And I Would Run One Hundred Miles

[Seafront Plodder]

He leered at my tanned shoulders
As I passed the fat old perv
I doubt I'll run up there again
He's got some bloody nerve. 

[Sweder]

A very poetic blog my friend.  I cannot help but wonder though, what your strawberry girl wrote on her return.  

Out on the hills of Lewes
In the early morning mist
I passed a goat called Billy
Who looked like he was pissed. 

To be fair she had time to do three more circuits, run to Brighton and pen a full-bloodied sonnet, without plagiarising musical royalty, before I eventually pulled into Sweder Central in a state of near-collapse.

[Sweder]

He leered at my tanned shoulders
As I passed the fat old perv
I doubt I'll run up there again
He's got some bloody nerve

There was a time I might have kicked on and chatted to her, invited her to enter the Moyleman, asked after her running pedigree. Given the distance from home, and indeed from any reliable roadway by which paramedics might have reached me, I didn't try. That, and the fact that my lungs were already in my throat at half her pace.

The joke's over. I need to step it up and lose some timber or pack this lark in for good. I don't do well at floundering.

[marathondan]

The joke's over. I need to step it up and lose some timber or pack this lark in for good. I don't do well at floundering.

You're on the right track, Sweder. So long as you still have the time to put in the miles, you'll get there. This has been a long lay-off.

[Charliecat5]

He leered at my tanned shoulders
As I passed the fat old perv
I doubt I'll run up there again
He's got some bloody nerve

There was a time I might have kicked on and chatted to her, invited her to enter the Moyleman, asked after her running pedigree. Given the distance from home, and indeed from any reliable roadway by which paramedics might have reached me, I didn't try. That, and the fact that my lungs were already in my throat at half her pace.

The joke's over. I need to step it up and lose some timber or pack this lark in for good. I don't do well at floundering.

Chin up Goat Man.  When I run alongside you (or more truthfully, behind you) I am acutely aware that those legs of yours are capable of carrying you for miles and miles and miles.  You have a level of stamina  that us mere mortals can only dream about.  

Let us run on Saturday late afternoon - Blackcap, back via Hamsey and the river.  It's nine miles and all down hill from BC (apart from Mount Harry... oh a little bit at the quarry... plus the run back through town).
  

[Sweder]

Yes, this is happening. I do like the idea of running alongside the river. Cooler and flatter = good.
Plus, we have a date at the Pelham Arms to test drive the latest batch of Blackcap.
Mmm.

[Charliecat5]

Yes, this is happening. I do like the idea of running alongside the river. Cooler and flatter = good.
Plus, we have a date at the Pelham Arms to test drive the latest batch of Blackcap.
Mmm.

We can't be any more qualified to test a pint of Blackcap than when we've just run up Blackcap.   Although I fear it may take a couple of pints to be sure.

Last Friday, the river was flatter... but it wasn't cooler.  No wind.  Of course, running with you, there'll be plenty of wind 

[Sweder]

What time did you have in mind? Starts cooling down around, what, 5/ 6-ish?

[Charliecat5]

What time did you have in mind? Starts cooling down around, what, 5/ 6-ish?

6:30 at Jill's Pond?  I need to find a hat.

[Sweder]

It's a date. Meanwhile, I need to find a good time to squeeze in a run/ hill reps tomorrow.
4am looks favourite, closely followed by 9pm #sizzle

[Charliecat5]

It's a date. Meanwhile, I need to find a good time to squeeze in a run/ hill reps tomorrow.
4am looks favourite, closely followed by 9pm #sizzle

I'm heading north to the cold-lands.  I have very deliberately taken a back seat this week, easing off to allow my body to recover... and it's bloody hot.  However, I am about to board the express to Carlisle, where I shall be based until my return on Saturday morning.  Running shoes are packed.  Let's see what happens.  

[Sweder]

Can't stand the heat? Start running at night.
9pm last night I set off for a short, sharp schlep on my 4k circuit. So much for 'cooler' weather, I may have well as hit a treadmill in a sauna. Willow, our stout, hirsute Cocker, is struggling. I had to hit 'pause' on Runkeeper a few times to let her catch up. I'd like to think this is me speeding up - no, stop that, now, it's rude! But most likely Old Father Time has laid hands upon those short, bandy legs.

Part of this loop takes me down what CharlieCat refers to as Sweder's Hill. I've taken this on a few times since returning, but last night was the first time I really opened up, scaring myself half to death at the steepest part. I bottled it, slamming on the anchors and finishing with an ugly rapid shuffle. The knee has shown a slight reaction to this barbaric treatment, leading me to wonder if it will continue to improve as I step things up or simply go on strike. I must prepare for the possibility that my long-haul days are in the past. Maybe my future lies in short-track racing?
I've drawn up some plans, just in case.
What's that? Take a look?
Of course you may, here -

[Sweder]

He's done it again, the swine. Dragged me out of my comfort zone with a JCB and chucked me off the top of a rather tall cliff.
Who? That CharlieCat bloke, that's who. 

OK, it's my own fault that I tried to cram in a summertime supper before a planned hike with the Beast Of Blackcap. By the time we set off my chest cavity was hosting a WWF match between stomach and lungs. Humidity hung in the air, tangible, like rain in Matrix-style slo-mo. We set off to Blackcap, chatting away, Duncan easily, me like some ugly remix of Asthmatic Bloodhound and Stephen Hawking. On the return we took a new (to me) route; off the ridge, hard left on a perilous plummet through the chalk pits to and across the road, on through the gorgeous hamlets of Offham and Hamsey and along the riverbank into Lewes. 

   

The plummet almost killed me. Following CC's slender form down a narrow, flint-strewn, baked-hard mud trail, lined with intrusive fronds of nettle and thorn, I had to work hard to find my footing. I prefer the lead on these sections, spotting the dangers a few yards ahead, programming the feet to react, choosing the path of least peril. Truth is, I was behind my running partner both literally and in terms of fitness. Being lardy and slow, I was all back-of-the-bus on this trip. So when CC suddenly left the ground to perform the deftest mid-air foot-paddle over a looming stile, I had approximately one second to react. I leapt, feet floundering for purchase. My right foot struck the first step on the way up, launching me over the cross-beam, a flailing left just catching the furthest step to propel me forward and on down the drop at break-neck speed. Jesus Christ. 

The route through the villages was all hard-top. As expected my legs stiffened at the pounding. My right IT band turned to stone, forcing me to pull up a couple of times. Duncan waited but I could see he was eager to get to the pub. I waved him on and hobbled along as best I could. Much to the delight of my inner Kid I managed to sneak into the pub via a back route, purchase the ale and slump onto an outside bench before Duncan appeared. 
'How'd you do that?' He asked. 
'You said something about beer' I wheezed, dripping horribly onto the wooden table as I gasped for air.

The beer, publican Andy's latest attempt at sharpening up Badger with added hops, tasted pretty good. The hops added a dry sharpness, though that trademark Blandford twang still lurked. We tried a second pint, just to be sure. Definitely going in the right direction, as is my running.

12 kilometres in an hour and eighteen minutes.
Next up: Orlando for CWD and a few early morning plods around the lake at Coronado.

[Sweder]

My annual pilgrimage to the Florida swamps has been and gone. Friends For Life was a rip-roaring success; record numbers fed, educated, entertained and sent off to face the year refreshed for their battle with type one diabetes. As for the staff ... we returned to our homes happy but drained, emotionally wrung out and, in my case, jet-lagged to the max.

No sooner had my feet touched down in Old Blighty than I was off to re-pack, load up the hounds and head West to rendezvous with Mrs S in an oceanside thatched cottage retreat. Tucked away in the folded fields east of Weymouth, this idyllic spot offers running opportunities aplenty, all of which entail a large amount of hill climbing. The coastal route east is mouth-watering. White Nothe looms high above Ringstead Bay, often shrouded in cloud or sea mist. The narrow, rutted path, lined with high grass and brambles, winds away towards Durdle Dor and Lulworth Cove. The vistas are breath-taking, the peaks and troughs hair-raising. 

Tuesday morning, 24 hours after landing at Gatwick, I set off on this route. Rory, our youngest's current Beau, came along for the ride. At 20 he has the bounce and energy of a young gazelle, leaping up hills for fun, barely breaking sweat as I huffed and puffed in his wake. We turned at Durdle Dor, the return climb proving too much for me and the dogs to run. Rory bounced on, having the good grace to pause at the summit to catch his breath. A tiny patch of perspiration stained his otherwise impeccable t-shirt. By contrast I looked like I'd just emerged from the sea, bedraggled and soaked, beet-red and breathless. I gave him a run for his money on the descent, though, and absolutely thrashed him when it came to manning up and wading into the ice-cold ocean at the finish. We take our victories, however small, where we can.

This morning (Thursday) I'm sucking down my second coffee at 06:20. Breakfast lies in my belly in preparation for today's outing. Tuesday saw the thick end of 10k banked. Today it'll be more like 20, with an elongated half-time taken at Lulworth Cove for another dip and, frankly, a rest. These hills are unforgiving. 

   

100 miles/ days challenge update:
June: 33.2 miles (ave 1.109 miles per day)
July: 22.3 miles (ave 1.394 miles per day)

[The Beast of Bevendean]

You are running in Mrs R's native county. Tread softly on this sacred ground. A pity you're a couple of weeks too late for this: http://www.charmouthchallenge.co.uk 'the most southerly fell race in England'. Running it has been described as like “a spider trying to get out of a bath”. For a Black Cap regular, the lure of the Golden Cap must be hard to resist.

[Sweder]

That didn't quite go to plan. Turns out the added-on section - from Durdle Dor to Lulworth Cove, via Oswald Bay - is steeper and more perilous than the early stage. By the time I reached Lulworth and the agreed rendezvous with Mrs S I was battered, drenched in sweat and ready to join the dogs in the back of the car for the return leg.

Over 500 metres of elevation in a shade over nine kilometres, much of it virtually vertical. Jesus wept, my legs were shredded, lungs in tatters, Vermilion Almeria top rancid.. Here's a shot of me just over halfway. It's a genuine selfie - this is how much those climbs hurt. 

   

So I wimped out, but not before putting in a decent effort. Thanks to my inability to post more than one picture via iPad I'll chuck the elevation map in a new post below. For those with access to The Fleecebook, here's a link to more photos. It really is a stunning part of the world. 

[Sweder]

Thursday's elevation map

   

[marathondan]

Sterling stuff Sweder. Looks like you're back on track, even if you have to accept that this season will be a work in progress rather than a return to peak performance. Enjoy the rest of the break.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Great work!!

[El Gordo]

Ah, Durdle Door and Lulworth Cove -- poetic names well remembered from a school geography field trip circa 1971. We stayed in a place called Avon Tyrrell, a few miles inland, in the New Forest.

M and I constantly 'discuss' where we should aim to retire. In my book, it's a toss-up between Baden-Baden and the New Forest. She has other ideas.