January 2008

[Sweder]

Happy New Year to everyone.

My 2008 started as 2007 ended; with a virilant chest bug that has seen running shoes and all thoughts of escaping into the hills firmly locked away. I'm well into my second week without so much as a spritely stroll and have reached that dangerous time where, rather like the foil packets of yuletide flesh lurking in the dark corners of the 'fridge, restful relief turns into something altogether less pleasant.

I'll leave it 'till Sunday when I hope to join the Jog Shop joggers for a gentle lope to the wire. There's a feeling creeping up on me that if I don't get out soon I might never run again.

[Antonio247]

Happy New Year, S.

Get better from your chest bug.

Looking forward to meeting all of you in Almería.

[Ana]

Hello!
Happy new year. I'm also looking forward see everybody in Almeria. I have signed for the 10 healthy Kms. (I'am poor and have not 12 Euros for inscription!!!) . Not... I was not running at all, so I prefer the small race.
See you soon!
ana

[Sweder]

Good news Ana - it will be good to meet you and to introduce you to the world of Guinness at Molly Malone's! 10K may be a popular choice - many of us are struggling with illness and injury I fear.

[Antonio247]

It will be great to meet you here. Are you coming with more people? If you are coming by public transport, I could pick you up and take you to your hotel.

Good luck and I wish you get many presents from the Magi ( Reyes Magos ) tonight.

Saludos desde Almería

[Sweder]

I slept through the alarm this morning having sat up half the night to watch the finest sports team in the world match their awesome test-winning streak. Some things are worth sitting up all night for. Watching Ponting marshall his troops to acheive an unlikely victory in the penultimate over of the day was certainly that.

Still spluttering and coughing I set off for a local mid-morning five, slightly concerned at how my sludge-laden lungs and under-used legs would fare. I've become far too familiar with my couch over the Christmas period, lethargy taking the baton from illness to prolong the battle against healthy living. I struggled over the muddy trails, sliding over slippery flint, tread heavy, ragged breathing filled with the rattle of intransigent phlegm. In a moving tribute to that master of the chesty cough Bob Flemming I doused the downs with more lung-butter than Fat Frank Lampard on any given Saturday. Still, the struggle was worthwhile despite the asthmatic seizure that shook me for ten minutes after the finish. I felt I'd made a return of sorts; something on which to build.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Hope you get over that bug soon Sweder. It's been a bit too quiet around here recently...

[Ana]

It will be great to meet you here. Are you coming with more people? If you are coming by public transport, I could pick you up and take you to your hotel.

Good luck and I wish you get many presents from the Magi ( Reyes Magos ) tonight.

Saludos desde Almería

Thanks Antonio, I will arrive by car, so no problem at all. At the moment we are three for the 10K: my boyfriend, Javier, his brother, Jorge and me. We have booked Sol Melia Hotel. Is that right?

[Sweder]

I slept through the alarm this morning having sat up half the night to watch the finest sports team in the world match their awesome test-winning streak.

Oh dear. No sooner had the words left my fingertips than the so-called toughest team in world sport developed the sensitivities of Miss Dashwood. The inventors of modern sledging are wailing and gnashing their teeth over remarks made my an Indian cricketer after, it should be said, the recipient not only failed to walk having been blatantly caught behind (and not given by the inept official) but proceeded to smirk about it in his post-match interview. Even the redoubtable Aussie press are turning on their own, claiming that Ponting's all-conquering side are joyless, devoid of the joie de vivre that infused great sides of the past. Some will argue that racism in any form should be ground into the dirt, that Ponting was entirely right to lodge a formal complaint and bring this ugly matter to the fore. Personally I fear the biter has been bit and he don't like it, not one bit. I don't remember Ponting leaping up to condemn a team mate (Hayden?) for referring to the Sri Lankans as 'black c***s' not so long ago. That was in the heat of battle, as was this recent offence. Pots and kettles anyone?

And whilst we're on the subject of hypocrisy we see the Indian team threatening all sorts of action unless an umpire (who it should be acknowledged had a simply horrible second test) is stood down from the next match. Is it not the absurd, hysterical appealing born on the sub-continent that now sees test umpires cowering like beaten dogs, frightened to make a decision lest the least mistake be re-run ad nauseum on screens all around the ground? What is with these holier-than-though nations who take mortal humbrage at the first hint of implied criticism. Copped the rough edge of a decision or two? One of your chaps taken it upon himself to cheat or racially abuse an opponent? Play the Righteous Indignation card and threaten to take your bat and ball home. It worked for Pakistan in England and so it shall for India in Australia. Reap what you sew, folks; the fine traditions of sportsmanship and honour on the field of sporting battle are headed for hell in a handbasket.

With the phenominal rise in 20-20 in the financial stronghold of India and the intrusion of cameras and microphones in every conceivable nook and cranny we may be amongst the last to witness test cricket as we know and (some of us) love it. That might induce some jubilant crowing from over Seaford way but it would be a cause for great sadness in these parts.

You heard it here first.

[Seafront Plodder]

Blah blah blah....[insert some crap about the most boring game ever invented here]....yadda yadda yadda......etc....

Moanwhile, Lycra Tony has been asking after you. Reckons you don't go anymore since they took the piss out of your girly hairdresser car with tinsel all over the dash. :RFLMAO:

I put him right though. Told him he was spot on but that you were using some lame excuse about a slight cold.

[Antonio247]

Ana, I think you mean Tryp Indalo, which belongs to the Sol Meliá chain because Sol Meliá Hotel is in Almerímar, about 40 km away from Almería. A bit far away. Tryp Indalo is good value and well situated since it is just one km away from the Mediterranean stadium.

I think that you´d better enter the half marathon for just 12 euros because if you are coming to the pasta dinner, it is free fot the half marathon entrants. However, it cost 12 € for accompanying people last year, and you get some "regalos" ( gifts ) such as a T-shirt, a bag of tomatoes, a magazine and some more things just for entering that competition. Besides, you can do the 10 km instead and you´re classified in that race not in the half marathon.

Sweder, sorry for taking over your post.


Saludos desde Almería

[Ana]

Sorry Sweder for using your post
Antonio, you are right and I will do so.
I like T-shirts, gifts and pasta over all...
And also you are rigt about the hotel. I hope, the others has taken the same: Tryp Indalo. Now it is fully booked.
So now I have to train alittle bit. Magic Kings gave me an acuatic MP3 and other things. Good luck in trainning for all runners

[El Gordo]

Hello everyone. I've missed you all.

Sorry for my pathetic posting record of recent times.

Actually, the news isn't that bad but I'm just wary about tempting fate, so am keeping a little quiet.

Great news that Ana is joining us. She'll be amused to hear about all the conspiracy theories being circulated last year.

Sweder - thank you for your Happy New Year text. I meant to reply...

Things are better, anyway. I'll post an update soon.

[stillwaddler]

Sorry about the the sickness Sweder, I too have been mouldering away with a nasty bug which has now settled in my sinuses and is giving me a filthy headache, have only waddled out a couple of times since Christmas.

The recent Cricketing problems can only be bad for the sport, sacking the umpire surely is a really lousy move, how sad to think that the umpire/refs decision will no longer be final.

Received Paula Radcliffe's auto biography for Christmas

http://www.paularadcliffe.com/home.php[/url]

not sure I enjoyed reading it very much and certainly didn't pick up any training tips - she doesn't give anything away. Was stunned by one piece of info. 'though. Just before the World Championships, (pre baby,) her resting heart rate was 35 bpm - imagine!!!

Hope you all have a brilliant time in Almeria, wish i could join you :-(

Andy - how is the new job going??

[Ana]

Great news that Ana is joining us. She'll be amused to hear about all the conspiracy theories being circulated last year.

.

*Excepting the distances (who would mind the difference between [SIZE="7"]21.097 [/SIZE]meters and [SIZE="4"]10.000 [/SIZE]meters) :RFLMAO: , I always keep the promises I made. So, certainly that I will be there.

I am also expecting every detail regarding those 'conspiracy theories' from Almería 2007

Talking about more important things: [SIZE="6"]SP[/SIZE], tonigt, takes Sweder into the pub and put a pint in his hand.

Have you seen his signature??? He must having a temperature: what does it means "come feel the love"??? Is he drinking some kind of Valentin's pey instead of beer?

[Sweder]

what does it means "come feel the love"??? Is he drinking some kind of Valentin's pey instead of beer?

'Feel the love' is a popular phrase around here at the moment. I think it originates from American Sitcoms (probably Friends or Scrubs). My son & his friends use it a lot - I liked the phrase, so I stole it. Besides, there's a lot of love (good friendship and cammeraderie) to be found in Almería at the end of January. Love . . . and sore feet

[Sweder]

I too have been mouldering away with a nasty bug which has now settled in my sinuses and is giving me a filthy headache

My sympathies SW; it's all still a bit phlegmy around here. Hoping to get out tomorrow for only my second outing since before the break. Get well soon

The recent Cricketing problems can only be bad for the sport.

Unconfined ugliness all round I'm afraid There's certainly no winners from this latest bout of shinannegans (Shakes head, mutters darkly). Aggers wrote an excellent piece on the Beeb site yesterday - most unlike him to come off the fence but he appears to have done so from a great height and with some gusto.

Received Paula Radcliffe's auto biography for Christmas . . . her resting heart rate was 35 bpm

Er, that's clinically dead, isn't it?

[El Gordo]

Apologies to Sweder for hijacking his forum. It feels slightly naughty....

Hi SW, nice to hear from you. The job is great thanks. Currently working long hours, but I'm actually enjoying it.

I'm running too, but wary about making any predictions. The knee is still lingering, though seemed to get much better after I tripled my glucosamine intake. Fingers and everything else crossed at the moment. The 13 miles of Almeria will tell me a lot.

Andy

[Sweder]

The 13 bars of Almeria will tell me a lot.

Blimey, a bold prediction considering we're under escort

A second post-lurghie exploratory plod this morning. A full-on maelstrom greeted our fourteen-legged pack, the downs taking a fearsome battering out of the south east. Clouds streamed across leaden skies in that super-speed 'time passing' fashion often used in movies and rock videos. On the way home I spotted a gaggle of rooks playing some sort of daredevil game in the fields of Landport Bottom. They sat facing into the wind, taking turns to launch into the tempest to hover precariously until a mis-placed muscle twitch sent them tumbling backwards to rejoin their pals on the airstrip. After one particularly swift and flurrysome collapse I swear I heared muted cackling, the sound whipped away across the hills.

On arrival home both my arms were numb. So feirce was the wind I'd quite ignored the cold, right up to the point when I stopped waddling. Blood pumped furiously through dull white flesh, personal central heating in overdrive. I felt the first tingle of pins and needles in my fingertips just as Mrs S looked up from her tea and toast, a look of pure horror writ large on her face. 'You must be mad.' Fair point.

Another tough one but a good deal less ejectum, so things are looking up.

[Sweder]

Another wind-lashed outing to the East Brighton hills. Around 40 hardy souls turned out to take on a wide variety of courses.
Sam and Tony took the bulk of the Newbies up Telscombe Tye for an extended (nine-and a-half mile) Wire loop. Moyleman, still suffering back twinges elected for a strict Wire-and-back with Soft Al. I was unsure about how far I'd go so waited until the three mile re-group at Saltdean before choosing a straight Snake (twelve point 9 mile) run. Stevo, Remmy and a few adventurous types were throwing in the North Face and the Yellow Brick Road for a fiesty fifteen but I was never close to tempted.

Our group peeled off at the top of Telscomb, a mixed bag of regulars and a sprinkling of Newbies. One fellow had covered thirteen miles before but only in London parks. I assured him of a new and exciting experience.

The wind, whilst relentlessly lusty, proved most kind by prevailing from the exact point on the compass that offers most asisstance for the tougher climbs on the route. This came as some relief to me, my recovering lungs feeling like they'd been on sixty a day for the last week, feeling about as large and effectual as a couple of dried walnuts from Christmas past. The ground, having soaked up a generous porion of rain over the past few days, greeted us with dlightfully sticky wetness for most of the journey.

We gathered at our usual stops to slurp fluids and guzzle gels. Another newbie, a lithe, energetic sort who almost bounced on his toes whilst we waited, was keen to follow Sam's final instructions at the earliest opportunity. These had been barked in that familiar gravel-on-gravel tone as we'd separated at Saltdean.
'Take it easy out there, get into the last couple of miles then give it all you've got - flat out, all the way home.'
My new companion seemed keen to take off the handbrake and was more than a little crestfallen when Jill pointed out we'd just passed half-way. Jill, Terry, Jane and I, all veterans of the slippery Serpent, hung back as the others slithered through the boggy foothills. We exchanged knowing grins, continuing at our modest pace as the slick mud sucked at our feet and legs. As we neared the the last turn, about four hundred metres from the summit, we spied the London parks fellow, head slumped, trudging along on his own. He must've heard us coming as he broke into a half-hearted trot. We offered encouragement and escorted him up the final climb where the hares gathered, looking a little less full of vim and vigour.

I explained that the moment to let off the shackles and go for it was soon at hand; just another mile along a filthy, rock-strewn path, across the main road, the race course and then we could fly down the cinder tracks of East Brighton park as fast as our mud-splatterd limbs would allow. We set off to negotiate the treacherous Woodingdean trail, juming dirt-brown puddles, hugging the grassy fenceline in the search for solid footing. It was a blessed relief to reach pavement, to run without fear of tumbling or rolling an ankle. Once we'd crossed the road Terry and I dropped the hammer and struck for home. My lungs complained bitterly at this thoughtless demand on their depleted resources but my legs countered, rejoicing in the freedom to scamper helter-skelter down the narrow path. Terry was hot on my heels, my bloody-minded competitive spirit refusing the slightest respite. By the time we reached the end of the park, passing the empty, deeply ploughed football pitches, I was all in. Terry too, but also exhilarated by the reckless plummet, his face shining red.
'That was great! Dunno about you but I was flat out!'
I could only nod, hands on knees, trying to suck air through my skin.

The first of the Newbies rounded the last bend back beyond the pitches. He looked distressed. By the time he reached our stopping point Terry and I had jogged across the road. We glanced back as he slumped onto the road sign, head between his knees. They'll all be fine in a week or two, leaving us old'uns for dead once they've adjusted to the terrain and learned to pace the run, but for now this was the old dogs having their day.

I caught up with Moyleman at the Café, doing my best David Blane with a mug of coffee and a fried egg sarnie, expressing my hopes through impolite mouthfuls that this might be the start of a full recovery. El Moyle was more circumspect, his back having complained on the return leg. Fingers crossed for the Mighty Moyle. More of the same next weekend and we might just be ready for Almería. Just.

A shade under thirteen, around 2:20.

PS. I could almost hear the ironic chuckles of the Geordie Nation this afternoon. Having just turned down the opportunity to manage 'such a massive club' 'Sir' 'Arry Rednapp's charges took an unsightly beating at the hands of no less than Newcastle's bitter local rivals, Sunderland. 'We didn'a want him anyweer like' came the cry from fifty thousand naked-torsoed Magpie supporters. I say give Shearer the job. let him cock it up and be done with it - then the club can get on with making a sensible appointment and build for the future without 'Sir' Alan's leering countenance haunting them from Gary Lineker's sofa.

And for those Black-and-White-striped followers who truly believe their club is so huge it has some devine right to be managed by Lord God Almighty and win a shedload of shiny trophies, you should pop down to Elland Road and have a chat with the boys at Leeds United. Or, to save time, just have a chat with Alan Smith.