Lockdown Larks: A Non-Running Update

[Sweder]

Not strictly speaking true. There has been some running.
Miserable numbers by past standards but hey, these are strange times, my friends. 
Strange days indeed. Most peculiar, Mumma.

Stat time: based on stats logged on Runkeeper (they're not all omn there, but most are)
2020: 294.1 kms
2021: 107.8 kms

During that time I've broken the 100 barrier on both ParkRun and Twittens
I've also been open water (sea) swimming every day bar 5 for around the last 6 months
That equates to appx 70-odd kilometres (no science behind those numbers, I'm afraid).

I'll swing by now and then and post some bits and bobs

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

I only just now saw this ... keep it coming if you can, Sweder.

[Charliecat5]

I only just now saw this ... keep it coming if you can, Sweder.

There's life... not as we know it.. but life nonetheless...

[Sweder]

Life, indeed. 

What a long, strange trip it's been. 
Not much running, a bit of ParkRun marshalling, and, of course, the return of the Moyleman.
A highly successful 7th edition last month, a new course record, James Turner shaving a full minute off his own best time.
He was supposed to be chased by another local lad but wound up stuffing him by a full 12 minutes. I loped up to the high street to see him in.
He chased the lead biker for all he was worth, flying past with the biggest grin on his face. Wow.

CharlieCat was remarkable, as ever. We shared directorial duties, welcoming runners shuffling into the school in search of numbers. They looked dazed and confused, like the abductees emerging from the mothership at the end of Close Encounters. For many this was the first post-pandemic event of note.

I love this race, this day. Our fabulous volunteers, led by Time Team Tim, corralled by the Beast of Bevendean and Naomi. The bikers, Seafront Plodder and the bag-drop crew.
Claire and Sue, queens of the finisher's table. The families waiting, the kids tearing about, dogs all over the shop. It's the best form of bedlam.

The comments we get are all about our purple-clad marshals. The dancing marshals atop the last big climb at Caburn, especially.
Pizza. Beer. Music. The generosity of Harvey's, the soggy hugs, the massive grins, the sunshine, the abundant human spirit. 

Pure joy.

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Cough. Cough. So there is life in here. Welcome back, Mr. Sweder. Let's see if this writing about running lark takes off.

[Sweder]

An update (of sorts).

No running, of course. None. Those days are behind me, as confimred in posts passim. I still volunteer at Seaford Beach park Run, and last Sunday was to be found lurking under a purple beret just across the finish line of the mighty Moyleman. The 10th year, 9th edition overall and the 8th official running of the race.

These days I'm most likely to be found cycling the streets of Lewes, fighting the flab on two wheels.

I was sea swimming for a time. In 2022 I managed 362 days, dragging myself into some pretty chilly waters at an ungodly hour. I got pretty good. Last year I opted for more warm-weather outings, until, in summer, I developed breathing trouble on the front crawl stroke. Concerned, I knocked swimming on the head and got in touch with my doctor. He couldn't figure out what what was going on and farmed me out to some specialists at the University of Sussex Hospital.

Several invasive procedures later, including camera up and down various pipes, and I have a answer. I have a paralysed hemi-diphragm. No, me either. Apparently, the large muscle that drags our lungs down into our body cavity to help them inflate works in two sections: left and right. My left side no longer functions; it's stuck in the 'up' position, possibly permanently.

I've been referred to a respiratory specialist, where no doubt more tests awaits. In short, this is a rare condition, and not one that anyone can assure me is entirely resolvable.

For the time being, I'm operating on something close to 1.25 lungs. Just as well I'm not running, really.

Take care of yourselves. These are the salad days.