What next eh?

[Charliecat5]

I am putting this down to a change of Race Director for the 2018 Moyleman extravaganza. We’ve only had entries open for two weeks and already have 208 crazy fools runners enter.   We could be sold out in two weeks’ time!
 
The question is: why are tickets selling as quickly as our Head of the Time Team disappears when it’s his round?   There is a real buzz around the whole thing this year.   There has always been a buzz, but this year the buzz is even bigger.  Everyone I meet around town talks about the race.  It has become etched now as one of the greatest running events in the locality (I’ve been told), if not the world (I've made up) 
 
So, if you haven’t entered, and you want to enter, get on with it.  Details can be found on our Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/Moyleman/ 
 
Or you can register here: https://www.sportsystems.co.uk/ss/event/TheMoylemanMarathon20182
 
We are also after Marshals.  If you can’t run for whatever reason, but fancy a fun day out in the countryside, get in touch.  There’s free beer and pizza!

[Charliecat5]

We love an anniversary, particularly when someone mentions that bacon scarnies might be on the cards.   This morning was the 100th Twitten Run.  A 100 Sunday mornings since some silly sod suggested to two other silly sods that running the Twittens might be a fun thing to do.    
 
We were six this morning; the three founding silly sods, plus David ‘Keere Street’ Stacey – a man who missed the first, but has been a feature of many since; the infamous Nick Williams; and Radar who lives at the bottom of a Twitten so had little excuse.   Sadly, for such a landmark run, we were missing a couple Twitten stalwarts:  Tom Roper was busting his moves at a cross country race; and James Mccauley, inventor and master of the Mccauley stretch, was AWOL up north. 
 
And what a six we were.  If ever there was an advertisement for healthy living and the wellbeing that comes from running. Honestly, if you closed your eyes, you’d have thought you were on a geriatrics Christmas outing to Butlins.  Rob bust a gasket on Keere Street, Nick was only firing on three of his usual four cylinders, Radar was recovering from two weeks of lurgy, I pretty much coughed up what was left of my lungs, and Ash… well… sometimes what happens on the Twittens needs to stay on the Twittens.  He got around tho’, at the half way point this was debatable.
 
Twittens done, it was into Ground Coffee for the traditional order, before we trotted back up a Twitten to Rob’s new gaff for delicious bacon scarnies.   If it wasn’t for the running, this Sunday morning tradition would be great.    

   

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Well, I think it's marvellous. When I look at many of my friends, acquaintances and colleagues who do no form of exercise at all, you lot, by comparison, look like lithe Olympians, no matter how ordinary you think your 'performance' may have been. A hearty congratulation to you all. A bloody marvellous example to everyone.

And the selfies are a nice touch, too.

[marathondan]

One hundred. Wow. They give out t-shirts for those at Parkrun. But we wouldn't want to be denied the above fashion show by you all wearing the same top.

Superb work, one and all.

[Antonio247]

Congratulations on that first centennial, amigos!

[Charliecat5]

Looking back on 2017 and it’s been a pretty good year for running.  I actually ran three races (two half marathons, and a 10 mile cross country affair); and more happily have had some great jaunts over the Downs with the local loons.  However, I have finished the year in a worse condition than when I entered.   The last couple months have seen me fighting two colds in quick succession, work stress building, and a blossoming alcohol intake.   I have put on weight and lost a lot of running form.  Weekly mileage can be measure on the fingers of one hand (in some weeks on the fingers of half a hand). 
 
But this is all changing, and in typical Rawson style I have launched from 3-4 miles a week to 16 so far in the last 6 days.   The plan is to run slow and steady during the week with a fast and furious one on the Twittens at the weekend (when I say fast and furious…).
 
This week, a planned three miler around town with Radar turned into a five and a half miler up the start of the Moyleman; then on Friday I was joined by OATR for a 6 mile flurry up to the top of the Mighty Caburn.  This one is my favourite kinds of outing… running into the dusk battling a hoolie.
 
Today was Twittens.  The usual crowd plus a newbie.  A young newbie.  A young and very fit newbie.  The sort of young and very fit newbie who waltzed up the bloody Twittens without breaking a sweat.  Somewhat different to the rest of us.  But he did put the pressure on.
 
So, what about 2018?  I have nothing really planned, other than I want to re-build my fitness again and get out into the hills on a regular basis.  My plan to help build the motivation is to maintain a 2 mile a day average, which worked for me 18 months ago or so.   So far, one week in, I am running at 3 miles a day average.   My other ambition is to keep the big man running, and get him back into our local WhatsApp group with a spring in his step.
 
Here’s to 2018!

[Charliecat5]

Well I’m still running.  And since I started my new regime on Christmas Eve, I have plodded 61 miles, maintaining an average of 2.8 miles a day.  I am also doing a series of core strengthening exercises a few times a week, mainly targeted at skiing, but having a positive impact on my running.
 
This Sunday was one of those more interesting running experiences.  It started with a special early version of the Twittens, starting at 8am rather than the usual 9am.  This was to give myself and OATR time for a quick bacon buttie, before heading up the hill to help marshal the Herd’s brand-new Blackcap 5 cross country race.
 
With the need for some more miles, I decided to run out to my marshal point – which as it happens was the furthest point of the race.  To ensure I kept warm, and to take some photos I had a backpack full of cosy clothes and a camera with a big fat lens in it.  Running fully loaded is a tough trial for a lightweight trail runner such as myself.  
 
Having reached my spot 3 miles later, I had to pick-up a large banner flag thing and set it up ready to indicate to the herd that they could turnaround and start their journey back to the finish line. 
 
It was a great spot to watch the runners, of all shapes and sizes, of all different demeanours, come over the hill and run around the flag.  The highlight being the Godfather himself cruising over the brow of the hill, blaming his relatively slow progress on both the 9 o’clock Twittens, and Cockburn (don’t ask). 
 
With the last runner past, I packed up the flag, chatted to the sweeper bike, picked a couple of arrows, and then set off home; now with a backpack, a big long bag full of heavy flag poles, and an arrow on a stake.  This tested my running mettle, and I can’t pretend it was particularly quick, other than I caught up and overtook the last few runners, crossing the finish line in two and half hours!

[OutAlongTheRiver]

61 miles is good total! I'm on similar number for the period - but not managed to sustain the core strengthening exercise at anything like the necessary level ... it would make a difference! Sunday was ace. You definitely had good spot to marshal from.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Good work, you two. Over here far less to report: my running life is like a recalcitrant lawnmower, i.e. there are a few pulls of the ripcord, but thus far no sputtering into life. Ah well, it happens... or not, as the case may be.

Keep at it, fellas!

[Charliecat5]

Eleven miles into the run this morning, I started to hallucinate about a roast dinner.  Yorkshire puddings the size of saucepans, the beef red and bloody in the middle, roast potatoes as crisp as your granny’s bed linen.  Perhaps a large glass of red to compliment the gravy and to wash down the vegies.
 
Then another gust of wind blew a flurry of snow over us, and suddenly I was back, running down Itford Hill heading towards the river, where I knew we’d have to turn north to wind it in back to town.  It was a shock… a big shock.
 
I could however, take solace from the fact that Radar was still chatting away.  Helping me to forget that my bare legs were starting to hurt from the cold, and my hat was becoming heavier as it absorbed the endless mix of rain and snow.    We passed a couple of walkers dressed as for the artic. I’m sure they muttered something un-printable as I lumbered past. 
 
This was a Moyleman route checking run.  There is a section which always worries me, and I wanted to check it.  So contrarily, we set off from the finish and ran backwards over Caburn, Glynde, through the switchbacks to Firle, but then to keep the distance to a planned (and promised) thirteen miles, we turned upwards at Firle, leaving the Coach Road for another day, and plodded our way to the top.   The plan being to dump some of the Moyleman miles, to give us the distance to run back home from Southease along the river.
 
A gentle buzz of my watch at Southease harboured the news I feared.  We were already at twelve miles, with four left to go.  I kept quiet, smiled a warm loving smile at Radar, suggested we had a couple of jelly babies, and kept going.  As she was mumbling about not getting the distance in this morning, I thought I would get away with it.
 
Me and rivers don’t get on.  I don’t know why, but I always find them particularly tough.  I’d much prefer a hill then running along a river bank.  However, a reasonable pace was set, and we started the long-haul home.  Then my watch whispered that we’d just tripped thirteen miles.  In my ‘excitement’ I mentioned it to my esteemed friend, who had at this point resorted to playing a running playlist to keep her legs moving along (or to drown out my endless agricultural, and birdlife facts).  
 
Then the brain pixies set in… having run the thirteen, my body decided it was time to finish.  I went from a nice little trot, to a complete bonk in terms of energy.  Ok, I admit, I hadn’t eaten this morning, so last night’s carb loading (beer and fajitas) were going to run out at some point, it was just the speed that they ran out that surprised me.
 
For the first time this morning, I dropped in behind Radar, who fed me jelly babies and encouragement, dragging my sorry arse home.  As I collapsed on the doorstep, I breathed a sigh of relief and reflected how we’d managed to run sixteen point two miles, instead of the thirteen planned.  
 
It was a marvellous jaunt though.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Good running Charlicat. 
Yorkshire pudding hallucinations, love it! 

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

I think you might be overdoing it, CC5. The most worrying indication of this is the phrase you used, "Perhaps a large glass of red to compliment the gravy..." Hallucinating about dinner isn't a problem, my friend, but questioning the need for a glass of red with it most definitely is.

Still, I'll have it if you don't want it... and are you going to eat that last Yorkshire pudding?

[Charliecat5]

I think you might be overdoing it, CC5. The most worrying indication of this is the phrase you used, "Perhaps a large glass of red to compliment the gravy..." Hallucinating about dinner isn't a problem, my friend, but questioning the need for a glass of red with it most definitely is.

Now let's be clear MLCMM. I was questioning whether to have a large glass of red... this it true... but it goes without saying that I was questioning this in terms of an alternative to a beautiful glass of Partizan stout.   

And, by the way, when I did actually have a roast dinner yesterday evening, I chose beer whilst cooking, and a lovely red whilst eating.  I win all round.  

And, you stand no chance of a spare Yorkshire pudding with my 14yo boy in the house.

[glaconman]

Great mileage CC5.

I'm trying to increase my own long runs and finding it a real effort. So 16+ in this kind of weather is good going.

It's surprising how quickly the needle crashes to empty when you're on a long, cold run. Being with other runners is the real key to keeping morale and legs ticking over.

[glaconman]

Might have to make some yorkshire puddings tonight.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

I think you might be overdoing it, CC5. The most worrying indication of this is the phrase you used, "Perhaps a large glass of red to compliment the gravy..." Hallucinating about dinner isn't a problem, my friend, but questioning the need for a glass of red with it most definitely is.

Now let's be clear MLCMM. I was questioning whether to have a large glass of red... this it true... but it goes without saying that I was questioning this in terms of an alternative to a beautiful glass of Partizan stout.   

And, by the way, when I did actually have a roast dinner yesterday evening, I chose beer whilst cooking, and a lovely red whilst eating.  I win all round.  

And, you stand no chance of a spare Yorkshire pudding with my 14yo boy in the house.

I would never stand in the way of a hungry teenage boy ... I had three of 'em at one point. It was like being a 24/7 short-order cook. No wonder you drink so much.

[Charliecat5]

I didn’t think it would be like this.  I don’t often think of my own death, but occasionally, as with most of us, I reflect on how I might go.  I just haven’t ever considered that my untimely death would be caused by trench foot.  But after yesterday’s run, I fear that this could be the reason for my demise.
 
There is a new route in town, well around town to be a little more accurate.  It leaves Hillyfield and winds its way up to Houndean Rise.  From there it steps out onto the muddy paths that lead to Jills Ponds, before taking a gently undulating transverse to the top of Landport Bottom.  Usually, it then rolls down the hill back into Lewes for a road loop circumnavigating the town centre and back along Southover to home. 
 
Yesterday however, I broke away from the familiar circuit, and it a fit of stupidity took off from the top of Landport Bottom down through the Quarry to Offham, and with a shout of “Hey, Nonny Nonny”, back along the river.
 
The rain was lashing down when I left the house, the tracks up behind the racecourse were soft, muddy and slow going… but the riverside was something else.  There was no recourse to dry land; nothing but a mile of deep, wet, soggy, dirty, mud.  Every footstep disappeared into the mire - brown, sticky water leapt up my legs as I slipped and scrambled my way home.   Eventually I emerged at Pells to the joys of tarmac, looking like a drowned rat.  Feet soaked like never before. 
 
On arrival home, I was forced to undress on the doorstep and head directly to the shower, where I spend twenty minutes in a futile effort to breathe life back into my poor, destroyed feet.  I could detect the first signs of gangrene starting to move in.  It is only a matter of time my friends… only a matter of time.

[The Beast of Bevendean]

"Treatment consists of removal from the causal environment, bed rest, and restoration of the circulation." Andrews' Diseases of the Skin, 12th ed, 2016

[Charliecat5]

"Treatment consists of removal from the causal environment, bed rest, and restoration of the circulation." Andrews' Diseases of the Skin, 12th ed, 2016

This is all well and good... but I'd like to suggest to the esteemed Andrews that any treatment worth its hops, should include beer of some form.  I'd suggest that the worse the ailment, the stronger the beverage required.  For instance, as I lay on sofa last night, fighting off the grim-reaper himself, I supped on a very nice 12% Belgium styled beer.  For restoration purposes only, you understand.

[Charliecat5]

With a number of the crazy fools in Almeria, I was determined to do at least thirteen miles this morning to accompany them in spirit, if not in person.  Radar, who is winding up the miles ahead of the Moyleman had a 16-17 miler in mind…. So I decided to join her (and Rachel) with the option to turn off at various points to shorten the route home. 
 
At 7:30 this morning we trotted down Cliffe High street and onto South Street to find the east bank of the Ouse (it’s much dryer than the west side).  A four mile easy run down the river took us to the start of the Moyleman second half.   From here its five tough miles of up-hill, starting with the infamous Itford Hill. 
 
As a pleasant change to my usual running style, there was a little spring in my step as the sun rose, and before I knew it we had reached Bo-Peep, which meant I was now committed to doing the full distance. 
 
Bo-Peep means tarmac; about a mile of steep, hard on the knees, hard-top... plunging downhill, before a sharp left slingshots you onto the coach road, which is long, gravelly and wet (big, big puddles).   Through the switch-backs around Firle, and over the road into Glynde landed us at the foot of Caburn.   The conditions here were treacherous… the footpath mullered by radish eating sheep, made the climb very challenging.  As we launched down into the valley, the old calf muscles started to pop, but as the rollercoaster slung us back up hill, they started to behave again, pushing hard to meet the golf course. 
 
From here it was down Chapel Hill back onto Cliffe High Street, where the imagination kicked in… the crowd roared as I sprinted up the street, round the sharp corner towards the brewery, and across the line in record time.  As the dust settled, a little old lady pulling her shopping trolley gave me a funny look, popping my bubble, leaving me feeling a little bit silly standing on my lonesome at the closed gates of Harveys yard.   Seventeen miles on the nose.