glad to see you are getting out there and running in style.
Wasn't it a brilliant match on Saturday, had just about everything - pace, passion, commitment, I too lept off the sofa shouting "yessss!!!" to no one in particular. Apparently the bookies took rather a pasitng over the weekend!
glad to see you are getting out there and running in style.
Wasn't it a brilliant match on Saturday, had just about everything - pace, passion, commitment, I too leapt off the sofa shouting "yessss!!!" to no one in particular. Apparently the bookies took rather a pasitng over the weekend!
A stodgy plod across the downs this lunchtime.
Not required really, but my legs felt a little tight after yesterdays’ run and I wondered if I’d stretched properly afterwards. Best thing to do was warm up over four or five steady miles and give the ol’ hammies the rack treatment.
One of Sundays’ runners announced she was off for a cold bath after our run, so I thought that’d be a good idea. Not so sure it was, but I tried it today after the run and stretch session.
If nothing else it cooled me down quickly, which was nice.
A couple of snaps from today. I love this time of year – everything is clean and crisp, not too hot, even when the sun shines as it did today, beaming over glorious green and gold Sussex hills.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Inspiring stuff, Sweder. There's just nothing to beat running on Chalk at this time of year. Too bad I don't think I can run a 10k at such a masterly pace....
A last sojourn before the Brighton 10K this bright and crisp November morning. I'd planned to front-load the week with outings only for life (work, family matters, JDRF and a little golf) to intervene, leaving me this last chance to get some in.
A glorious morning on the downs. Last nights' frost fading under the warm glare of the rising sun, a light chill breeze blowing from the west. I plodded outward with my canine companions. Arriving at the foot of Blackcap I decided to circumnavigate the landmark, ascending from the west. This added around a half mile to the route. As a precursor to Sunday I avoided my customary pause at the peak, plunging straight into the descent to Lewes.
Still not timing these runs, but I couldn't help a sneaky glance at the kitchen clock as I staggered in. Around 50 minutes for 5.5 miles - not too bad at this early stage of my rehabilitation.
Next up: a race! My first correctly timed run for half a year, a pleasant afternoon of pasta, wine and/ or beer in the company of good friends, overlooking the sea.
Roll on Sunday.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Sweder Wrote:a pleasant afternoon of pasta, wine and/ or beer in the company of good friends, overlooking the sea. Roll on Sunday.
It hasn't escaped my attention that Brighton are playing at home to Crystal Palace at 1:30. Always a real needle match, and it's live on Sky, so depending on timings, I wouldn't mind trying to catch some of the game in some suitable licensed establishment - perhaps the second half anyway - after lunch. Anyone willing and able to join me would be most welcome.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
Yes, needle-a-plenty there, especially after The Seagulls took the honours at Sellhurts Park recently.
I'm not wholly familiar with Footie pubs in the area, but I'll do a little research I reckon we should finish the run around 12:15, luch at 12:30 or so . . . so the second half is definitely on the cards.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
I was thinking more along the lines of actual research . . .
like pottering along the seafront, checking each pub and/ or bar for signs of footie coverage.
But this'll probably save a few quid (and a few extra lbs for Sunday)
Race day. Crisp, sparkling, sunlit, perfect.
A hint of breeze out of the west stirred the last instransigent leaves as I gazed bleary-eyed onto a Narnian winterscape. Frost laden fields draped in veils of fine mist stretched out towards the ocean.
SP bounced in at 10 o'clock, a blend of anticipation and regret, his recent ankle-turn relegating him to spectator.
'I really wish I was running now' he confessed as I figited like an excited toddler in the passenger seat.
Andy dropped me off at the entrance to Madeira Drive and set off in search of valid parking. I jogged along the esplanade, radar set for a yellow Hal Higdon hat, warming my legs on the way to the start. The nature of the circuit, a sort of figure of eight loop with the start/ finish line 1.5 k from the eastern end, created an unusual scenario. As with many looped circuits the start/ finish line is one and the same. The Brighton 10K used the time-honoured inflatable arch to mark this point, with the west-facing arch showing 'FINISH' the others side 'START'. Except that, by starting the race east-bound with a 3 k loop back past the start line, we never actually used the START side, lining up to start, er . . . at the finish.
As the rusty cogs ground away in my head trying to work all this out, I spied the famous yellow cap. Sure enough, Andy, Nigel and M were gently wandering towards me. Warm greetings all round, the usual bout of self-depreciation and lowering of expectations followed. M bade us farewell, heading for the boundless treasures of the Brighton Lanes.
I wondered at the sense of deja vu as we waited for the off.
Here we stood, at the start (finish?) of a race, sun-kissed in a chilly seaside town. The comparisons with Almería would continue later as we dined overlooking the ocean. Happily for us the race distance was a major difference; I for one was quite happy to keep it to 10K today.
SP joined us with time enough for greetings and best wishes, and we were under way.
With a shade under 2000 runners on a relatively tight course, human traffic was always going to be an issue. Nigel and I set off together. N seemed to glide effortlessly through the melée whilst I bobbed and weaved desperately to find space to get going. 3K in and we passed the start/ finish. Spectators lined Madeira Drive, a pastiche of bobble hats, scarves and winter fleeces, applause softened by the proliferation of woolen gloves.
Past the fully functional Palace Pier, I turned to Nigel.
The only hint of a hill is just ahead I panted.
Grunt said Nigel.
I accelerated into the incline, aware that N had maintained his steady pace. Despite the gentle nature of the 'climb' many runners seemed to slow. I dropped a cog and stepped on the gas, moving into the cycle lane to ease past the field. At this point the lead cyclists (one the legendary Sam Lambourne, no less; another, Lycra Tony, a regular on our Sunday morning downland runs) approached, clearing the way for the lead runners. The leaders zipped by, heading for home (the winner in a shade over 30 minutes). I marveled at the controlled nature of their running style; compact, steady rhythm driving them on, economy of effort matched with relentless pace.
On past the West Pier, the burned-out husk of Victorian steel amputated from the shore, its' avian residents flocking to and fro in the winter sun. To the Peace Statue and the Meeting Place where the route dives down a mini slope and onto the promenade proper. Sunday strollers, complete with small children and dogs, greeted our passing. Every now and then a more adventurous tourist would venture across the colorful chain of runners, smiling nervously as they judged the moment to leap into the human torrent.
Past the 5 K marker a small traffic cone with 5K taped to it and into Hove. The turning point at 6.5 k appeared in the lee of the King Alfred Leisure Centre. Around the turn I looked for Nigel, spotting his white cap not 100 yards behind. We high-fived and I settled into my running, prepared to feel the benefits of the slight tail-wind that must inevitably help us home.
Or not. As so often seems to happen, rather than pushing gently into our backs the fickle breeze appeared to dance amongst the beach-huts, darting across our path, turning sharply to slap into our red, warm faces.
My strategy for today had been to run steadily for the first 7 k or so, see how I felt and respond accordingly. A quick systems check revealed nothing untoward, so I cranked up the pace a little. Not too much just enough to start moving through the field again. I didnt want to blow out too soon. The slight incline at the Peace Statue provided another chance to steal places. Past the West Pier, still feeling strong, I held back, worried about running out of steam before the finish. The 9K marker appeared and it dawned on me there was very little race left. If I was going to wind it up again it had better be now.
Once again the foot went down and I pushed on, passing a few walkers guilty perhaps of too much too soon. Down the slope to the Palace Pier, onto Madeira Drive, I pushed harder, reaching maximum velocity (for me). Several runners around me responded but I didnt feel we were racing; I just didnt want to leave an ounce of effort un-used.
SP leaned in on the right as the finish approached. I waved a clenched fist and tried for a cheesy grin Im sure it looked more like a grimace and he was gone. Across the line, 50:44 on the race clock, in all probability a sub 50 run (with the walk-shuffle start) - a PB by some margin.
My only previous race over the distance was the British 10K in June. On a hot day Id blown a gasket early on and puffed my way to the finish in 56 tortured minutes. Todays run was more controlled, and all the better for it.
Nigel finished moments later, and we embraced. We joined SP to cheer Andy home before setting off to Alfrescos for beer and pasta. Mrs S and Mrs SP joined us, along with my daughter Phoebe, and we filled the early afternoon with race and beer-fuelled chatter. The glass walls and nautical setting of the restaurant reminded us of our post run meal in Almería. We raised our glasses to absent friends, and our thoughts turned to future runs.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Congratulations, Ashley, on your PB and on the interesting and fast report including photos so quickly.
I´m glad you all finished the race feeling well. It´s a pity that Andy SP couldn´t take part because of an injury.
I´m also glad you all had a good time after the race at a restaurant that reminded you of Club de Mar in Almería. It would be great if we all could meet again in Almería on the last weekend of January.
A stodgy, mud-splattered, mist-shrouded 5 mile loop around Blackcap this morning.
I left home just as Kevin Pietersen completed his 100 against Pakistan in the 2nd Test in Faisalabad.
It was an innings of good fortune and precocious hitting, the perfect Pietersen paradox. A crowd-thrilling six bludgeoned off the bowling of Shoaib Akhtar brought up the ton.
By the time I'd reached the first yard of cloying chalk-mud, one delivey later, he was gone, attempting a fourth clearance of the boundary. Onto the Downs proper as Flintoff fell, Akhtar living up to his Rawalpindi Express moniker, a snorting 95 mph 'yorker' ripping middle stump out of the ground.
Freddie filleted, back in the hutch for 1.
Ian Bell, recent whipping boy of the critics, sculpted a century of his own. 100 runs crafted and nurtured with loving care and due diligence, the antithesis of KP’s brutal knock.
As I thudded steadily across the fog-bound hills, visibility reduced to a mere handful of yards, I pondered the difference between Sundays’ sunlit dash and this pedestrian slog through Baskerville country, appreciating the parallels with the sport beamed into my headphones live from the sub continent. There’s a time to go for glory, to thrash the bowling or hammer out a PB. And there’s a time to grind out the necessary, to build the foundations on which later feats can stand.
Definitely a building session this morning.
Around an hour, a shade over 5 miles banked.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Awoke this morning, another hilltop plod scheduled before work.
A combinaton of sore back (an old prolapsed disc injury has been making itself known in the mornings for the past couple of weeks) and foul weather (fog, missle, bleurghness) convinced me it wouldn't hurt to miss a run.
Some hours later sitting at my desk I have to admit to no acceptable reasons for missing a scheduled run, only pitiful excuses. I'll have to slip in a hilly scamper tomorrow before flying to Cape Town later that day.
Should help me sleep on the plane, anyway.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Hi Sweder
Hope you have a great trip. You'll enjoy the drive down to Cape Point to meet the penguins and to see the wild coast where the South Atlantic meets the Indian Ocean.
Here's the view across the bay, together with another shot from the same spot during my first visit in September 1982 and before the seafront was developed.
Just taking that picture was quite a risk back then, potentially offering me the chance of a long visit to Robben Island for a personal introduction to Nelson Mandela.... Fortunately things have moved on a great deal since then.
Thanks for the photos Nigel.
I'm still not sure what I'll get up to on my days off, but the Garden Route is looking favourite.
I'll certainly give that eatery a try.
Agreed Andy.
I do prefer LGW for a departure - however a quick visit to the Easyjet site reveals no Monday flight, so it looks like another soul-destroying sojourn up the M11. Out Saturday am, back Monday am?
Thanks to SP for the photos from Sunday last.
Here's one of the three Amigos pre race - I apologise profously for the public lactation.
And one from the finish. I really do appreciate the ability of the photographer to create an impression of speed.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
I reckon we should finish the run around 12:15, luch at 12:30 or so . . . so the second half is definitely on the cards.
