Another pleasant couple of hours in the company of the downland hills. Is there a better way to spend a Sunday morning with your clothes on? I’ve yet to find it. Commiserations to Steve who had to withdraw after a few hundred yards, his sore calf griping too much to be ignored. Paul the Goat chose a North Face/ YBR route leaving Michael, Gary, myself and a new companion (shame on me for not asking her name. An accomplished ‘newbie’ who fancied a little more than the eight miles on offer for the main group) to enjoy the hospitality of the Snake.
Unlike last week the mighty serpent today joined forces with a harsh, head-on howling wind. Seven days ago I’d felt elated, given her ‘the eyes’ and slipped up her scaly back unchallenged. It was a case of hanging on for grim death this morning. This was no cheeky victory, more like survival.
A solid two hour run on a beautifully cold yet sunny day, the thirteen (or there abouts) mile trail peppered with muddy pools and slippery flint. I finished running hard, pleased with my form, a few minor niggles ensuring a stern stretching session at the finish. It’ll be a shame to ‘step back’ next week, but the pleasure of meeting fellow forumites on the Brighton esplanade will more than make up for the lack of mileage.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Heavy skies the colour of cold steel, rain-soaked soil, wind-lashed hills; a quite beautiful five miler this morning. Theres a glow that emanates from the heart of the Earth on days like this; it fills me with strength and hope.
48 minutes, a great way to start the day.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
A blustery hobble to the 'Cap this morning, head full of work-related conundrums and Mike Newell's sexist rant.
I'm not sure what to make of the Luton manager's recent outburst. Perhaps we should embrace his honesty. After all, he's saying what I know a lot of blokes are thinking about political correctness going bonkers and infiltrating our society. As with all things there's a balance to be struck. Newell went over the top, but his sentiments are not entirely without merit.
I've tried over the years to get in touch with my feminine side.
I left her a few voicemails recently, only to learn that she can't operate the answering machine.
I'll get me misogynist’s jacket . . .
I tried an experiment today. The results were to say the least disappointing, one might be drawn to say skin-crawlingly embarrassing, but as visitors to these nooks and corners well know I've no shame, and so will share my first foray into the world of movie magic with you.
Sweder Wrote:I tried an experiment today. The results were to say the least disappointing, one might be drawn to say skin-crawlingly embarrassing, but as visitors to these nooks and corners well know I've no shame, and so will share my first foray into the world of movie magic with you.
Hey, it's like the old first person shooter games before decent graphics cards were invented. I kept expecting the pixellated hounds to turn round and fire a rocket launcher at me!
But yes, great effort at pushing back the boundaries of technology.
In theory, carrying a full digital camcorder shouldn't cramp one's running style all that much, but I'm not sure I trust myself...
Mid Life Crisis Man Wrote:Noble effort - certainly significantly better than the mythical Almeria video
I've just reinstalled Windows on my PC. I'll take a look and see if it will see my digital camcorder this time. For some reason it didn't recognise the firewire port before. This may have woken it up. Can't check right now but will try ASAP. If that doesn't work, my new work laptop which is on order is reputed to have a firewire port, so that should sort it out.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
There's an unwritten rule about not posting with a hangover, but like MLCMan I see rules as a challenge rather than a way of life. Bloody SP (again!) making sure that having missed out on a days' golfing in the foulest conditions I was not going to duck the post stick-swinging festivities.
I had intended an additional hillside lope this morning - its a cracking day, too - but settled for a hastily prepared fry-up. Perhaps I'll take to the hills in an hour or so . . . gently cursing the Plodder.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Following a rare lie-in - race start at eleven! - I pottered about munching toast and guzzling smoothies listening to Gary Richardson's Sportsweek. I like Richardson, a disarmingly friendly journalist who frequently gets away with pushing interviewees way beyond their stock-in-trade-answer comfort zone. I miss this excellent program usually as by the time it starts I'm shivering at the top of the Brighton Marina steps waiting to start my long Sunday run.
How I wish I could have been there today. I really don't like 10Ks. They're made for whippets, not lumbering lopers; by the time you get going the race is over. Give me a hilly half marathon any day. We got the weather I'd hoped for; all blue skies and wintry sunshine, a fair breeze out of the west offering resistance for the outward leg and a gentle shove homeward.
The Brighton 10K has become a popular gathering for local and not so local runners. Over 2300 starters lined up on Madeira Drive, the fair conditions attracting an impressive crowd. Having left it all too late to park anywhere near the start I ended up jogging the mile or so to start. As I neared the huge blue inflatable 'Brooks' arch a familiar voice called out; Niguel! We chatted over the last hundred metres before I left to drop a change of togs off at the bag drop. Reunited we scanned the heads at the start for any sign of the famous yellow Hal Higdon hat - and there he was, Mr RC, limbering up on the far side of the throng. It felt good to meet up again. I was slightly disappointed to see that Andy, despite his online protestations, had not yet reached Prescottian proportions. We swapped hopes; Andy to finish, Nigel to enjoy the run, me to run at my usual midweek pace and see where that would get me. Sadly MarathonDan was unable to join us, his sore throat steering him to the Sealife Centre with Mrs Dan and the Dan-ettes - we'd meet for lunch later.
Eleven o'clock on the dot a distant gunshot signalled the start. Niguel refuses to do any more than walk until he crosses the line - 'energy preservation' apparently - so with good luck wishes exchanged I set off into the pack. With the road narrowed by parked vehicles and further restricted by the 'out-and-back' two lane split the first couple of kilometres were pretty cramped. I set an easy pace, running to a breathing pattern . This took me past an increasing number of ample bottoms, prompting the rhetorical question about why some lardies insist on starting at the front of the pack. I could go on about this but a) it's too boring and b) I'm sure I've committed etiquette faux pas a-plenty in races past. He without sin and all that.
Past the Palace Pier and a cry of support from Steve and Paul roadside. I envied their decision not to mess with the race but quickly shook off the negative thinking. Steady rhythm was all I craved and I worked hard at not working too hard for the first 5K. The annual problem of kamikaze spectators reared its ugly head as families with pushchairs and doddery old folk tried to weave across the human stream. We veterans of promenade running know the signs - the fevered brow, the nervous twitch, the lead foot raised and extended before the mad dash into oblivion. Somewhere around this (5K) point the lead whippets came thundering past heading east, preceded by Sam Lambourne on his bike, growling hoarsely that we should 'keep left -runners coming frew'.
Another friendly yell at the Peace Statue as Chris and Cam waved, grinning madly, wrapped up warm against what was, for the static spactators at least, a fairly chilly breeze. I grinned and waved back, grateful for the support yet mindful that a wrong step in what was still a pretty crowded section could be catastrophic.
6.5K and the final turn at the King Alfred Leisure Centre. It was good to get out of the headwind, although I could discern no marked pick-up in my pace. My discipline was impressive, all urges to push on resisted as I stuck to my plan of running hard but steady to the finish.
Home with the clock showing 50 minutes, a nett time of 48, on par with last year. I'm happy with that and with my controlled performance. I chucked in my chip, pickup my medal and clothes and set off at a gentle lope along the prom towards the post-race restaurant, applauding the stragglers as they chugged home.
A pleasant couple of hours followed, chatting with Andy, Nigel and Dan about future races, sucking on cold beer and gobbling plates of pasta and pizza. The Dan tribe entertained us, young Luke making his gorgeous baby sister giggle delightfully in her highchair. We parted, friends well-met and first-met, M making noises about hitting the Lanes shops before closing, Andy muttering something about a pint.
A cracking day then, but if I ever do another 10K it'll be too soon.
Back to the hills next week
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Just caught up with that fine video of yours, Sweder. Congratulations on pushing the technological frontiers of this site. Fantastic stuff, and quite a début on the international movie-making stage. No wonder there are so many views on YouTube already.
More than that, I think your directorial style has real cinematographic potential - the gloomy moorland sky, heavy footstep and laboured breathing set the scene so well. Before I knew it, my eye was lured to follow those darting beasts weaving manically in front of you. Within another moment I found myself drawn in to your tortured world, more than half-expecting some authentic Hound of the Baskervilles / American Werewolf-scale horror scene to unfold.
I'll give Mark Kermode a call and see if I can get you on 'Newsnight Review' this Friday. Unless of course you have to decline since otherwise engaged Guinness-swill(mm?)ing with SP ?
Looking further ahead, I wonder who do you think should play you, in the movie of your running life ? Tom Cruise is sadly unavailable, so the field must be wide open for the role. By the way, Ralph Fiennes (The Constant Gardener) is already pencilled in to play me, so you'll have to look further than him as well, I'm afraid ...
Ha! A good one to ponder, Niguel.
Who to play me in a movie? It's a toughie . . . they'd need rugged good looks, obviously, have a natural ability to quaff large amounts of Guinness and run like they'd been shot in both legs. Hmm . . . perhaps Russel Crowe?
The role of SP on the other hand is much easier to cast.
Just get a copy of Fantastic Four and find out who played The Thing
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Maybe it's because it's a Wednesday . . . I never could get the hang of Wednesdays.
A Curate's Egg of a run - started rusty, stiff-legged and breathless, took a few walk-breaks to snap the dawn-lit slopes and wound up chugging home at a fair-to-middling pace.
Sunday's 10K appears to have left some iron in my legs. Hopefully this morning's outing has shaken most of that out - we'll see on Friday.
Niguel will be ecstatic to hear that I've been movie-making again.
To those in fear of the loss of their will to live I've posted two clips from this morning's run - they are, by the way, just as shoddy and pixelated as my first attempts, further blighted by ragged, rasping commentary.
The longer clip is the most animated, the shorter more of a scan around the scenery to be viewed at the halfway point. For those with far more interesting things to do I've posted a couple of stills below.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
I can't open the video for some reason. I can get to the page, but it won't play. Will try again tomorrow.
The Brighton race snaps are online, incidentally. Mine actually aren't too terrible. It's extremely unusual for pictures to show me in anything resembling a running pose. Mind you, my corpulence is all too apparent:
Yes, that helped.
Some quality action shots there Andy.
My own reflect a more tortured experience (1113). I must remember to a) look out for the cameras and b) bloody well smile when I spot them!
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Well it's been a pretty disastrous week, running-wise.
No long run last Sunday (Brighton 10K), one paltry lope mid-week and today a scrappy, gale-blasted five. I would have skipped that, too - I've enough excuses. Working all the hours God made, packing for Cape Town (flight's at eight tonight) and still four hours minimum in the office before I leave.
But to not pay homage to the Southern Hemisphere's King of the Mountains would have been unforgivable. I chugged up to Blackcap, hounds at my muddy heels, my head on the other side of the world on a rain-lashed, wind-swept mountainside where a man fought for his dreams against the odds and won.
Here's to you, MLCMan; an inspiration to us all.
Enjoy the beer (and the rest).
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Sweder Wrote:But to not pay homage to the Southern Hemisphere's King of the Mountains would have been unforgivable. I chugged up to Blackcap, hounds at my muddy heels, my head on the other side of the world on a rain-lashed, wind-swept mountainside where a man fought for his dreams against the odds and won.
Here's to you, MLCMan; an inspiration to us all.
Enjoy the beer (and the rest).
Aw shucks Sweder, thanks very much. But I'm sure it's not half so inspirational as your TOM is going to be. Funnily enough, I was thinking of you after the race yesterday on the bus back down the mountain, as there were two ultra marathoners sitting behind me, one of whom had done Comrades last year and was thinking of TOM in '07 for a bit of light relief. His name was Jack - you might bump into him
I was just impressed that someone capable of running Comrades would even bother with a little race like Point to Pinnacle - I guess it was a bit of hill training for him :o
