Damn, I did it again; let another month slip by without opening up a new thread. I'll migrate October reports here once I've worked out how to do that. er ...
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Lewes Downland 10 - Deja Vu all over again
I survived the Lewes Downland 10 this morning, running in a seasonally adjusted 1:35-ish (official gun time) in the hottest recorded conditions in these parts at this time of year. Trust me, oh ye of little faith, it was bloody hot. What breeze there was evaporated in the sun-drenched valleys, the merciless sun sapping my energy as my legs grew wobbly over the closing miles.
Parallels with the 2007 race, my first attempt at this undulating beast of a ten miler, don't end in the glare of strong sunshine. There's a Rugby World Cup on the go for one thing. England & France have again both qualified for the knock out stages, albeit in both cases the passage has been far from straight forward.
Then there's my decision to ship a barrel load of beer yesterday, first at my beloved Lewes FC and later on the thirsty walk home. Thirsty Walk? Is she on Newsnight? Anyway, I'm home now, a broken man, hamstrings like piano wire, feet battered and bruised and a honey-do list that needs attention. So for details of the course I present, without apology, my 2007 race report.
Photos LtoR: Morning; 5 mile race start; early going; Mile 8: out of the woods; Le Finish!; Sweaty Sweder
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
(02-10-2011, 08:41 PM)Sweder Wrote: Lewes Downland 10 - Deja Vu all over again ...
... I survived the Lewes Downland 10 this morning for details of the course I present, without apology, my 2007 race report.
Congratulations, S.! It´s wonderful when you notice that you´re fitter than you had expected.
Official race stats show my gun time at 1:35. As it didn't take more than 30 seconds for me to cross the line, even from my pessimistic perch at the rear of the peloton, I fear claims for a PB were premature. The chap who finished just ahead of me may wish to get his Garmin re-calibrated.
No matter. This morning I'm just happy to
a) be alive
b) have the use of my legs
Now that MLCMan has blurted out there are only SEVEN WEEKS until we run up a mountain I'm inclined to do this run again, perhaps several times a week, in the vain hope that I injure myself and am unable to travel.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Downland 10 photos now up (see post above) plus revised gun time.
No run today as up all night with daughter (stomach bug). Hope to get outbthis evening in the (much) cooler air.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
(04-10-2011, 10:06 AM)Sweder Wrote: Downland 10 photos now up (see post above) plus revised gun time.
Golly, you look like El Diablo himself in that 5th photo - probably just as well as you'll need to run like the devil to get up that mountain in ... just over SIX weeks time.
(04-10-2011, 08:05 PM)Mid Life Crisis Man Wrote: Golly, you look like El Diablo himself in that 5th photo - probably just as well as you'll need to run like the devil to get up that mountain in ... just over SIX weeks time.
Fair point. Here I am at the post-run party after a couple of pints ...
I finally plucked up the courage to test out my battered legs this morning. Tight calves (calfs?) aside after a rusty start I felt OK, loping around the hills for five and a half kilometres and finishing with something of a flourish. It's never as bad as we fear is it? I felt certain my legs would fracture and shatter, like the homicidal highway patrolman in Terminator 2. I got my motor running and found my way home thanks to a gentle start and some soothing sounds from the good people at Planet Rock.
October finally showed her true self and about time too. Many of us have been here for days wondering where our favourite autumnal month had got to. Heavy, battleship grey clouds scudded low over rain-damp hills, encouraged by a lively breeze dancing up from the coast. Tatty hedgerows snared wind-blown turning leaves as hooded rooks squabbled noisily on the racecourse fence. Lewes lay in her morning veil, still sleepy as I ran off the last hill, legs gently lashed by the long damp grass.
Track du jour: Can't Find My Way Home, Blind Faith
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
(04-10-2011, 11:04 PM)Sweder Wrote: ... Heavy, battleship grey clouds scudded low over rain-damp hills, encouraged by a lively breeze dancing up from the coast. Tatty hedgerows snared wind-blown turning leaves as hooded rooks squabbled noisily on the racecourse fence. Lewes lay in her morning veil, still sleepy as I ran off the last hill, legs gently lashed by the long damp grass.
Good God Sweder, you just used a year's worth of adjectives there in one para! Nice work, man.
Well that, ladies and gentleman, was what I call a PARTY!
No gory details; suffice to say that puppy swung like a pendulum do and some. A surprise visit from the Big (Swiss) Cheese and the Devine Miss M added to a fabulous evening, as did the unquantifiable amount of Harveys I managed to pour down my neck with the help of friends and family, not least the Brighton Running community who turned out in force; Stevio, Simon Ho, Tom Roper, Gillybean, Jen and Ladyrunner (who despite her catalogue of injuries looked fitter than ever). The band was simply fantastic, their rendition of Pinball Wizard arguably better than the original. The joint was jumping and even my 83 year old Mother-in-Law got caught up in the free-flying endorphin rush, leaping on stage to conduct the wild gyrations. Belissimo!
Now, in the cold light of day, a cruel wind has arrived, driven across the oceans by those spiteful Norse outriders to shrivel the skin and raise the goosebumps. A timely cooling off as the serious business of P2P looms large, my own Mount Doom black and hunched on the horizon.
I scraped a paltry plod yesterday, all puff and bluster over an embarassingly modest distance. I repeated the exercise this morning under a generous strip of broken mackerel cloud. Last night's rain hung heavy in the tall grass adding weight to my mud-caked runners. I welcomed the chill wind like an old friend, its' icy embrace stirring my corpuscles in a way that the recent balmy weather simply can't. I felt stronger by the minute and whilst 5.7 kilometres may seem like small beer to many it filled my heart with hope for the weeks ahead.
Onwards then, and ever upwards.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
I don't dislike summer running, I have to say. But there is something stirring about the onset of darker, colder nights. It's more about taking on the darker side of Nature and coming out the other end stronger. And then there's the warm fires and foaming beer.
One thing you should do: get yourself a headtorch. I bagged a couple the other week for Mrs and Junior @ £11 a throw. And they're pretty good. Nighttime forays could give you the flexibility you need. Might be abit creepy at first on your tod; but you start to enjoy it.
The Bedlamite series is starting again next week. First run up Pendle Hill. Can't wait.
Cheers for that G-man. I've danced with night running in the hills (without torch) in the past and really enjoyed the rush. I should imagine the hardest adjustment would be to the bouncing torch-light as I wobble over the trails.
I agree with you about this time of year, too. It's no surprise that the Bedlamite series kicks off just as the light fades and the frost arrives. Something stirs within me when the wind starts to bite. I churned out another workmanlike effort this morning, a shade over five miles lolloping over sun-kissed ice-hard downland. It was cold enough for me to don the Thierry Henris for the first time since Spring sprang. It'll need to get a good deal cooler to get me back into my flayed, frayed leggings though. Perhaps I'll invest in a new pair this year ...
Golfing tomorrow (cross training), Park Run on Saturday (that'll hurt) and a long-ish one (10 to 12 miles) set for Sunday.
I appear to be back on the horse; time will tell if I'm facing the right way.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
I slipped out this morning, dogs in tow, heading for Blackcap. Last night I met up for a quiet beer with Chris 'Austin Powers' Mallinson, Ladyrunner, Simon Ho and friends before attending the Neville Juvenile Bonfire shindig. The bonfire itself is staged at the start of the Lewes Downland 10, evoking memories of that race and a much warmer day. A full-on prelude to the Big Stuff on November 5th this event treated us to some spectacular fireworks and the ritual evisceration of several effigies. One, a hastily constructed Colonel Gadaffi strapped to a giant rocket, had been spotted earlier that afternoon passing the Dripping Pan. I spied him from my nest in the press box as I posted live commentary on the Mighty Rooks's 2-1 victory over Cray Wanderers in the FA Trophy. Seeing the recently deceased dictator's distinctive barnet glide past the old flint walls of Fortress Pan was something to behold. Packed with fireworks with a generous dollop of semtex at his core the Colonel left us with a chest-rattling thump last night.
The merry band of runners repaired to the Royal Oak whereupon they tripped the Light Fantastic to none other than Buckler's Reel, a plucky folk band playing live in the pub. Unusually I ducked out. Somewhere hidden in the straw that fills most of my head sits a small nagging troll. This troll has been chirruping about some forthcoming mountain run being only weeks away, that and the fact I've banked sod-all mileage lately. Some part of me that eschewed a night in the pub, saving me for what I supposed would be a hard-run assault on Blackcap. I ditched plans to run with the Jog Shop mob when Chris confided, with barely disguised glee, that Lycra Tony had moved the start time up to 08:00 on a Sunday. Too rich, and indeed early, for my thinning blood.
Happily (and, these days, rarely) I felt pretty good this morning. So when I crested the Cap, the Sussex lowlands laid out below me to my right, Brighton's seafront towers glistening in the distance to my left, instead of turning tail I pressed on. The dogs seemed confused, never having gone past the milestone at the top of the hill, yet faithful as ever they ploughed on in my heavy wake, taking time to check out the markers of those that had gone before. I set off towards Plumpton and Ditchling, what felt like a gentle breeze at my back, legs light and quick over the rough flint trail. I thought back to Glaconman's reference to night running and that weird name he gave having eyes in your feet and tested a theory. Keeping my sights on the horizon I tried running 'blind' over the rough, uneven ground. Potholes came and went, half filled with chalky rainwater, adourned with chunks of flint and slabs of wet mud. All in all this worked fairly well. I didn't fall arse over tit or stub my toe, or career headlong into the barbed wire fences lining the route. I maintained a reasonably steady pace, ankles and knees adjusting to the changes under foot on what felt like a series of pistons and shock absorbers.
Thinking back to last night the Lewes Downland Ten popped into my head just as I reached the turn-off for that particular route. What the heck; I took the turn, feeling what was certainly more than a breeze hit my left side. This would account for my apparent sprightliness; a stiff wind had shoved me up the hills and out onto the South Downs way. I stuck with the route right up to the point where it heads into dense woodland (around mile 7 on the race proper) before the quad crunching ascent to Black Cap. Instead I took the high road, loping easily up a far gentler incline. Brightly marked finches bobbed and weaved across the rutted path, their flashed bellies occasionally blending perfectly with sun-lit buttercup-yellow gorse flowers in the hedgerows.
Heading for home I faced into what I now realised was clearly a full-force gale. This offered just what I need most at this point; a tough, grinding finish. The headwind dropped my ‘resting’ pace by 40 seconds per kilometre, or, in plain English, ‘by quite a bit’. I had to fight hard not only against the wind but rising lactic acid and tired, under-cooked legs. Disappointing, but best to find this out now whilst I still have a week or two to add some mileage that will make a difference. I’m not beating myself up. This was an impromptu long(er) run so I carried no food or water, and it has, even in my baroque world, been an eventful few weeks.
Despite the fatigue I kicked for home, the nonplussed, shattered pups sculking in behind me. We covered 14.7 kilometres in 1 hour 33. A good workout, but I’ll need to complete a tough Snake run (North Face, Yellow Brick Road etc and so forth) before I’ll believe P2P is within my gift. Next weekend is the CWD UK Conference in Windsor (where I’ll be wearing at least four hats, including that of exhibit co-ordinator) so I’ve planned a series of hard mid-week outings this and next week with the Serpentine test to follow on November 6th. After that anything added will be for psychological benefit only.
I recorded the route today on my Garmin. Here’s the elevation map showing that despite the tough going this was no true test of hill work, rather a pleasantly undulating trail. More work needed, that much is certain.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
My recovery run this morning turned into a pretty handy Fartlek session. Here's how it breaks down:
1. Uphill start
From home I run uphill for 1.5 kms with a 400 metre recovery, then a further 700 metres (slightly steeper ascent). This works the hamstrings and lungs, gets the arms pumping and the 02 flowing. The second stage tests my fitness as there's a nasty little section that, for no obvious reason, really saps the energy out of my legs.
2. Loose footing
After a 300 metre descent across open fields I pick up the chalk & flint track back to the stables (around 1k long). This is strewn with medium to large flint shards, rocks and mud pools. It's eyes down for a full house, darting left and right, ducking brambles, dodging holes and jumping puddles. It's a slalom that demands my full attention, light, quick feet and reactive footfall. Where the ground is in shadow I take short, quick steps, allowing adjustment for any lurking jagged nasties. It's like running on hot coals, working my ankles and knees as much as my lungs and legs. My favourite section by some way.
After a brief respite on the stable yard tarmac its onto another flint track for more of the same for around 700 metres.
3. Sprint finish
The last 1.2 kilometres is across open fields (or, as this morning, the long-grass racecourse that runs parallel to the field). I try to push the pace here, finishing in a 500 metre plummet back to my street where I try to push the pace under the 4 minute per km barrier.
It's a short, sharp shock, a great way to start the day.
What I need for the rest of this week, however, is long, slow climbs.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
(24-10-2011, 08:34 AM)Sweder Wrote: What I need for the rest of this week, however, is long, slow climbs.
For which the treadmill is undeniably your friend. The pups may not like it though.
*Googles 'treadmill', scratches head*
How the hell am I supposed to get that up in hills? You people are sick; must be spending all that time upside down ...
I bagged a tiny weeny 4k plodette this morning, merely to push warm blood through tired legs. No point going any further, I think these old pins might just have curled up round my ears with a nasty 'spingoing' sound ... I'll do better tomorrow.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
![[Image: 500full.jpg]](http://i2.listal.com/image/1295767/500full.jpg)
