May 2012

[Sweder]

May has arrived, breathless, wet and windswept, a bedraggled apology for a month. The Bluebells are out but they're shivering in their delicate jackets as the wettest drought in living memory continues.

I've managed a few gentle outings since my exploits as the Man in Black. Nothing longer than four miles, leg-spinners if you will, easy lopes to push warm blood through torn muscle, flooding battered flesh with natures Nanobots. Today's ninety minute power-walk with Julie, Cam, MSilv and Dave, through the soggy, blue-carpeted forests of Stanmer Park, completed a hat-trick of consecutive outings. My legs have regained much of their spring, such as it ever was. Thoughts are turning to the next race, a welcome return to the delightfully hilly Seaford Half in early June. Tom Roper has suggested a foaming pint of Harveys, with a side order of endorphin-fuelled banter, at his sailing club after my post-race ocean dip. I can't wait.

Peering into the future through the persistent mizzle, clinging like an unwanted drunkard to the hunched shoulders of the surrounding hills, I'd like to take on a big offroad challenge soon. The obvious choices are the Jog Shop Jog, twenty miles of unforgiving undulation through the East Brighton hills, or perhaps Beachy Head, or the Seven Sisters if you will. As ever pressures of work will dictate what's possible. With both races in October I can ramp up the training and hope to hit one or the other.

On, on.