Hmm . . . a good point, well made.
I'm fairly certain I could . . . of course there's the tricky subject of Paris to overcome . . . I'm sure an opportunity will arise next week.
OK, hang it all. Lets go for Gatwick.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Well have a think about it. We need to find out who else is interested, and what they think.
Maybe Tuesday is too long? I really don't know. While you're away I'll see who else might want to come. If it's just me and you, it doesn't matter, otherwise there may be other opinions to consider.
Enjoy your trip, and if you find the right moment, you might raise the question...... We'll definitely decide and book the tix by the time you come back, or v shortly after that.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
Faced with an unremitting schedule which involves packing, a couple of hours work, writing up my run and getting to Heathrow by 3pm, I fell out of bed and into my running shoes at what seemed like a most indecent hour.
Flanked by bewildered hounds I awoke half way up the first hill behind the house, and then it hit me.
No, I was wearing clothes. But i didn't feel like it - it was incredibly cold.
I don't mean a bit chilly, I mean Siberian Winter cold, frozen bone marrow cold. Blinkin' Brass Monkeys. I usually enjoy a laddish guffaw when I see athletes like Thierry Henri or Wayne Rooney prancing about in little woolen mittens, but I'd have swapped a bucket of frostbite for a pair of gloves this morning.
The muddy puddles strewn along the rocky path to Blackcap were treacherous pools of ice. The rutted path, festooned with the usual chunks of flint and chalk, offered extra helpings of frozen hazard. I felt like a slalom skier barely hanging on as I slipped and slid across the winterscape.
As I reached the entrance to the final climb, already determined to turn about at the gate, the winter sun, straining every pocket of molten gas in a futile effort to warm the earth, glinted off something approaching from the West. I squinted, peering into the hills. No, it couldn't be! I turned sharply and hammered back down the path, all caution thrown to the icy winds. The dogs yelped, scampering past me as I hurled myself homeward, thoughts of safety abandoned.
We passed a couple of fellow runners, buffeted by the harsh winds sweeping down the hillside. I barely managed to lift my arm in Shearer-esque greeting. The steam poured from my body, breath blasting from mouth and nostrils in great gasps as I ran full tilt for home.
I glanced over my shoulder but not once did I see the apparition that had chilled me to the core, far colder than the touch of winters' morning. The image burned in my mind I turned homeward once more.
What could cause such terror, such panic?
I realised, in that moment of horror, I'd clutched my phonecam.
Did I capture the image that would haunt me to my grave?
Oh God, there it is, on my phone.
Shaking, fingers swollen and numb, heart pounding, I raced into the house, fumbled with the USB connection and downloaded. OK, perhaps a little artistic license employed . . .
But it was bloody cold, and I was still half asleep . . .
40 minutes, somewhere a shade under 4 miles. Thawing nicely.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
It gets light early in Cape Town.
I set my alarm for 6:45 am, leapt out of bed at the appointed hour and gazed, horrified, at a fully risen, blazing sun. Oh well . . .
The Hotel provided a 'Map for Joggers', offering 3 routes.
The first 4k out 4k back. This would have been ideal for a 'loosener'; but the start point was not, strangely, at the hotel, but rather several kliks up the road (and up the hill) towards Table Mountain.
The second, a 7k out 7k back hilly ramble along Table Mountains' skirts also started some miles away, so I plumped for run number three; the coastal path.
Through the Waterfront, Cape Towns' maze of bars, bistros and shops, and onto the coast road proper, this route offered a pleasant sea level plod without undue undulation. A stiff, cool breeze blew from the east, offering a little resistance and essential relief from the rising temperature.
I ran slowly, taking in the fabulous sight of rollers breaking on the rocky shore, glancing inland to wonder at the monsterous mass of Table Mountain and Devils' Peak. I should very much like to take on the Table Mountain route, but based on my run today I'll have to leave at around 6 am to beat the heat.
At 7k I turned, grateful for the breeze helping me home. Nigel speaks in his Brighton report about how the wind rarely seems to help, but it did today, if only as a coolant. I felt better on the homeward leg, the rust and ache from yesterdays 12 hour flight starting to drop away.
14k round trip, my longest run for several months. An hour and a half banked, and I'm looking forward to more Cape Town capers in the week.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Glad you're enjoying it down there, old boy. 14 km is very impressive just a week after your JDRF 10 km World Record.
Remember to look out for the twin joys of the Southern Hemisphere - the much brighter Milky Way on a starry night, and the water going down the plughole the other way (strangely the same effect has never, at least not so far, been scientifically observed with Guinness).
Warm sunshine, balmy cooling breezes off the South Atlantic and massive breakers rolling in off Table Bay ? Jealous ? Nah, I'll take the romantic view behind B&Q of the roaring traffic on the A3, and the orange streetlights of a dark and chilly Guildford November dusk any day....
Or then again, perhaps, maybe I wouldn't, actually.
Nigel Wrote:Glad you're enjoying it down there, old boy. 14 km is very impressive just a week after your JDRF 10 km World Record.
Yep, and it felt like a lot of mileage, too. Still, had to be done.
Nipped up Table Mountain yesterday and spied a tasty running track - orange dust trail - winding along the side of the mountain. I'm into serious work mode now, but hope to hit that trail early doors tomorrow. The views from Table Mountain, the winding ridges and peaks stretching off to Cape Point like the back of a giant, stoney lizard, took the breath away.
'On the Rocks' proved to be a gem. The views were as spectacular as Nigel described, the food and service matching the location admirably. All washed down with a splendid Durban Hills Merlot and Souskluitjies (pron Saus-Ky-kies), a local desert a little like steamed pudding and custard but a lot tastier.
Oh well, back t'grind.
Then it's three days off in the National Parks.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
That headline, and others like it, flashed through my head at around 8:30 this morning. I decided to get up to the Table Mountain Trail and treat myself to a 7k sojourn along it's dusty red route. Even at 7:30 this morning the sun was high and working overtime to heat the prehistoric terrain. Lizards basked on baking rocks; nothing stirred.
Except this waddling, sweating slump of a man, dragging his bones, one year older today, up and down one of the most violently undulating running paths I have ever encountered. These guys don't do 'flat'. I like a hill - as Nigel will tell you - but this was sheer bloody madness.
After around 20 minutes of heart-pounding, lung-bursting effort I paused for thought. This isn't right. I can't pop my clogs on this African hillside, alone, lizard-bait. What would the wife say? (apart from 'pass the Bollinger' and 'Trebles and Life Assurance Policies all round').
I took a walk break, jogged some more, another walk break and so this continued until, reconciled with the facts laid starkly before me I turned tail and plodded back towards the car. In fairness I probably covered close to 4 miles, but equally I ran perhaps half of that.
Tomorrow is another day, and if I can raise my sorry arse by 6:30 I'll fair a good deal better on Wednesdays' track - the trail to Signal Hill. There's still the prospect of a couple of meetings and a rendezvous with some more splendid Merlot to come, but I'm sure I'll be there.
Probably.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
OK, technically a December post, but as my last in Cape Town I'll lump it in here.
Learning from previous overheated experience I set off from our new digs in the Silvermist Mountain Lodge at 6.30. We'd spent the last two days driving all over the Cape peninsular, exploring deserted beaches sent straight from heaven and wonderful cafés and eateries in equal number. Our access to the Cape proper was via the toll road at Chapman's Peak. Having driven this 15 k stretch several times I realised this was an ideal running spot. Not only is the road shaded from the morning sun by the ridges of the Silvermine Nature Reserve, but the road up from Hout Bay provides a steady 4 k climb not dissimilar in gradient to my regular Blackcap run.
I parked at East Fort, one of two battlements built by the British Navy in the late 1700s to protect Hout Bay from marauders. As expected the toll road, running south from the bay through Chapman's Point to the wonderful misty beaches at Noordhoek, nestled in the shadows of the craggy cliff face. The early morning sun peeped over the cloud-hugged ridge, bathing the peaks of The Sentinel and the wonderfully named Karbonkelberg on the west side of the bay. The mini-range lounged in the dawn sun, looking for all the world like a monsterous Rhino wallowing in a giant lake.
Well rested, having bailed on my planned run up Signal Hill, I set off at a brisk pace, embracing the steady rise of the tarmac. The toll road wriggled along an increasingly precipitous ledge, climbing 4 kilometers from the toll booth at Hout Bay. I stuck to the right-hand side of the road, South Africans having the good sense to drive on the correctside of the road. Recently completed the tarmac providing a most tempting surface for my very much ON road Addistars. Infrequent motorised traffic meant hopping across the drainage ditch onto the narrow gravel path, separated from a substantial plummet to the sea-lashed rocks below by the occasional boulder. I returned to the comfort of the road at every opportunity.
Several cyclists offered the Southern Hemisphere equivalent of a Shearer (a Donald? a Pollock?? a Quentin Fortune???) as they hurtled down the hill at alarming speed. Cycling in South Africa is something of a national pastime and the Peninsular provides stunning scenery, clean air and plenty of testing climbs to suit riders of all abilities. Bi-peds clad in garish lycra inhabit all corners of the Cape.
Chapman's Peak is marked at the summit (around half way) by a rather apologetic painted wooden sign mounted on the rock face. Next to this is the more important notice - a running figure with a red bar through it; no runners beyond this point. The main reason for this is the lack of escape lane - the seaward side of the road neatly hemmed in by a sturdy low wall, the landward by millions of tons of rock face. Views of Hout Bay, Vulcan Rock (no sign of Spock) and the route down into Noordhoek stretched out before me. I confess to a pang of regret - I'd love to have plodded on to Chapman's Point to finish my run with a freezing splosh in the southern Atlantic.
Instead I turned northward, running easily back toward Hout Bay, Table Mountain the majestic backdrop, the bays' beaches enjoying the first fingers of sunshine. I stopped after 200 metres, setting up the phonecam for a couple of timed shots of my sweaty corpulence thudding down the road from the Peak - the evidence is cruelly displayed below.
In all 8.4 most enjoyable kilometres tucked away before 8 am, the mouthwatering prospect of breakfast in the treetops at Silvermist banishing all thoughts of an extended plod into Hout Bay. Now it's back to the Land of the Ice and Snow, my Sussex hills and my beloved furry companions.
I shall return, and I shall bring my runners - off and on road variety.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Did you see they have a half marathon too?
Wow, I'd really like to run that - sadly its 15th April, which pretty much rules it out being so near to my romantic weekend in Paris.
By the way, my last run there - Chapman's Peak (circled) - forms part of the Ultra route.
We pretty much drove the route (green line) a couple of times last week.
I can vouch that not only is it a long way but it's also very hilly.
Definately on the agenda, Andy. Perhaps a goal for 2007?
I'm off to book my Almería tickets now.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
I could be persuaded for 2007, but I think I would want to go the whole hog and aim for the ultra. I think I mentioned before that I'm hitting on of those significant birthdays in 2007 (one with a zero at the end), and am looking for something a bit extra to aim for. An ultra could be just the thing. Or is that a ridiculous thought?
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Good news about Almeria.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
Ridiculous? Not sure . . . but I've already sent off an e-mail to the organisers to find out if they have a minimum completion time. I'm up for the full 56 k in 2007 - the good news for me being it would be a spring marathon (here - of course it's an autumn one there) so less chance of vile chest lurghie.
It's claimed to be the most beautiful running race in the world - I can't think of a good argument against it. And then there's all the wonderful vineyards at Constantia and Stellenbosch to investigate. We managed to track down a really expensive Merlot on our last day. The viscious swine charged us fifteen quid . . . in a restaurant. Bloomin' daylight robbery . . .
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Runners who do not pass the 25 km mark in under 3 hours 07 minutes or the marathon mark (42.2 km) in under 5 hours 17 minutes will not be allowed to continue the race. ChampionChip will record runner's split times at these km marks.
International runners are required to run a qualifying marathon /ultra marathon between 1 April 2005 and 19 March 2006. International runners who are unable to run a qualifying marathon within the qualifying period may enter the race, but they will not be seeded.
(Assuming the same window for the 2007 race, your Paris marathon would just get you in.)
Qualifying Standards
In order to qualify to run the Two Oceans Marathon, runners must have completed the distance indicated below in the time next to the distance:
Distance Time
42.2 km sub 5:00
50 km sub 6:30
56 km sub 7:00
90 km sub 12:00
100+ km sub 13:30
Other any Ultra that has been completed within the official cut-off time.
The South Africans like this sort of thing. The Comarades Marathon (56 miles) has a strict 12 hour cut-off I think, and every year the gates are slammed shut at 12 hours on the dot, even if there are people just about to make it to the line. Cruel, but I suppose it's a good incentive.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
Most places charged between £4 and £5 per bottle for very quaffable grape juice. I'm no wine buff, but try as I might I struggled to find a vintage I didn't like. How good was the wine? I guess by the Swederometer it was pretty darned good - I didn't so much as look for Guinness.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
