My life, I realise suddenly, is July

[Charliecat5]

Last Thursday it was St Andrews… this Thursday is Carlisle.  

Out of the door in search of the River Eden.  As I ran down the dirty terraced streets, my quest didn’t bode well, but slowly, street after street, the skies began to open and the horizon spread.  As hope began to build I turned a corner and there before me, stretched out like the Roman garrisons of old, was Hadrian’s Wall path, shining like a beacon in the rain.

In the passing of a moment, I was out of the urban sprawl and into grassy meadows, running along the winding banks of a meandering river, slipping quietly past cows and river folk enjoying the selfish hours before nightfall.

Ahead of me was a mighty stone bridge complete with the distant roar of traffic; a quick foray through the river gardens, teasing me with their colours and richness, and I was back into the evening rush hour… streets paved with forlorn hopes and failed promises. Kids covered in tattoos and fat ear rings, calling out names as I shuffled past.  Betting shops and all you can eat restaurants sitting alongside outdoor shops for those who know little of adventure, and the hotels full of visitors who didn’t understand when they booked. 

This is Carlisle, a city born of greatness, serving the forts of Hadrian’s Wall and reaping the rewards of the textile revolution, but like a big brother who was the jewel in the family crown as a youngster, he finds himself today mopping the floors and wiping the tables of The Lake District he's forced to serve.   

It is both beautiful and damaged, yet a strangely compelling place.  A real place, warts and all.  

[Sweder]

Good prose flows like healthy plasma when the stars align.
Lovely piece, and sounds like a lovely run, too.

[Charliecat5]

Eight days ago, I did this same run and it was tough.  Last night it was a fantastic jaunt through the best that our locale has to offer.   From Blackcap to old chalk quarries.  Silent country roads to meandering river paths.  Wild open trails to single tracks and lastly, the pub.  And good company to go with it.

Five miles in, there is a decision point.  We could turn right and head back to Chez Sweder (the direct route), or we keep going and add another 4 miles.  The big man is still not his former self, but there was no cutting the route short for him.  “Straight on” he said… or rather gasped between deep rasping breaths. 

So on we went… down through dappled woodland, ducking under branches weighed down with leaves, fighting to keep feet on the straight and narrow as the roots of trees lashed out to trip the unwary traveller.    Then abruptly the woods were behind us and we were left standing on the edge of the quarry, gazing across the Ouse valley with Lewes shimmering in the sun.  Drinking in the view, all the big man could summon was a simple “wow”.

Next it was a steep descent… back into the woods, legs furiously fighting gravity’s attempts to grind us into the dirt.  Faster and faster kicking up the dust, re-plotting every step split second after split second, before looking up to realise that a stile was fast approaching.  To stop would likely end in tears, to keep going, the same.  One foot on the bottom step and I was over, cleared in one.  Seconds later I heard a somewhat less graceful landing behind me as the goat followed, with little choice but to throw himself into the unknown.  This is what it is to be alive.  That feeling that life is not all in our control… fate is playing its part.

What a sight we must of looked as we arrived in the little village of Offham.  Two sweaty middle aged blokes, grinning from ear to ear like a pair of deranged Muppets. 

From there to Hamsey before turning south to head back along the river.  The big guy was struggling now, muscles tightening… but his resolve didn’t waiver for a second.   That’s what makes BGG the runner he is… the determination to succeed, to make it, whatever the physical cost.

Also his complete lack of scruples.  The ease to which he is prepared to cheat.   The last upward battle to the heights of Lewes and it was time to kick back and make it count.  With legs frantically pumping, eyes firmly set on the prize, I went for it,  but as I rounded the final corner, Ash was nowhere to be seen.

I waited… I back tracked… I asked someone if they had seen him… until I thought “bugger it” and headed to the pub.  And there he was, sitting in the garden with two pints of Blackcap ale in front of him, grinning and muttering, as he gently perspired into his beer, about garden walls and short-cuts.  The sod!  

[Charliecat5]

Nothing… not a single mile… not even a running yard.  Last week was a complete write-off.   

I had a good time in Germany though; ate well, drank well and travelled well.  But although I packed my running shoes, the opportunity to take them for a spin simply didn’t materialise.  Thus as the weekend arrived a substantial effort was required.  

I need to seriously push my distance now… for too long I have been playing around the 8 to 10 mile mark.  So with my ‘let’s not do things by halves’ approach I decided to run the second half of the Moyleman.  Southease, Firle Beacon, Firle village, Glynde, Caburn and Lewes.   I’m not completely mad, so took a short-cut from the top of Firle Beacon, down a green ride, rather than pounding down Bo-Peep Borstal on the hard-top.  This cut about 1 mile of the run… also I didn’t pass under the A27 underpass so found another half mile saving.  But I did run home from town… which added a mile back on.

The upshot was 13 miles and very sore legs.  Those next 7 miles still seem a long way off.

   

[marathondan]

That's a great session Charlie - you want to be peaking in a couple of months time, so you'll find those 7 miles easily enough. Despite your fallow week, you are still above plan - if anything, make sure you don't overdo it! The midweek quality sessions are great, but the long weekender is the one that really counts.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

That’s what makes BGG the runner he is… the determination to succeed, to make it, whatever the physical cost.

Also his complete lack of scruples.  The ease to which he is prepared to cheat.   The last upward battle to the heights of Lewes and it was time to kick back and make it count.  With legs frantically pumping, eyes firmly set on the prize, I went for it,  but as I rounded the final corner, Ash was nowhere to be seen.

I waited… I back tracked… I asked someone if they had seen him… until I thought “bugger it” and headed to the pub.  And there he was, sitting in the garden with two pints of Blackcap ale in front of him, grinning and muttering, as he gently perspired into his beer, about garden walls and short-cuts.  The sod!  

Hehe. That's the Sweder we know.

[Charliecat5]

Tipping points

Last weekend I ran 12.66 miles – the longest run I’d done since I was out there mapping the Moyleman.  Truthfully though, I had pushed a bit too far, as up until then, I had been running in a rut of between 7 to 10 miles.  

Then on Wednesday I played squash for the first time in 9 weeks.  This was club night which involved over 10 games in 2 hours.  And it appears that the entrance of the club has turned into some kind of portal, transporting unsuspecting players to the far reaches of the Ganges and plunging them into extreme humidity and temperatures exceeding those required to fry eggs.   The severe conditions resulted in very sore legs and a pulled left buttock.

Thursday arrived, and as I hadn’t been out running I thought I’d better make the effort.  So through the portal again and I arrived in the Gobi desert for a quick 3 miles up and over the sand dunes.  This was followed by a 10 minute cold shower which did nothing to curb the sweat which continued to pour off me for another 60 minutes.  This was nice for the other patrons in the restaurant that evening.

Friday was my birthday (I know, I don’t look a day over 35); which involved lunch time beers followed by tea time beers and a BBQ. 

Then Saturday arrived, and it was time to go running again.  I woke late (8:30). It was hot. It was humid. I ached.  I had a slightly fuzzy head.  I had a route in mind.  Perfect.

At 10am I opened the oven door and headed out.  The 1st mile was ok; The 2nd mile took me to the top of Kingston Ridge which was beautiful.  

       

But then it got tough.  I was clock watching, trying to maintain a reasonable pace… but try as I might, even the long trot down the Yellow Brick Road failed to improve my speed.  When I eventually dropped onto the farm track, body and soul were giving up.  I made it to Southease, 5.5 miles completed, and dropped my sorry arse in a shady corner to contemplate what the hell I was doing.

This wasn’t enjoyable… running often has its moments… but this really wasn’t enjoyable.  And if it’s not enjoyable, why was I doing it.  This is why I have never really liked the idea of doing a race.  I run because I like to run.  But training for the JS20 has meant having a plan… striving to constantly improve… running at a pace and in conditions that become painful.  Which robs the fundamental joy of being out there?

I reached for my phone and went to press the speed dial for Mrs CharlieCat to come and pick me up.  But something made me stop.  Instead I had a gel and a good slug of water.  Now I was here I should at least attempt Itford Hill.  I  told myself that if I was completely buggered by the top I could walk to Firle car park and get a lift from there.  And even if I managed to go further, but couldn’t face Caburn, I would get a lift home from Glynde.  The last piece of my mental jigsaw was to switch my watch from timer to clock and to run at the speed my body wanted to go at.  I had a plan.  I stood up.  My legs hurt.  I ran.

Itford Hill is a bugger at the best of times; it’s a bugger’s bugger when your legs are aching.  But I find comfort in hills… set a pace and just keep at it.  Pleasingly, I overtook a couple of mountain bikers before the first corner and kept ahead for quite a long-time thereafter.

       

At the top I stopped for another rest, more water and another gel, before heading downhill to Glynde.   Here in Glynde village, having pounded the hard-top for a mile and a half, my legs started to protest; thoughts of the phone began to materialise again, pressing those numbers for a magic lift home, but I was so close now; 11 miles covered with only Caburn standing between me and Lewes.  The only way to describe my ascent over Caburn was a slow plod.  But I did it and eventually made it home… I even managed a small detour around the park to click over 14 miles, for me a record.  My moving pace was reasonable, I did stop a few times, but hell… if you’re running on the South Downs, you’ve gotta stop and take in the view.

   

As for the JS20… Well without it looming on my autumnal horizon, I wouldn’t have had such an experience.  Battling my running demons, and winning. 
 

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Ah, those demons. They'll get you in the end. But like giving in to ice cream, it's OK. No, really.

Honestly, it is.

[Sweder]

You are approaching rare form, mate. Despite my treacherous IT band the other day I was still way off your pace. Hopefully on Sunday - is it Sunday we're doing Caeburn/ Glynde/ Firle/ Southease/ Lewes? - you'll bear that in mind. Unless you're desparate to get out of earshot of my dying whale death-rattle. I'm hoping OutAlongTheRiver will join us.

And if we set off around, ooh, say 10-ish, we should reach the Snowdrop just in time for a lunctime snifter.
If they'll serve us.

[Charliecat5]

Life turns on a dime.  

Since my aborted run some weeks ago with BGG, I have had in mind to explore a little bit of the Downs as yet unknown to me.  We skirted the edges of it when cutting the aforementioned run short.

I checked it out on Google Maps and set off.  The first bit was on a well-trodden route but then I needed to find a new path (to me… and it turns out, probably a new path to most) through some woods which should in theory, bring me out near to Blackcap.  I found the path, eventually.  But it was a little overgrown and quite prickly. 

   

The path, when I eventually fought my way through nettles and brambles double the size of me, did bring me out quite close to Blackcap… so whilst I was there, I thought I might as well sprint up it.  So I did.  And then down again. 

To mix it up, I ran home the way I usually run up to Blackcap… sort off…  heading along the race course track into the field behind Sweder’s and back down behind the prison.  Ok, I don’t usually run up this way… but I was in the mood for adventure this evening. 

At 6 miles I slammed on the anchors and walked down the hill back home – in an attempt to look after my body a little better and cool off.  And look what was waiting for me on the doorstep!

   

Tonight I went out to explore and have fun.  I did.  

[Charliecat5]

 is it Sunday we're doing Caeburn/ Glynde/ Firle/ Southease/ Lewes? 

And if we set off around, ooh, say 10-ish, we should reach the Snowdrop just in time for a lunctime snifter.
If they'll serve us.

Sunday is good for me.  I will confirm with OATR.  I think the route will be about 11.5 miles by the time we get back to Lewes.  We may have to find a few extra miles to keep me on target 

[Sweder]

 is it Sunday we're doing Caeburn/ Glynde/ Firle/ Southease/ Lewes? 

And if we set off around, ooh, say 10-ish, we should reach the Snowdrop just in time for a lunctime snifter.
If they'll serve us.

Sunday is good for me.  I will confirm with OATR.  I think the route will be about 11.5 miles by the time we get back to Lewes.  We may have to find a few extra miles to keep me on target 

Jog on ...

[Charliecat5]

Hill reps he says, are good for you, he says.  

But there are hill reps and THERE ARE HILL REPS.

My little jaunt this evening took me up to the top of Kingston Ridge and back down again.  And when I got to the bottom… unbelievably, I did it again.  Two hill reps.  Kingston Ridge my poison.

   

As for my stats, I am still running ahead of my 200 miles in 100 days challenge.  But I need to get some in the bank as a two week holiday looms ahead.  

   

[Sweder]

Fancy a trip to ParkRun Hove in the morning? Leave here (yours) 08:15, back by 10:15 or so.
Just a thought. I fancy a visit and catching up with Cam/ Jules/ whoever's about,
5k dash + coffee + cake

[Charliecat5]

Well I’ve popped my ParkRun cherry.

I’ve always resisted doing one of these… having never been able to understand why someone would want to run around a park several times on a Saturday morning, when the alternative is lying about in bed for a couple of extra hours.

However, BGG has worn me down (and promised me cake); so this morning we did the Brighton & Hove parkrun.   He picked me up at 8:15 gushing with the excitement of it all.  I remained unconvinced.  

We arrived, and I realised that his promise that there would be lots of people even more un-fit than us just didn’t ring true.  All I could see was highly tuned whippets limbering up around the park.  

We parked ourselves at the back of the pack and waited for the starter’s pistol (or a ready, steady, go over a megaphone).  Then nothing happened.   Then after a while, people started to shuffle forward.  It seemed to take an age to cross the start line, but eventually we were off, weaving between the slow coaches trying to find some clear ground.

This run involves going around the park 2.5 times.  On the far side there is a long steady incline… nothing to speak off.   However, it was fascinating how many runners struggled with it.  For us hill runners… this is where we gain ground (as it were).

Having said that, the winners crossed the finish line at exactly the same time as I cross the line for the third lap! 

Overall, I was pleased with my result.  I deliberately didn’t go flat out but still managed a 24:50 time.  It was noticeable that my pace increased each mile, which I put down to clearing the congestion each time round.   But best of all was the cake at the end.

Am I a fan?  Truthfully… nope.   Will I be back?  I think I might.  I know I can beat that time.

[Charliecat5]

We ran, we flew, we trudged, our legs foamed, and we got wet, very wet.

Having MADE me do a ParkRun yesterday, it was my turn to MAKE HIM do some proper running today.  This one we planned last weekend over beer, in a beautiful sunny pub garden.

I’ve always fancied doing Mount Caburn and Itford hill in reverse.  Just to experience them in a downwards direction.  It was a great theory… kinda forgot that we still have to run up them first.

Brilliantly, Out Along the River made a cameo appearance for the first 3 miles.  His first run since March.  He then peeled away to contour back home again leaving us CRAZIES to continue.

So the route…  it started with a warm up from our respective places of residence to our meeting place, the bottom of Chapel Hill.  A mile and half before we'd even started.   Then up Chapel Hill into the Caburn Massif.   Once we had cleared this, it was through Glynde, straight across the road and up the old tarmac road to the top of Itford Hill.  From there we headed down Itford Hill to Southease and back along the river.

The highlights:

• Obviously climbing the hills… they are slowly, very slowly, getting quicker.
  
• Running down Itford Hill was one of the most magical running experiences I have ever had.  With the rain pummelling our faces, we just took off, almost literally.  With no heed to what might happen, I ran as fast as I could all the way to where the grass meets the chalky path.  
  
• The goat discovering that his legs were foaming.  It was very amusing until I discovered that mine were as well.
  
• The rain… I love running in the rain.  Even when it hurts.  
  

The tough bits:

• Running back along the river.  The way the river meanders lulls you into a falsehood that it is only a couple of miles back into town, when the harsh reality is that it is a good 3 or 4.  
  
• The last mile home was a real tough one.  I looped thought the railway land and round the Priory, a) to add a little more distance, but b) to limit the amount of hard-top.  
  

The weird bits:  

• When we discussed this run last weekend, I estimated that it would be about 11.5 miles.  Trying to follow MarathanDan’s advice, I thought it would be good to pull back following last week’s 14 miler.   Bugger me… by the time I got home I had done 14.1 miles!
  

Today’s excursion was fantastic; great company, great running and occasionally, a great view!

   

[Charliecat5]

With calf muscles like piano wires after the weekend’s shenanigans with BGG, I’d planned a nice easy three miles through the streets of Edinburgh this evening.  A bit of exploration, a few tentative inclines and the chance to spot where I might go for tea afterwards.

However, I made the mistake of announcing my plans on Twitter, and lurking in the virtual shadows ready to pounce was OALR who suggested, I’m sure very innocently, that I could run up Arthur’s Seat.  

I chuckled to myself, but had a quick look on Google Maps anyway.  I chuckled again when I realised it was 3 miles away from my hotel.  Back to plan A.  It’s a good plan.

When out in the wilds, I have a pretty good sense of direction.  Put me in the city streets and my sense of direction heads west… particularly when I’m meant to be heading east.  Adding to my natural navigational hopelessness, my phone (and hence google maps) was down to an unsustainable level of charge – meaning that I had to leave it behind.

So out of the door and down the street went Charliecat with only a rough idea of where I was heading.  I’d start with the castle… it’s on a hill… you can’t miss a castle on a hill.  And I didn’t.  I then found the golden mile and it was all downhill. Perfect.  So having resisted a detour down Grandma Green’s Steps (there has to be an innuendo in there somewhere) I headed downhill to the Scottish Parliament. 

And here's where things started to go off-piste.  The Scottish Parliament sits at the bottom of Arthur’s Seat.  I didn’t know that.  I looked up.  I looked further up.  And eventually my eyes focused on the top.  And with OATR’s words floating around my head, I thought “I’m having that” and foolishly set off.

Within half a mile I had left the hustle and bustle of Edinburgh behind me and was running up a beautiful valley.  But boy was it steep, and long.  Every so often I would look up and the top still towered menacingly above me, teasingly getting no closer.  Unsure of which way to go I followed some runners who looked confident in their endeavours and direction. 

Eventually the gravel turned into rock, and rock turned into a scramble until the top finally appeared.  The views were out of this world… the city merged into the Firth of Forth and then into the landscape beyond.  But whoever Arthur was, he hadn’t left his bloody seat for a weary runner to rest his scrawny arse on. 

Having admired the view for 5 minutes it was time to head back.  Once I cleared the rock, it was a fast descent downhill.  Full speed ahead, picking my way over boulders and the occasional flurry of scree, hitting a 6 min/mile pace in places.  As I reached the bottom my calf muscles were screaming… dogs across the city where turning their heads in the direction of the high pitched whistle emanating from the backs of my legs.  A quick stretch and I re-traced my steps back up to the Castle… remembering how nice it was to have run down the Golden Mile now I was pushing my aching body back up it.  From the Castle it was downhill again, a fair pace achieved, stopping only to ask for directions.

Three miles had turned into seven. A few gentle hills had turned into an epic 300 metre climb.  But boy it felt good.  I fear I’m starting to turn into a proper runner… and that is scary. 

   

Stats for July: 78 miles; 2.5 miles a day.