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.
And I Would Run One Hundred Miles
