tony’s Sunday clinics. I couldn’t be more pleased for Sam – this should result in increased business for The Jog Shop, plus it makes it more fun trying to shepherd the additional mixed bag of runners on display.

We set off into the east like a great multi-coloured home-made scarf stretched along the cliff tops. Sam and Tony, replete in their shiny new Brookes jim-jams, paraded up and down the column, slowing the front-runners and encouraging the stragglers. I expressed my disappointment at Tony’s new attire.
‘Can’t call you Lycra Tony anymore’ I wailed.
He grinned and hitched up his trackie bottoms to reveal a set of shocking purple and yellow paisley leggings.
‘Still got ‘em on!’

Sam asked a few of us veterans (ha!) to take the time to chat to the newbies. I remember hearing tales of running adventures during my early off-road sorties and they did inspire me, especially when, as with some of today’s recruits, the going is on the tough side. I chatted to a young lady embarking on her first FLM. She was worried about diet, number of runs in the week, mileage . . . the list was long, but luckily she had chanced upon a paragon of running virtues. I told her all about the restorative powers of Guinness, how taking on pints into double figures a few days before a long run can actually help your training, and to do as little as possible to avoid injuries. She turned slightly pale and drifted back into the pack at this point, so I waved a cheery farewell and caught up with my usual band of brothers.

Chris and Rog were out today, my Cape Town comrades piling on the miles. We talked race planning and came up with a fairly coherent schedule for the weeks and months ahead. This includes the Steyning Stinger in early March to be followed by a Jog Shop Jog plus second Snake to deliver a brutal 27 miler, and a possible run to Shoreham and back finishing off with, yes another Serpent. For today we took on a thirteen mile loop. The early miles flew by as a fierce westerly shoved us through Saltdean and up Telscombe Tye in record time. Turning into the wind along the downland ridge we could appreciate the ferocious velocity; my hair was a right mess. Just ahead of us Paul the Goat, Steve and Dave (another Cape Town disciple) forged through the quagmire of rutted mud and deep pools of icy filth. Joining our merry band was Glen (Marathon of Britain veteran and soon to be conqueror of the fearsome Marathon des Sables) and Sarah who ran with us last year before her assault on the Great Wall Marathon in Beijing.

The Snake offered little better footing than last week and we slipped and slid our way through the early twists and turns with increasing frustration. Much to the Serpent’s displeasure the howling wind helped us through the second stage, hammering at our backs as we skipped Ronaldo-like from grass clump to dry patch. As the hill climb turned again the wind dropped only to reappear a few minutes later as a new and powerful hazard, blasting into our faces. I felt like an Essex housewife on sales day at Lakeside – desperate for any kind of purchase. Heads down we fought on, reaching the summit to puff, pant, suck air and sup water in recovery.

The final few miles were all into the wind, the treacherous path through Woodingdean to the Racecourse claiming Sarah as a victim. Rog sploshed his way through the puddles of thick mud like an overweight Basilisk, spraying brown water to all points. Sarah and I were tip-toeing as fast as we could along a thin band of thick grass alongside a barbed wire fence when Sarah’s landing foot took a nasty turn, flinging her into the fence and bouncing her into my path. I reached out to grab both the fence and her arm as she fell (though she’s already landed in the mud by now) and got a few holes in my gloves for my troubles. Happily Sarah is carved from some serious granite-like substance and bounced up without complaint. The last mile and a half through East Brighton Park, where redoubtable pub footballers hacked and slashed at an improbably elusive football in a ploughed field, was a lesson in balance under duress. The icy wind sliced up from the seafront as we danced our way along slimy trails, arms outstretched like hi-speed tightrope walkers, barely in control as we hurtled to our journey's end.

According to Sarah's Polar watch we completed the course - an estimated 13 miles - in 1 hour 56 (excludes a five minute re-group at Saltdean). It felt like a quick one whilst we were out there and it was, around ten minutes faster than last week.

Chris, Rog and I continued our preview of the weeks ahead over hot coffee and toast at Mac’s café. There’s a lot of work to be done, and I suspect not too much of it will be more challenging – or fun – than this.