December 2015

[Sweder]

And so the year staggers to an end. A veritable annus horribilus in running terms, a triumph in so many other ways. I accept that running is taking a less prominent place in my life just now. It remains a constant, albeit in the background.

One welcome development is the formation of the Twittens Runners. Duncan inspired this on the back of his experiences with the Herd. This morning I joined OATR and a newbie (to this ritual), David Smyth, a marathon runner who'd seen news of the Twittens on ... Twitter. Sundays at 09:00 is becoming a Thing. It's currently, for me at least, an eye-popping, lung-bursting thing, but I'm sticking with it. It's a Lewesian Parkrun. 12 uphill sprints (with walk/ jog connections and downward returns) through the severely sloped, cobbled backstreets, followed by coffee and sweaty banter in the Coffee Shop in Lansdown Place. 

This morning's topic was the demise of Man United under LvG. SAF did such a fine job undermining his successors that his record looks better by the day, even if his legacy looks increasingly like a curse. Decades in the doldrums await, a tragedy of Liverpudlian proportions, unless the club embraces revolution. United nestle  in the top four, a few points off top spot. Crisis, what crisis? The dull, attritional football on offer is unacceptable. I'd rather see them mid-table playing a risky, swash-buckling style. But mid-table butters no European parsnips, so football by numbers remains the likely grind. Yaaaaawn.

Things are equally gloomy on the local scene, with Lewes FC rooted firmly at the foot of the Ryman Premier table. Yesterday offered a rare moment of joy for the suffering faithful, a 94th minute equaliser to rescue a point. The only way is up, baby. Let's hope 2016 offers better fayre on the running and football fronts.

   

[Sweder]

Another outing with the Lewes Twitten posse this morning. Last week was a write-off, Man-Flu taking a brutal toll on my jet-lag addled bones.

Six men and true. Well, five grizzled men and a young man, the heart of the Moyleman team: The Moylemen. CharlieCat. OATR, Tom Roper, Brian Courage and his son, Will. Adorned in garish tops we wove our luminous thread through the cobbled back-streets, stitching east to west and back again. I took it easy, mindful that my lung capacity was not yet fully restored. My legs felt fine, as they should after a week without activity.

Just after halfway OATR pulled up, clutching the back of his knee. He's been following a Moyleman training schedule, cooked up by a fellow runner, to bring him up to speed in relatively short time. He finished the course at a leisurely pace (somewhat closer to my own than Duncan, Brian and Will, who seemed to cruise up the increasingly narrow, horribly steep passageways effortlessly).

Post-run coffee was delicious, as was the post-run, post-coffee nibbles served at Chez OATR by, appropriately enough, The Lewes Nibbler, our resident gormand and tweeter of fine morsel outlets. Great company, lovely food and a timely return to sweaty, eye-popping exercise.

   

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Disgustingly fit lot you are. I'm jealous.

[Sweder]

   

A cheeky Christmas flog up to Blackcap this morning. Slick mud, impossibly strong winds and an ungainly tumble amongst the woodland brambles could not wipe the smile from my face as I returned to the old course. CharlieCat jogged alongside, having the good grace to ease up to keep me company. 

Best wishes to all RCers and especially OATR who has picked an untimely bout of tendinitis.
Now, off you go to eat and drink waay too much.

[Sweder]

This Twitten Run malarkey is becoming a bit of a habit.
Despite carrying the approximate volume of a small child around my middle I waddled off into town to embark on more eyeballs-out, lung-shredding madness in the backstreets of Lewes. Well met at the start by more running luminaries. John 'the Stent' had seen an earlier tweet and saddled up on the spot; Chris Wrathall, Seaford Strider and associate of Tom Roper, La Roper himself, local runner Sam Knowles and OATR's progeny, Felix. CC5 and I completed the merry band and, having promised the youngster severe consequences should he show the old goats up, we set sail.

Twitten running has rules. These are, loosely -
- if one is in a Twitten, one should be running
- one may walk between twittens to aid recovery/ re-inflate one's lungs
- when running up a Twitten one must run at the fastest pace that one can maintain all the way to the top
- when descending one should jog at a leisurely pace to allow the group to stay together (and avoid cardiac arrest)

Twitten running is tough. It's even tougher when one is carrying what feels like someone else's baby around one's middle. I started out OK, almost (almost!) keepiong pace with Le Chat. However those recoverty pauses at the tops grew longer, the lopes back down ever more leisurely and the groans from my gluteous maximus ever louder.

We all survived, the youngest having taken a short break to avoid losing his breakfast after a particularly savage ascent. Coffees enjoyed, we bade one another farewell before CC5 and I set off toward the top end of town, a journey that saw us run up Station Street one more time before climbing up, ever upward towards home. 

I added a few kilometres with the hounds on the downs, taken at near-walking pace to allow the walls of my lungs to un-peel.
Terrific fun. I'll be back next Sunday

   

[Sweder]

Post script: OATR is resting his poorly knee, so was on hand to record a self-less selfie.
Here is it is. LtR: Chris, Sam, John, Sweder, Tom, CC5, Felix

   

[marathondan]

Great to witness the birth of a new tradition. Sounds like a quality workout. I raise a wry eyebrow to see that the Hillside Loper has gone urban. Hope you're looking after that knee .

[Sweder]

A fitting to end 2015, running in the hills with Charliecat. That I'm running at all owes much to his enthusiasm. It was his suggestion that we chase the year into the eastern hills today. I wasn't up to it, really. Ronnie Scott's at 2.30am, where the upstairs jammers started their final number with the intricate drum intro to Caravan. I almost flipped my wig, daddio. Just trying to keep CC5 in sight blew the last vestige of hangover from my body. By the time we hammered down the last track I felt positively buoyant, hopes for a new year rising up through the debris of the last.

A lot of good things happened in 2015, tempered by a few difficult losses. The last, just this week, was as inevitable as any, yet when it came it struck many like a hammer-blow. 

Do not go gentle into that good night
Rage, rage! Against the dying of the light.

Travel well, you wonderful man