It was an honour & a privilege to host the mighty Seafront Plodder for a lope in the hills this morning. We'd shared a pint or two on Friday when, in the midst of our mutual appreciation of Harveys fine 2010 batch of Olympia Ale, we'd agreed to meet up at mine horribly early on Easter Sunday.
The Great Man is no fan of hillage. It's fair to say he was impressed when, shortly before 8am, we stood at the end of Kingston Ridge gazing up at the imposing chalk tracks of the Big W. He was a good deal less happy when I told him we were heading up there next, but to his credit, and despite being ill-equipped for the task (wearing road shoes for a Sunday run with me is like bringing a knife to a gunfight) he set about the task with admirable gusto. Stood at the summit gazing over the broad, sun-dappled Cuckmere valley and the Mordor-ish hills of Glynde & Firle beyond he agreed it was worth the effort.
We loped east along the Big W ridge, past the first V (which we would shortly descend) to the top of the Yellow Brick Road. I was pleased as punch to be able to show off these sections of the Jog Shop Jog, ever mindful that my endorphin-fuelled enthusiasm might be getting on SP's wick. The Plodder almost kissed the eponimous gold-tinted concrete, such is his preference for a thick crust on his running trails. He was equally happy when he found out a similarly sturdy, man-made coating adorned the steep drop into Kingston. We took the same route I had last Sunday, jog-walking around Lewes before climbing away from the swollen, brackish waters of the Ouse.
Two hours after we'd set off we returned to Chez Sweder for coffee and toast, pleased with our early morning's work.
SP looks in good form; I'm sure he'll be fine for next Sunday.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Sitting here watching the sun rise above the Lewes cliffs I can't help but be drawn back to Cape Town and that race. I'm on the cusp of another ultra marathon adventure - my second - and I have no idea how this one will unfold.
Unlike 2007 when I trained harder than I've ever trained for anything in my life, Ive adopted the ultimate 'less is more' approach. I'm sidling up to this challenge, creeping up in the shadows, inching my way towards the start line trying not to catch the eye of the Beast. This morning's rising sun reminds me that my enemies include the elements. The forecast is for sunshine all weekend. Whilst I doubt we'll see the thirty-degree sauna of Hout Bay and Constantia Nek in the west of Ireland I'm mindful of the psychological effects that might have in the Connemara hills.
Pfaffing about with various T-shirts this morning I unearthed a recent prized edition. Like most men at this age I favour black. Black is the new black you know, and on a man approaching middle-age carrying an unshiftable spread of podge a black T-shirt with a distracting, catchy logo on the chest is de rigueur.
The shirt I've chosen for this trip was hard-earned. It was given - nay, awarded - to me by a man I love and respect, Paul Tidy. Paul was Girlschool's tour manager, van driver, guitar roadie, psychiatrist and finder of late-night watering holes on last years' Motorhead tour. He is a roadie truly worthy of the name, a career bandsman with a deft touch, a politician, a skilled technician and an accomplished musician in his own right. He got lumbered with me as a drum roadie for a month and not once did he moan about it (not around me anyway).
At the end of the tour Paul presented me with one of his much sought-after tour shirts. A man must sweat blood and beer to be worthy of such a vaunted garment. Many asked and many received that easy smile, those soft, dark eyes gleaming behind a smooth Welsh Valleys accent. 'Sorry boyo, theys gotta be Eeearned.' I was honoured to receive mine on that last night in Wolverhampton.
The front bears an emblem on the chest, a simple white skull encircled by the company motto which, sitting here huddled over my coffee waiting for a lift to the station, feels entirely appropriate now.
'Totally Tidy Tours: Let's Get In Amongst It.'
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
After a terrific weekend in Dublin & Connemara it's back to life, back to reality for Team RC. At the insistence of my impatient hounds I dragged my rubbery legs into the hills on Wednesday morning. Despite some residual aches and pains I enjoyed a gentle lumber under cloudless skies. Sun-baked though the trails are they're luxuriant compared to unyielding Irish tarmac. Clocked around 50 minutes for 5 chilly miles.
I've sorted out a deferment with Lewes Crown Court this week. Called for Jury Service I started badly by no-showing on Monday, following up with a plea for compassionate leave so as to tend to an ailing Mrs H. To their credit the Court agreed to defer until August so I'm free to ferry my embattled wife to various practitioners, specialists, spiritual healers and Witchdoctors. The latest prognosis suggests her back will take around eight weeks 'of complete rest' to heal. If it isn't right by then we're looking at surgery, a frankly terrifying prospect that just might ensure that she takes the instruction to heart.
Tonight I'm off to Bridge's House of Fun for a 'gentle' spin session. I need to pump fresh, oxygenated blood through my ravaged quad fibres to aid the healing process. 45 minutes of low-impact spin (followed by a fair dose of sofa-dwelling) is the perfect way to go about it.
I'm planning my weekend, the middle one of three involving major race events. ParkRun on Saturday, gardening all afternoon (a selfless sacrifice at the behest of Mrs H who stares despairingly at the folorn flower beds every morning. Her inability to tend to her domain adds an untreatable dull ache to her pain). Sunday morning Birthday Breakfast in Bed for the Stricken One before dashing off to Ovingdean to cheer on Team RC and Team Moyleman at the 10 mile marker at Brighton Marathon. Next weekend it's the VLM featuring the JDRF Pasta party (Saturday night) & 8 hours duty at the 22.5 mile Supporter Zone, replete with all the throat-closing wildness that entails.
Good luck one and all!
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Quick update. The lack of aircraft activity has resulted in my working day stretching from dawn till dusk, filled with irate customers wanting to know what I plan to do about the bloody volcano.
I double-dipped yesterday, partly to relieve some of the stress. A swift, early five-miler around my usual circuit left me sweaty and happy. The day ended with a visit to Bridge's House of Fun and a tough session of hill-climbs and sprints, culminating in a fabulous, sweat-flinging climactic thrash to the brilliant Freebird. My little legs nearly flew off I pedalled so darned hard. Excellent.
I'd love to have run again this morning but sadly time was a-tappin' it's toe.
Up early tomorrow for sure, BHoF on Thursday.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Another brief wave from sunny Sussex. Nipped out for a 5k plodette on Tuesday, looking for another on this delightfully sunny if rather chilly morning. It's bits and bobs at the moment as I gear up for the VLM weekend, no chance to revisit my gentle long runs. I'd like to keep up the long mileage at least until Seaford Half in early June. I've plans to enter Beachy Head later in the year - I've never run this before but Ladyrunner has said she'd like to try my new relaxed approach (she's raced The Seven Sisters several times & knows the course) so perhaps we'll do that together.
Connemarathon race report remains in my notebook and in my head for now. Unlike the mythical Almeria video it may yet surface. I'm still not really sure how it all came together on the day. I need some quiet thinking time to pull the strands out of the dirt before I can think about weaving you a tale worthy of the name. In truth I'm still plucking up the courage to confess to hiding out in a pub in Oughterard for the duration before swiping a finishers' shirt & medal off an unsuspecting local as he dozed in the shade.
Hosting duties beckon at the JDRF Pasta Party tomorrow night before a full day's yelling and cheering opposite mile 13/ at mile 22.5 on The Highway. Good luck to all London runners. It'll be warm, so think hydration, hydration, hydration. You should be sipping water or isotonic drinks most of the time as you run.
Give us a wave back if you see us amidst the throng!
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Ended up taking the Vibrams for a spin in the sun. I guess it's a bit like taking your motorcycle out in the good weather, or at least that's how it feels to me to run barefoot (or as near as dammit). Despite the relentless baking sun (yes, I did write that, in England, in April) and the dusty dry appearance of the downs I could still feel the earth yield beneath my lighter-than-usual tread and the delicious kiss of soft grass between my FiveFingered toes.
In truth this was quite a scamper. Five hot and hilly miles in 44 minutes is not bad considering the extreme vigilance required to avoid landing on sharp flint or skidding in the occasional bovine (or canine) deposits. At one stage on the homeward plunge I performed the fastest twinkle-toed routine seen in these parts, skipping nervously accross a particularly parched, stony section. A rapid glance at the Garmin told me I was moving faster than my Almeria half pace. Fast and fancy footwork indeed. With my eyes glued to the ground I felt like a (rather large and heavy) bird of prey, swooping low across the terrain in full reconnaissance mode. A shadow across the sun caused me to look up, and stone me if there wasn't an impressive aviator of that ilk hovering above the field beside me. From the baja-brown mantle across it's shoulders I took it to be a kestrel, though it seemed on the large side for that make & model.
I survived the course without mishap, breathless and pleased with my invigorating morning dash. Following a visit to the Vibram stand at the Virgin London Marathon Expo this week I'm planning to invest in the new FiveFingers KSO Treks, although at GBP 164 for a pair it may be some time before I part with the readies. Possibly when I head for the US in June for CWD Friends for Life. They retail at US$ 125 a pair there - bloody rip-off Britain. Until then I'll battle on with my thin-soled KSO regulars. KSO? Keep Stuff Out, I'm reliably informed. I must say I love running in them.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Fascinating stuff the FiveFingers experiment. And I'll have to read that book you've mentioned. Discovering that you can actually improve your running technique through fancy footwork introduces a whole new dimension... and a lot of fun.
And those Mizunos Wave Harrriers I bought in Riazor Blue's shop feel like slippers, they're the closest I've been to running barefoot. I'll be using them this Sunday.
![[Image: black-treks.png]](http://www.vibrams.co.uk/Images/KsoTrek/black-treks.png)
