As SRFCI (that means, Sweders Readers Fan Club Instigator) I am really happy that Sweders histories came back again. Le nouveau Beaujolais est arrivé!
Thanks, I am sure you are comforting everybody, not only me, sharing how difficult it is beginning to run again, but gratifying as a result!
Yesterday I have swum 30 minutes. It is not too much Anyway, there is something that makes me feel that it doesnt matter. (During 2007 I let me only feeling always especially good! ). As Andy has in his diary explained, just the only fact of "training" makes you evolving and changing your own references and points of views. I remember myself: When I began to daily swim (October, last year) I was so proud of that, that reporting my merit everybody was a Must and when they (innocently)asked to me: and, Ana, how long do you swim? One hour? I had always answered: But, you must be crazy!!!? Held out half-hour is almost a miracle!!!!
Now, that swimming one hour it is even easy, on days like yesterday, taking the shower I think, uhmmm... today I have ONLY swim 30 minutes This can only means how pretty relative is everything. And that is ONLY because the word ONLY. But the best, the moral, is to realize that this relativity works for everything in our life. Isnt it?
So, It is a pleasure to inform all of you that, due to Xmas, as all of you, I am not in my best fit and I only get to splash about a little bit.
Thanks a lot for the presents counsels. I have already bought my present, which consists of different small things. All of them are addressed to my friend with the aim that he turns into a better and attentive boy-friend (about this, the girlfriend of my Secrets Santas friend will be really grateful about the kit ). Dear Antonio, I will never buy Bisbals CD (I hate him). Moreover, taking into account musical tastes that, by intuition, I suspect have our English friends, I believe that they doesnt neither
And really thanks a lot for your kind invitation for joining you in Almería. It would be wonderful, but 28 January it is my birthday. I will keep all you in my mind all the day and, of course, that I will be eager for knowing your results!!!!!
Ok, I speak too much but before dropping out, I would like to greet SP. Do You really exist!!!! I have heard so much about you Fortunately, I am here to defend you. All the others pretend to make me believe that your home is a beer-barrel!!!
Ana Wrote:Ok, I speak too much… but before dropping out, I would like to greet SP. Do You really exist!!!! I have heard so much about you… Fortunately, I am here to defend you. All the others pretend to make me believe that your home is a beer-barrel!!!
I honestly can't remember the last time I laughed so much at a forum post! It's not SP's home that's a beer barrel, Ana . . . rather he wears one under his shirt
It's your birthday on the 28th?
What better way to celebrate than with the cream of running excellence!?
Or, you could join us in Almería . . .
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Sweder Wrote:I honestly can't remember the last time I laughed so much at a forum post! It's not SP's home that's a beer barrel, Ana . . . rather he wears one under his shirt
I guffawed loudly too. First time since MLCM's opinion on Steve Irwin.
I did appear to chuckle at your "chess nuts boasting in an open foyer" but I'm in denial over that one.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
Ana Wrote:Ok, I speak too much… but before dropping out, I would like to greet SP. Do You really exist!!!! I have heard so much about you… Fortunately, I am here to defend you. All the others pretend to make me believe that your home is a beer-barrel!!!
It's that 'magical' time - third round of the FA cup, when all thoughts of interloping sports such as cricket and croquet get consigned to the recycle bin. Giant slaying, titanic clashes, drama. And, for once, a good chunk of it on terrestial television.
Add to that the weather forecast - biblical rain and hellspawned winds - and this looks like being a fabulous start to the new year.
Man, I can't wait for that Snake run tomorrow
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
andy Wrote:.......If you have a TV on, reward yourself - there's more OGWT of the 70s on at the moment (BBC4).
Meant to thank you for this tip-off Andy. I sprinted downstairs and caught the last 15 minutes or so, including a song I hadn't heard for around 30 years.
An old Beatles track Costafine Town by a Harrison backed duet known as Splinter. Harrison played on the recording under the pseudonym "Hari Georgeson". Geddit? This was billed as the best track The Beatles never recorded.
Plus a very youthful looking Billy Joel, and Ry Cooder. Marvellous. Thanks.
More muddy mayhem in the Sussex hills this morning.
The meeting point was littered with lycra-clad running folk, around thirty-five hardy souls ready to do battle with the elements. Brookes, the running shoe and equipment manufacturer, has cut a deal to sponsor a range of adverts on Runners World and in the running press to highlight the excellence of Sam & Tony’s Sunday clinics. I couldn’t be more pleased for Sam – this should result in increased business for The Jog Shop, plus it makes it more fun trying to shepherd the additional mixed bag of runners on display.
We set off into the east like a great multi-coloured home-made scarf stretched along the cliff tops. Sam and Tony, replete in their shiny new Brookes jim-jams, paraded up and down the column, slowing the front-runners and encouraging the stragglers. I expressed my disappointment at Tony’s new attire.
‘Can’t call you Lycra Tony anymore’ I wailed.
He grinned and hitched up his trackie bottoms to reveal a set of shocking purple and yellow paisley leggings.
‘Still got ‘em on!’
Sam asked a few of us veterans (ha!) to take the time to chat to the newbies. I remember hearing tales of running adventures during my early off-road sorties and they did inspire me, especially when, as with some of today’s recruits, the going is on the tough side. I chatted to a young lady embarking on her first FLM. She was worried about diet, number of runs in the week, mileage . . . the list was long, but luckily she had chanced upon a paragon of running virtues. I told her all about the restorative powers of Guinness, how taking on pints into double figures a few days before a long run can actually help your training, and to do as little as possible to avoid injuries. She turned slightly pale and drifted back into the pack at this point, so I waved a cheery farewell and caught up with my usual band of brothers.
Chris and Rog were out today, my Cape Town comrades piling on the miles. We talked race planning and came up with a fairly coherent schedule for the weeks and months ahead. This includes the Steyning Stinger in early March to be followed by a Jog Shop Jog plus second Snake to deliver a brutal 27 miler, and a possible run to Shoreham and back finishing off with, yes another Serpent. For today we took on a thirteen mile loop. The early miles flew by as a fierce westerly shoved us through Saltdean and up Telscombe Tye in record time. Turning into the wind along the downland ridge we could appreciate the ferocious velocity; my hair was a right mess. Just ahead of us Paul the Goat, Steve and Dave (another Cape Town disciple) forged through the quagmire of rutted mud and deep pools of icy filth. Joining our merry band was Glen (Marathon of Britain veteran and soon to be conqueror of the fearsome Marathon des Sables) and Sarah who ran with us last year before her assault on the Great Wall Marathon in Beijing.
The Snake offered little better footing than last week and we slipped and slid our way through the early twists and turns with increasing frustration. Much to the Serpent’s displeasure the howling wind helped us through the second stage, hammering at our backs as we skipped Ronaldo-like from grass clump to dry patch. As the hill climb turned again the wind dropped only to reappear a few minutes later as a new and powerful hazard, blasting into our faces. I felt like an Essex housewife on sales day at Lakeside – desperate for any kind of purchase. Heads down we fought on, reaching the summit to puff, pant, suck air and sup water in recovery.
The final few miles were all into the wind, the treacherous path through Woodingdean to the Racecourse claiming Sarah as a victim. Rog sploshed his way through the puddles of thick mud like an overweight Basilisk, spraying brown water to all points. Sarah and I were tip-toeing as fast as we could along a thin band of thick grass alongside a barbed wire fence when Sarah’s landing foot took a nasty turn, flinging her into the fence and bouncing her into my path. I reached out to grab both the fence and her arm as she fell (though she’s already landed in the mud by now) and got a few holes in my gloves for my troubles. Happily Sarah is carved from some serious granite-like substance and bounced up without complaint. The last mile and a half through East Brighton Park, where redoubtable pub footballers hacked and slashed at an improbably elusive football in a ploughed field, was a lesson in balance under duress. The icy wind sliced up from the seafront as we danced our way along slimy trails, arms outstretched like hi-speed tightrope walkers, barely in control as we hurtled to our journey's end.
According to Sarah's Polar watch we completed the course - an estimated 13 miles - in 1 hour 56 (excludes a five minute re-group at Saltdean). It felt like a quick one whilst we were out there and it was, around ten minutes faster than last week.
Chris, Rog and I continued our preview of the weeks ahead over hot coffee and toast at Mac’s café. There’s a lot of work to be done, and I suspect not too much of it will be more challenging – or fun – than this.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Congratulations, SW. It must be tough to do the snake with all that mud and in so little time.
I´d like to go there one weekend and do the Snake. I wonder if it would be easy to go after that to Stansted airport by train or coach to take the Ryanair plane that leaves at about 5 pm. It would mean to be there before 3.30 or 4 pm.
Ana, it would be great if you and your friends came to Almería on that weekend. We would get a cake and you could blow out the candles. It is a pity that you don´t like David Bisbal. I think he sings very well and he is very natural and friendly. Although he is from my hometown, I´ve never met him but I must admit he has become a well known singer thanks to the "Operación Triunfo" contest but also because he has managed to attract a lot of people of different ages.
Sweder Wrote:More muddy mayhem... etc etc etc .... or fun than this.
I do think Sweder, you should be a little more considerate when extolling the virtues of Guinness to the newbies. After all, you've had years and years and years and years of training - to attempt your standard of 50 - 60 pints per week without a long and carefully constructed training schedule would be tricky at best - after all, they might be lager drinkers or worse - shandy lovers
I think the best approach for the beginner is to start with one pint of black and tan (or portagaff*) per mile run, and build from there. After ten weeks they should be doing a comfortable 30 - 40 pints per week, and they can then begin switching over to full strength Guinness as their constitution allows.
Of course one needs to be wary of any injuries, such as liver failure or ketoacidotic coma, and have a step back day or two as appropriate.
For those feeling the strain of such an arduous schedule, applications of pizza and cheesecake are a useful tonic.
Dr MLCM
*[SIZE="1"]a stout shandy, i.e. stout and lemonade[/SIZE]
Dear Antonio,
Regarding Bisbal, perhaps "I hate him" was too hard. I do not like his music, because I foud out it is too commercial. As person, he's a very sympatic boy, (symply,I do not like people who become an artist at TV shows). I like South Spain people. My parents are both sevillians!
Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.
A thousand twangling instruments certainly hummed about mine ears as I cowered under the duvet in the half-light. Cowardly thoughts suggested an evening plod but I could not accept another 'refusal' so soon. Besides, I've scheduled one for tomorrow night when I hope to take in a football commentary.
Five miles gouged from the ravaged hills then. God was in his playpen this morning, throwing the Mother of all tantrums. Most of the run was spent leaning at a fifteen degree angle into the teeth of the maelstrom; to my left on the outward and to my right on the homeward. It was all I could do to stay upright, the arial assault conspiring with the loose topsoil to upend my battling form.
They're in ze bin though, and that's all that counts.
To the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up
The pine and cedar.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Sweder Wrote:Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices
That, if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming,
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked,
I cried to dream again.
To the dread rattling thunder
Have I given fire and rifted Jove's stout oak
With his own bolt; the strong-based promontory
Have I made shake and by the spurs pluck'd up
The pine and cedar.
Crikey Sweder, if that doesn't wake the bard, nothing will... where is Billy boy anyway?
Bardy hasn't sullied these pages for ages ...
Ha! I'm a poet ... and didn't um, realise.
How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness every where!
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
andy Wrote:How like a winter hath my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness every where!
I gots me a better one:
There once was a William called "Bard"
who wrote plays that were cryptic and hard,
and whilst studying Macbeth
many pupils felt death
was better than being Bard-scarred.
Mid Life Crisis Man Wrote:There once was a William called "Bard"
who wrote plays that were cryptic and hard,
and whilst studying Macbeth
many pupils felt death
was better than being Bard-scarred.
Mid Life Crisis Man Wrote:There once was a William called "Bard"
who wrote plays that were cryptic and hard,
and whilst studying Macbeth
many pupils felt death
was better than being Bard-scarred.
MLCMan, Ya bar'd!
Yo Will, wussup?
I got some poetry for ya . . .
Liverpool 3, Arsenal kids 6
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
I'm sat here in my cramped home office listening to the end of the world raging outside. I'm supposed to be out on the downs but I think time might be better spent constructing a large wooden boat with additional non-human capacity and a dual entry system
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
. . . and I get flattened on the Sussex hills.
That had to be the toughest five miles I've run in training, comparable with the hell that was Mile 18 plus in my first London Marathon back in 2003.
According to local weather sources the winds were up to 70 miles per hour (around 112 kmh). I'd have to say that was a conservative estimate. Clouds drove across the sky like dirty grey sheep driven by the force of God, thundering into the east to disappear in a bank of mist and rain. It could have been worse; the icy barbs cutting into my frozen face could have been rusty nails; as it was it was all I could do to keep one eye open in a futile attempt to stay on track. The climbs to Wicker Man Hill and Blackcap were directly into the teeth of the monster. It took all my effort to gain half a metre per step. But if I thought running uphill into the wind was hard going it was as nothing compared to the lethal rollercoaster of the descent.
Shoved without ceremony down the slick hillside I was blown along like a big untidy bundle of rubbish. Steering was limited, most turns achieved by use of my arms as flaps. I focused all my attention on landing my feet, acutely aware that the slightest mistake could lead to an ignominious and extremely painful tumble.
Finally, mercifully, more by luck than judgement, we arrived home without major mishap. The hounds stared at me as we stood, dripping and shivering together in the hallway, each delivering a look that required no translation.
Hard-earned miles in the bank, but theyre usually the best kind.
Now, off for a nice hot shower!
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
). As Andy has in his diary explained, just the only fact of "training" makes you evolving and changing your own references and points of views. I remember myself: When I began to daily swim (October, last year) I was so proud of that, that reporting my merit everybody was a Must
and when they (innocently)asked to me: and, Ana, how long do you swim? One hour? I had always answered: But, you must be crazy!!!? Held out half-hour is almost a miracle!!!! 
). Dear Antonio, I will never buy Bisbals CD (I hate him). Moreover, taking into account musical tastes that, by intuition, I suspect have our English friends, I believe that they doesnt neither
This was billed as the best track The Beatles never recorded.
or worse - shandy lovers 
