January

[Sweder]

I love this time of year. Our Lady of Winter swished her skirts to flash a hint of the chill to come. Starlings launched in mighty swirls, swooping and rising in a beautiful ballet above the pallid wheat fields. The ocean roared, violent waves hammering the shoreline, white horses cavorting as far as the eye could see. Ugly gulls wheeled and screeched in twisting thermals along the cliffs’ edge. Battling runs across bleak, exposed landscapes, testing the mettle of mortal men; this is why we rise at dawn on a Sunday.

One or two newbies failed to show this morning, no doubt traumatised by their first visit to Telscombe Tye and the Famous Residences last week. I talked to two brave souls (June and Sue) who’d returned, worried yet determined to have another go. I assured them that today would be marginally less painful than last week, and so it will go until they’re bounding out nasty twenty-milers and wondering what all the fuss was about. They smiled politely, the look in their eyes betraying their belief that I was off my trolley. They’ll see.

The usual suspects formed familiar ranks, Sarah and Chris joining Paul and I to retrace our steps over the fifteen mile loop. Paul The Goat and Steve left all for dead, bounding effortlessly into the distance. Glen too, a cumbersome pack strapped to his back. A double-loop for Glen today, two laps of the Snake circuit (around 23 miles). A few short weeks hence the shifting sands of the Marathon des Sables await.

The Snake enlisted the wind as an ally, forcing us to fight hard for the summit. The two mile climb proved a tad more challenging, the pale sun unable to suck up last weeks’ rain leaving a tricky blend of tacky mud and outright slop. Slippery People by Talking Heads played in my head as we slid about, seeking respite on the sparse clumps of grass. The new boots performed well. My only complaint they were marginally less stable than the climacools but hey, I’m not about to admit parity with my favourite downland Hall of Famers. They came into their own as we reached the hard road into Rottingdean. This time there was no sign of the debilitating stitch as I bounded eagerly alongside Chris and Sarah, thundering out of the hills and into the sleepy village. Even Windmill Hill seemed a smidgeon less brutal, though the final two miles home, into the teeth of a persistent, strengthening wind, drained the life from my rapidly leadening legs.

Chris had opened a fifty metre gap on us as we left St Dunstans to join the cliff top path. I gritted my teeth and dug in, trying to reel him in. But as with the Trawlermen in the excellent BBC series hauling in a catch exacts a heavy toll. For every few yards I closed on Chris, resplendent in bright yellow New Balance rock-huggers and alarmingly fetching purple tights, I felt another layer of resolve ripped from my body, swept over the cliff edge to an untimely end on the battered rocks below. I caught up barely a hundred yards from the finish, staggering alongside, breath rattling in my burning throat, eyes distended; a picture of health!
Fifteen miles in a shade under two hours twenty; good work in tough conditions.

More ponderings on Cape Town strategies over pale instant coffee at Macs’. To gel or not to gel, carrying food, water, stopping, walking . . . at least I feel a little less anxious now thanks to Ed Brickell’s excellent advice. If there’s one thing everyone should do before tackling their first Ultra (or Marathon, or Half come to that) it’s consult with those who’ve been there, done that. Ed’s pointers are succinct, do-able and far from daunting. Thanks again Ed.

By the time I got home I realised I’d failed to stretch anywhere near enough, so I harnessed the dogs, climbed into my wellies and set off across the local hills for an hour. Back at home I went through my usual routine, gurning madly as I squeezed the lactic acid out of my legs. I took a call from Sue, one of the girls I’d spoken with before the run today. Sure enough it had been hard going but it was slightly less crushing than last week and they’re looking forward to next Sunday already. Good on yer, ladies.

Almeria next week
No thoughts of times – this is a ‘step back’ week in my training schedule. I’ll give it a right old go of course but to be honest it’s the craic I’m hungry for.
That and the Guinness