Well, that'll learn me, and let this be a lesson to you too, Constant Reader.
When Ladyrunner sends you an innocent invitation via text for a 'nice easy eight miler' do stop and think before you respond. I leapt at the chance, seeing this as a perfect opportunity to revive the 'down your way' concept and to whittle away some seasonal flab.
Our Infamous Five were well-met in the early gloom at Chez Jools; our beaming host, resplendant in top value Aldi jacket and armed with a camera; Bullet Tom in yellow windcheater, Jeannette, our lady in red, and Heather in full Johnny Cash mode. Oh and me of course. As if it were possible even rounder (in the company of such venerable whippets) wrapped in my technical undergarments with a top-coat of shimmering silver-grey FLM Reject jacket. With the temperature gauge hovering around two degrees Celcius and bitter ice-rain hurtling in from near-dark skies we set sail on Julie's constitutional. The pace was, as promised, gentle. Of course it had to be; the best part of the first three klicks took us on a 250 metre climb onto the downs via a series of mud-slick flint trails. It reminded me of the Steyning Stinger, an epic 26.2 mile outing I enjoyed with my old mucker Moyleman back in ‘07. Fitting that, as each of my companions today have their own fond memories of Chris. This for me, along with ever-more elusive fitness, is the treasure hidden deep within these muddy hills; the swapping of stories, the telling of tales, the sharing of warm memories on cold dark winter days, sipping hot coffee, tired but happy in our snug kitchens or steamy cafés, remembering a much-loved friend.
Before all that soft nonsense there was hard work to be done. In fact a good deal more than Tom or I thought we’d signed up for. As the hills came to meet us, shrouded in cloud and bearing endless slippery gifts, my inner radar suggested we’d do well to get home again inside of the stated eight miles. There was no point worrying about that now; it took all my limited mental capacity to find safe passage through the quagmire. Ladyrunner loves hills. She eats them with a relish enjoyed by many Sussex runners, gobbling up their stony ascents, giggling helplessly as another foothold gives way to send her sliding into another lurking brackish puddle. I dug in and hung on, chasing those long legs for mile after mile. Despite his protestations I could hear Tom chirruping away, suggesting he was finding this a lot easier than I. It was tough but to be entirely honest I was loving every cold, damp, slippery minute of it.
Reaching our peak at Ditchling Beacon, one of the highest points in Sussex and third highest on the South Downs Way, we took a sharp left to run west along a relatively flat section towards Clayton. Another sharp left took us down past Pycombe Golf course, the sodden greens and deserted fairways understandably bereft of colourful sweaters. Since we’d entered the low-lying cloud clinging to the Beacon the rain had all but stopped, replaced by a pervasive mizzle that hung in the air like indolent fog, waiting to wrap interlopers in its lazy embrace. With ten kilometres gone I was still on Ladyrunner’s shoulder and feeling strong. Heather bade us farewell, taking the southwest trail towards home to take up baby-sitting duties. A thousand paces later we took yet another left turn, Tom emitting a weary groan from somewhere deep inside. Before us a steep climb stretched up through some farm buildings and into the mist once more; a full grass-mud kilometre rising to meet the Ditchling road.
‘Right – we’ll re-group at the top’.
Unbeknown to me this was Ladyrunner's coded signal for an eyeballs-out dash for the summit. Well, sod that. My legs were burning and my lungs were working double-time just to keep me chugging along at this modest, barely-moving pace. Tom, LR and Jeanette fair flew up the hill in close formation. In no time they were so far ahead I couldn’t tell who was in front. By the time I pulled up to the gate at the top, puffing and blowing like an old steam engine, it was clear from the beam on LR’s face she’d spanked them both.
The jog across Ditchling Road and through the sheltered woodland trail was mercifully downhill. Within a minute I'd recovered my composure and overcome my momentary embarrassment at lagging so far behind. I’d reached the edge of my fitness envelope and seen in unforgiving high definition just how much work there is to be done in preparation for Almeria. That said I was at least out there, challenging myself in very good company. It's hard to beat onesself up too much; after all it's a marathon (or a half at least), not a sprint. At the end of the drop back into Hollingbury I charged up a long set of steps, bouncing with arms aloft a la Rocky. I felt great; warm, mud-splattered, with a little something left in the legs. Finally it was back to Ladyrunner’s kitchen for that (delicious) coffee to swap tales of running with the Mighty Moyleman. I do miss him, but I’m so grateful for the joy he brought to our running fraternity and the trail of grins any conversation about him inevitably brings. He would have loved it out there today.
15.57 kilometres in 1:38. For the record Jools that's a couple of sprints shy of ten miles in old money. Just in case you were wondering
Thanks for dragging me over a wonderful course; I loved every foot-soaking, bone-chilling minute of that.
Click here to view Ladyrunner's photos
Below: Sportstrack overview and elevation map
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Nice work there Sweder, LR ... nice write-up and great photos too. Hoping to have some off-road adventures of my own over the next few weeks. Not muddy like yours though ... hot and dusty here.
Sweder seems capable of very quickly regaining his running mojo, so nothing would surprise me. Maybe he won't quite manage a PB in Almeria but I fully expect the usual "I did much better than expected" tale.
You seem to be in pretty good form yourself, LR, so you're not excluded from this!
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
Jools, you're on. I think we should perhaps extend the invitation to anyone else from the RC community who might fancy a 'nice easy eight-miler'. As for PBs I won't be looking for one. Last year I gave it a pretty good go (and managed a PB for the course) but I'm not close to that kind of shape (or weight). As previously mentioned ad nauseum it would take a minimum six months seriously hard work to get anywhere near my PB over the distance (Brighton 2007). But I appreciate the encouragement
EG may well be right; I'll probably do 'better than expected' in Almeria, but that says more about the nature of my expectations than anything else. Unless Antonio wants to go sub 2 with a pacer I'll be aiming for anything under 1:50. As usual
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
(30-12-2009, 11:36 AM)El Gordo Wrote: You seem to be in pretty good form yourself, LR, so you're not excluded from this!
EG my PB days are definately gone and never coming back again. I will be very happy if I manage to run the same time as last year in Almeria which was 1:39.
(30-12-2009, 10:54 AM)ladyrunner Wrote: I'm around next week Tues or Wed if you fancy a repeat. Maybe a steady 10 miles which equals 12/3 miles in LR code language!!??
Jen has just asked me on FB if I'm around for a run on Tuesday 5th Jan. So it looks like Tuesday rather than Wednesday for our next HM training run.
We will have to do the school drop first so start time will be approx 9:15am. Venue tbc.
Is that okay with you Sweder, and does anyone else fancy coming along?
Cool and the gang LR. Tuesday after 9 it is. I'd be happy to have another bash at your easy eight miler; equally happy to try another route of similar distance & hillage. Just off out tonight for a very short waddle around the town to bid farewell to 2009. Out tomorrow on the Hangover run with the Jog Shop crew - 11:00 at Black Rock I think/ hope - then Snake City on Sunday. 2010: Bring. It. On.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
All the pieces fall into place
When we walk these fields
And I reach out to touch your face
This earthly heaven is enough for me
This Heaven, David Gilmour
Tonight I took to the dark, chilly pathways of Lewes; one last run for the year. My album of 2009 (released at the end of 2008), Live in Gdansk from the fabulous Mr David Gilmour, kept me company on this easy lamp-lit plod, the soothing guitar and gentle voices washing me through the narrow Sussex streets, past spangly revellers making their lusty way towards New Year oblivion. I spent the time thinking about the year past, cobbling together thoughts and feelings whilst looking forward to a fresh start, the new challenges that this turning decade offers.
A year that started so full of promise and hope for many hit a dark and rocky road for some. We kicked off 2009 with the annual RC AGM in Almeria without our beloved leader. El Gordo bade farewell to his Mother, a duty we all dread yet must face at some time in our lives. Then, against a wave of desperate hope, our good friend Moyleman was cruelly taken from us.
For a while, for me at least, the good ship Running Ambition floundered in troubled seas, eventually striking a metaphorical iceberg (ironically) in the warmth of late spring. Motivation holed below the water-line I found a myriad of reasons not to venture out. I must have unconsciously sent out a few thinly-disguised distress flares, for out of the dark came a rescue party, the MV RC Community, my very own Carpathia steaming in to pluck me from the icy waters of despond.
Together with Camilla, Chris's redoubtable, tenacious sister, the good people here conspired to lift my spirits and renew my purpose, wrapping my frozen running compulsion in the warming blankets of encouragement and inspiration. El Gordo cried havoc and let slip the dogs of war in the unforgiving Boston hills, raising money for JDRF (for which I've yet to thank him properly) after facing considerable challenges of his own. Commemorative runs, like downland Sirens, lured me out. Seaford Half and Bewl Water offered the perfect platform to pay suitably rugged tribute to Moyleman. Then, one by one, team RC emerged; Dan with his madcap plans to recreate King Kong on the crowded streets of London; Bierzo Baggie, himself no stranger to personal tragedy in this, our annus horribilis, returning to the crazy Ponferrada trails; Glaconman renewing his vows with the fells and dales of the wild northwest; MLCMan taking on the sizzling heat of a brutal Australian summer ... on and on they came, each one reminding me that whilst we face our personal demons, together, here in our virtual clubhouse, we're stronger.
Now, fully engaged with running life once more, I look ahead to the new year with a heart full of hope and the excited tingle of revived ambition dancing in my toes. Here's to you good friends; wishing you all good health, happiness and miles and miles of running joy for the year to come.
I'll see you on the road.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Nicely put, Sweder. I will drink to all that -- tomorrow. Despite being New Year's Eve, I have to remain sober, and be in bed early. Tomorrow morning, all being well, I'm in Hyde Park for the 10K. I may allow myself a belated tincture at some point deeper into the day.
Agreed, it's been a difficult year for the RC community, but here we still are, offering encouragement, congratulations, and the occasional prod with a pointy stick. Long may it continue.
2010 will be better.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
Well said Ash. I have the feeling this will be a good year for the RC community. It's lunch time here on Jan 1, and I awoke, not with a hangover, but enough internal murmurings to realise that actually, as fun as NYE was, I'd rather wake up feeling keen to get out on the roads than wondering why I over-indulged.
Yeah, I'm keen for a good running year. An annum runnibulus.
Well my New Years Eve started extremely well - with this seasonal message from the girls that I proudly share with y'all.
2010's off to a rockin' good start ...
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
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