March Or Die

[Sweder]

... I have a run to report!
Yes, yes, mock shock-horror, cue exaggerated eye-rolling and sharp intakes of breath.
Thanks to the wonderful LadyRunner I have been shamed from my unseasonal hibernation; I have, to mix metaphors in an ugly 70's bedroom wallpaper style, climbed back on the horse.

My only grumble is the breed of the nag I threw my well-rested leg over this morning. I'd hoped for a retired 'Seaside Dobbin' affair, a steady clippety-clop around Stanmer Park trailing in the wake of a fatigued, post-20k saturday session LadyRunner. But no ... We set off from the car park just down from Stanmer House in strong spring sunshine, a cool breeze dancing around our ankles, chugging easily up the road towards the hamlet at the top of the park. I ended up clinging to the greasy mane of a sweat-flecked three-day-eventer.

'Where'd you like to go then' beamed Jules, no doubt pleased with herself for getting Sweder off his steadily expanding backside. I umm'd and aarr'd, unsure of the right response. I opted for 'polite'.
'Oh I don't mind. Something nice and easy. I'll probably have that back-to-running 'honeymoon' energy. It's up to you Jules; you're the one with tired legs. Lead on.'

My dear old Nan used to say 'manners maketh man, not the clothes he wears.' I took this on board in my youth, the occasional solid ear-clip reminding me to show due deference to my elders and betters. Politeness and gentlemanly behaviour can get you a long way in life and so it proved today. All the way in fact to Ditchling bloody Beacon, the highest point in Sussex. Half an hour after leaving the serenity of the park I leaned against the five bar gate at the summit, sucking wind and sweating like a LibDem MP at a consituency meeting.

An hour and six minutes in all, half of that spent climbing steep, muddy trails, chatting between rasping breaths with LR about her impending adventure in Rotterdam. She expoused her walk/ run strategy, calculating intervals, gel stops, miles versus kilometres. I did my best to join in but suspect most of the noises issued from my spit-speckled lips were incoherent. I meant well and was I feel generally supportive.

I've no idea of the mileage. LR reckons around six and a half miles. It felt like twenty. I left my Garmin at home; that can wait until I've done some ground work. All in all I'm pleased with myself and have vowed to continue this return to running by following MLCMan's example of little and often. A series of gentle pony treks if you will.