Whilst not a thing of outstanding beauty (me or the run) I'm never-the-less decidedly chuffed with myself for my heroic effort at the BHTT 5K this morning. Icy rain was driven into us by a foul wind on the inclines to freeze extremities and cause certain dangly body parts to seek refuge somewhere around the kidneys. I managed to drag myself round in a creditable 23:40, a mere 20 seconds longer than last weeks' best time (since the return from knee-gah!).
I deployed the i-plod on the run, a necessary evil today. A combination of carrot and stick - Zeppelin and Motorhead - did the trick. Hats off to Lemmy and the boys for coming up with another gem. I cranked this one up on the way to the park, getting the juices flowing and battering last night's ill-advised, last-minute doner kebab into submission.
Running up a street, running up a hill,
Hotel telephone running up a bill,
Chase my tail, catch me if you can,
Don't wanna mess with the Runaround Man
Getting too close getting too near,
Don't even know what I'm doing out here,
Going too fast never gonna stop,
Know how to roll and we know how to rock,
Chase my tail do the best you can,
You can't mess with the Runaround Man
[SIZE="1"]Runaround Man, Motorhead[/SIZE]
Not as good as Rock Out but a pretty close second from their latest LP. Now for shedloads of coffee, the blissful solitude of my office and Sport On Five.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Our own version of Seafront Plodder here in Bierzoland is Big Noel the Scouser and our local kebab house is the Don Quijote Doner Kebab run by the boys from Islamabad. There's many a tale to tell.. but I try to keep this running-related :o
8 pints would be enough to put me in hospital these days..
Time to up the mileage a tad. Those comfy five milers are all well and good; some tougher than others. But with Almeria a clearly defined target I'll need to get up to 21K as soon as possible and that means adios to the well-worn sofa that is my local lope.
A gathering of familiar faces a-top Brighton marina this morning. Outriders Sam (Yoda) and (Lycra) Tony, MSilv, Gillybean and Cynthia, Dave and Paul plus a smattering of eager new faces. Some of the stalwarts were heading inland, but not I; the Wire was my modest target, a straightforward out-and-back 12K up-and-downer. I'd covered this track a couple of weeks ago when the wind had raged and smashed us about with mortal intent. Not so today; clearing skies, a gentle breeze, a mite chilly but mercifully none of that spikey, spiteful winter rain that infested the BHTT yesterday.
In all a decent effort, 12 kilometres in 69 minutes including a quick-ish finish. My legs are OK, knee appears to be fine but it's my lack of lungpower that's of most concern. I managed to run all the way to the top of the hill above Saltdean but I struggled horribly for breath at the summit, shuffling on whilst desperately trying to suck extra oxygen through my ears as a terrible rasping sound sawed from my open mouth. Hill reps and fartlek required to improve recovery times I fear.
Cockles warmed by a welcome return to the corner of my world that is Mac's cafe, joined by Cynthia, Barry (celebrating his five-times-rejected FLM place for 2009) and L-Tony for a cuppa and a fried egg sandwich. Glowing faces chatting excitedly over steaming mugs of something alleged to have originated from coffee beans on a cold winter Sunday; this is what I love about training runs.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
A wind-thrashed outing early this morning, leg-rust falling away after the first twenty minutes. Furrowed commuter clouds scudded low across the plains, hurrying out of the north east as if late for some celestial train. Occasional patches of weak sunlight poked through the shroud, mostly over the distant seaport of Newhaven where tiny glitterbugs danced on wave-caps in defiance of the gloom.
It was one of those; get out of bed, pull on the gear and head straight out the door. Don't think about it or else you'll dream up a hundred reasons not to go.
Now it's over I'm pleased to have banked another 8 ks.
Track du jour: the astonishing title track from Wish You Were Here.
It arrived in the first few muddy metres, leaving me alone on the downs with forty minutes of treasured, private memories.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
A magical, mystical, misty morning, and a welcome sign of returning form.
All the small-hour radio chatter around the impending US election kept me up late into last night. I confess I'm a junkie for this stuff but at least this time it feels different, that there might just be an outcome that could change the world for the better. We who cannot influence the result sit and hold our collective breath, hoping that our kith and kin across the ocean will do the right thing.
Just as the future remains shrouded in doubt and uncertaintly so the visibility in the hills was almost down to zero. Heavy mist clung to the bare branches, the soft, lush turf trails dissappearing into a gently swirling wall of smog. Good old Alice Cooper. He dished up a continuous flow of treats for my dreamlike plod. Floyd's Breathe On The Run straight into Born To Run followed by Layla. What a selection! As often happens on these eerie occasions I was going for Floyd - the ethereal melodies set against Rick Wright's space-travel keyboards, the distant station announcer, maniacal laughter rising and falling . . . it all fit the scene to a T.
I've recently picked up (again) Feet In The Clouds, tales of fell running and obsession carefully crafted by the excellent Richard Askwith. If you've not read it I heartily recommend it for it speaks of a world of which most can only dream, where peaks go on for ever, where the ground slips away under your hammered legs to send you tumbling down perilous gorges and where stocky men hewn from Lakeland rock set impossible times in the foulest conditions imaginable. At it's heart the quest to achieve the Bob Graham Round; 42 peaks (72 miles) in 24 hours. Not for the squeamish.
Robin Trower nipped in to steal today's track du jour award, if only for convincing me that come the time to wave Sweder off to the great hillscape in the sky, this is the track that will ring in the ears of the small gathering as they leave the church, hopefully on a day just like this, heading for an afternoon of celebration in a hearth-warmed, well-appointed pub.
The sun don't shine
The moon don't move the tides,
to wash me clean
Why so unforgiving and why so cold
Been a long time crossing Bridge of Sighs
Cold wind blows
And Gods look down in anger,
on this poor child
Why so unforgiving and why so cold
Been a long time crossing Bridge of Sighs
If you've not heard it seek it out.
The most intense, soul-searching blues, measured, haunting and truly beautiful.
The music worked its magic and I flew round, barely feeling the angry flint stabbing at my feet as I scampered over the ridges and down the well-worn muddy tracks. After five consecutive days I'm planning a rest day tomorrow, though I have to admit just at this moment I feel as if I could run forever.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
You sound like you're getting into good shape, Sweder. Great news. Keep it going, and you may want to think about a spring marathon. I'm way behind you in pace, but am also pleased with general progress. Just a gentle 3.5 mile recovery run last night, sans moon, sans music, and it felt good.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
There's just nothing quite like Bonfire in Lewes.
Dark, twisted, chaotic, loud, frightening, overwhelming, an orgy of pyromania, alcoholism and pagan indulgence . . . all these and so many more. I'll write it up in technicolour some time; for now here's a couple of snapshots from last night to give you flavour of the gathering hoards.
After all that revelry this morning's plod was a gentle one. The firesmoke from last night had drifted out of the town to lurk in the surrounding hills, regrouping with it's foggy cousins ready to gatecrash the dawn. Now in the early half-light it rolled back towards the streets, a monolithic flypast to end Lewes Bonfire for another year. The wall of smoke and fog moved like a living, breathing entity, rolling across the downland, devouring trees, gates, fences, sheep . . . runners and dogs.
I snapped a couple of shots (to be posted later) but these rarely do justice. It's a special time of year in these parts, a time I welcome like a long-parted friend. A time of soft, damp earth, of dead leaves, barren shrubs and cackling rooks wheeling and tumbling on the edges of the misty view.
[SIZE="1"][COLOR="DarkOrchid"][COLOR="Purple"]Pictures
1)High street before the off
2)Darling and Brown as Laurel and Hardy. The effigy is packed with fireworks and explosives, to be set off at one of the firesites after the parade
3)A view up School Hill - plenty of visitors come to town
4)Rememberance at the memorial in the heart of the town; a moving moment as those lost to the tragedy war are remembered before all hell breaks lose for the next few hours . . .[/COLOR][/COLOR][/SIZE]
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
...am I starting to get some sort of reputation here?
Anyway, t'was somewhere in that procession last night, and a glorious evening it was too. What these pics can't express is the noise. Army stylee marching bands, New Orleans trad jazz bands, drum based ensembles all inserted between our ranks of smugglers, vikings, soldiers, archbishops and the odd group of nuns. Add the noise of the on-street rookies (bangers) and you may get somewhere close to what a fantastic night of revelry it is.
And that's before we all peel off at around 10pm to our respective fire sites for the arial display and the burning of effigies and enemies of bonfire.
'Elfin' Safety are constantly on our arses as you can imagine, as they are in much of our everyday lives nowadays, but Lewes on the 5th is special and long may it continue.
Celebrating the first twelve months of the Brighton and Hove Parkrun Time Trials 170 hardy souls turned out for today's 5K thrash in blustery wind and spitting rain. The stats for the year are amazing - well over 700 people have lined up, over 1000 PBs recorded, a fastest time of 15:12 . . . all for the cost of nothing thanks to the dedication and hard work of the organisers, volunteers and sponsors.
My own effort today was, ah, modest shall we say. Having spent a good deal of the last 24 hours strapped to the porcelain - there is apparently a 'bug' doing the rounds - I set off more in trepidation than expectation. Two corners into the first lap and the familiar twang of a rapidly tightening stomach signalled danger. I managed to hang on for the next twenty minutes, crossing the line in 23:18 (77th place) before an altogether quicker dash to the public convenience nearby.
Duly relieved I joined the gathered throng under a series of battered awnings to munch on the assortment of cakes and snacks provided by the members. Ladyrunner's vegetable soup was top of my list of favorites, laced with peppers to ward of the November chill. Gary, Gillybean, Msilv, Mike, Simon and Cam all turned out as did Stevio, opting to cruise round with his daughter and her beau.
Hats of to the good people at ParkRun and the BHTT team. This is a truly excellent community event that seems destined to continue to grow.
Well done all, and thank you
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
It was inevitable. Stevio started it off, then Nigel turned up warbling on about getting 'a few more easy miles' in. I mumbled softly about maybe heading inland, perhaps the Famous Residences (10 miler) but no more. I couldn't go with Stevio anyway, his pace is so far out of my reach it's not even funny.
But Nigel ground me down. We covered the first three miles in an easy twenty-eight minutes, a strong westerly shoving us roughly in the back. At Saltdean he announced he wouldn't be stopping, he was doing the Snake and if I was coming I could catch him up. The others arrived and the banter resumed. Momentarily disoriented I blurted out 'I'm going to catch Nige, see you later' and set off like the hare I am most assuredly not. By the time I'd bounded up the steps and started along the pavement Nigel was a tiny blue smudge halfway up the indecently steep escarpment ahead. I got my head down and stayed on the shallow roadside trail, panting steadily as my offies slapped pavement. Across the cattlegrid onto Telscombe Tye I could see him, still a quarter mile ahead, and resumed my head-down stance. At the top of the Tye he'd reached the farmhouse and gone out of sight through the gate, around the corner behind the wall of connifers. I hammered across the lumpy pasture, huffing, puffing and wondering how on Earth I was going to keep this up for much longer. Mercifully he'd taken a breather at the next gate and, finally, we were once again well-met.
We set off across the downland spine into the teeth of the wind, taking turns to catch up on recent family history, work, running and mutual friends. Despite my debilitating efforts to catch up I now felt OK. We reached the farmer's field, the pathological plummet down a boggy, ploughed marsh, hitting 3:30 minute K pace on the slippery slope. Fast as that felt it's still well shy of Bannisters 4-minute mile pace, a sobering thought indeed.
When it came the Snake proved something of a let-down. I'd built this up in my mind to be an all but insurmountable challenge. What stuff and nonsense; the two mile meander up through the hillside heartland is a long haul for sure; but the slippery, well-worn track was no worse than usual and the expected headwind, whilst there in spirit, seemed strangely muted. Nigel concurred, expressing delight and surprise at the 'ease' with which we scaled the climb. That he did so even as we bounded up the slopes was testament to the mild nature of the task. As we crested the summit evil dark clouds raced overhead, hurling a stinging shower of hail at us. I was unimpressed by this, having to shield my face as I ran, squinting through the mini-deluge as we struggled towards some protective shrubbery. The battering passed as swiftly as it had arrived, clouds scudding away to pelt our companions still climbing the Snake.
On through East Brighton park for a finish back at the marina. 19.84 kilometres in 1:52 and change, a remarkable effort given the recent lack of mileage. I'll step back next Sunday, looking to build on pace and strength, but it's nice to have got within kissing distance of Almeria this early.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Not sure about a PB in Almeria - there's many a slip and all that.
But it bodes well for early training, at least so far as the apparent absence of knee-gah! or calf-knack are concerned.
A wonderful wallow in glorious mud on my recovery run this morning. Wind howled, rain lashed. My FLM 'tough shit 2004' windcheater was as rice paper to the elements, soaked and heavy after a few hundred metres. I chugged along grinning madly, thinking back to the wonders of the Steyning Stinger when Moyleman, Rog and I battered out a full marathon in this crap. Rivers of mud cascaded down the chalk and flint trails. Every heavy step threw up a plume of brackish water to speckle my legs - terrific fun.
Footing was precarious and the time - 51:30 - reflected that as much as the lactic residue of yesterday's efforts. Soaked, chilled to the marrow and plastered in filth I arrived home improbably happy, much to the disgust of Mrs S who, barely glancing up from her paper, growled 'shoes off!'
Happy days
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Congratulations, S. I can see you´re fit again. Besides, 19 km uphill and downhill is much tougher than the Rambla in Almería. So the half will be a piece of cake for you. By the way, did Nigel tell you if he will be able to come to Almería?
Thanks Antonio, though I would prefer to say on the way to being fit again. Hill running helps me with recovery - as Rafa would say you have to work really hard (on some of the hills) - it's the time it takes you to recover your breathing that tells you how well (or not) you are doing. For me yesterday was nothing more than OK - I was fighting for breath on some of the climbs. I'm happy because I know the problem and I know the solution - more hills!
I'm hoping Nigel will know more when he comes to Brighton for the 10K at the weekend. So far he doesn't know if he can join us.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
