Long run – Page 20 – Foster Runs

April 20, 2008

Up memory hill

It was a good run for thinking today. I didn’t get out in the week so I rose early, had my quadspresso, read another chapter of Richard Askwith’s The Lost Village and then set out around 7.50am into the quiet morning. I headed down the road and within five minutes, keen to experiment, had chosen my destination. I would see if I could run to the beacon a more direct route than normal.

So it was out onto Folders Lane, round the muddy footpath past the vineyards and across the road to Ditchling, then down through all the chicken farms to Ditchling itself. The ground had definitely dried out, but there were still pockets of slurry here and there, which is why my runners are currently soaking in a bucket of water, outside in the sun.

Ditchling is such a beautiful village and my route took me a new way through between the hidden houses and their idyllic gardens. Thrust back out from this bygone age near the crossroads, I decided to run along the beacon road, since there were still not many people out and about driving. With Richard Askwith’s prose still humming around my head, I looked afresh at houses that I normally pass in the car, imagining them newly built when the road was a track and a coach and four was a highlight.

At the base of the beacon, I took the path to the right and instantly the last twenty or so years fell away back to the first time I remember walking up it. My friend Cliff had decided to do this completely mad thing of joining the Raleigh expedition and needed to raise a fair amount of money through sponsorship. As far as I remember, he decided to climb the height of Everest by going up Ditchling Beacon; I forget how many times, but quite a number.

With a gang of supporters taking it in turns to keep him company and making sure he was kept fed and watered, he had almost finished by the time I arrived so I thought I would walk up once with him. It was a really tough climb, as the path goes more or less straight up the scarp slope, but I was so exhilarated on reaching the top that I continued and did the final four or five laps with him.

That day was baking hot, the ground firm and the legs young, but today the steepness of the slope and a thin layer of mud meant that anything other than a walk was out of the question. Mist covered the top and standing, munching, by the side of the trig point was a white cow… I’m not sure who was more startled!

I was a touch disappointed, as it had still taken me an hour to get there despite seemingly going a faster route, so I determined to try to make up time on the way back. I only discovered the main bridle-path down the Beacon last year and it’s still a thrill to run down, although today it was slippery enough for me to recall passages from Richard Askwith’s earlier book, Feet in the Clouds about the completely balmy sport of fell running. This video downthebeacon.mp4 shows my progress although you don’t get a sense of how steep or slippery it is! And by the sounds of it, the fell runners would call me a wuss for not throwing caution to the wind!

It was round about here that I had a revelation and Richard, if you happen to read this, expect a call from me shortly! Others, whose interest might be piqued, please wait patiently to see whether it turns into an interesting project.

I took a different path at the base of the beacon and thus ended up running back to Ditchling crossroads, where I turned left, circled around the back of the beautiful church and village pond and headed up a single track road. At the top of the hill, having seen a property that I would happily aspire to (no, it wasn’t just because of the Aston parked in the drive) I reached the mill that Nick and I passed last weekend. But rather than repeating our mistake, I took the footpath that headed north which eventually brought me out a good way up the keymer road towards home.

Which was a very good thing because I was already knackered! I felt like I hobbled my way back past the old houses lining the route home and eventually found myself leaning, panting, against my front door-frame. The 45 minute return journey reflecting not my speed, but the fact that I’d finally discovered a more direct route.

Or so I thought. Actually, the distance each way was almost exactly the same at 5.1 miles, which actually makes me wonder if I was so knackered on returning that I misread my watch by ten minutes. Otherwise the return leg was at 6.8mph, which it certainly didn’t feel like at the time, even if it does right now!

April 12, 2008

Cars or cards?

I cooked, but before you think of me as a capable kind of guy in the kitchen, I know only how to cook two things: the ubiquitous male Bolognese and a chicken dish that has bacon, leeks and honey. Last night it was the turn of the latter and Nick came to share so we also had a couple of bottles of wine between the three of us to help it down. Which is probably why I have a headache right now.

The spare bed claimed another admirer: pretty amazing for a relatively inexpensive, light as a feather, one-sided mattress on an old futon base. Whatever its secret, it’s zzzzlicious so if you’re suffering from sleepless nights let me know and we’ll try it out on you!

It was beautifully sunny when we got up and after the obligatory quadspresso, Nick and I set off in our running gear. It was really springlike and for about ten minutes I wished I’d just worn shorts & a t-shirt. Until I realised how cold it was in the wind on the exposed stretches. We headed out across the Common and then took a path south that I’d not introduced Nick to before. He had complained that his shoes were dirty (barely so, readers!) and that he planned to wash them later, so I chose this path partly because I knew it would be good & muddy.

It didn’t disappoint… it was the muddiest I’d ever seen it down there. As we slithered and slid, laughing all the way, so I enquired as to whether, given the choice, he preferred cars or cards. Well used to my daft questions he obliged with a comprehensive answer (basically, cars) and he was not then in the least fazed five minutes later when we were faced with a small river to cross by a pretty cottage. I took the bridge whilst he had to contend with the Ford, which he did with consummate grace!

As the mud got worse, so I was forced to tighten my shoelaces so I didn’t lose my runners as I ran through the middle of it. We turned west onto a tarmac road and cut down and through Ditchling and carried on behind Keymer to the railway line. Then our run started to fall apart. There were a series of grassed fields, each with a well worn path around the edge, so we gradually headed north until we suddenly ran out of path. There was a well worn cut-through so we ducked past a fence onto another path and headed north again… except this turned out to be someone’s driveway. Someone with a dog.

I grew up around dogs and even used to walk two in the lunchtimes at my primary school, but somewhere around aged ten an Alsatian bit my football, the owner was unrepentant and I no longer felt comfortable around them. So as this dog challenged us and Nick quickly folded his arms to make it more difficult to lose them, I quite literally cowered behind him!

The owners were lovely and very helpful and allowed us to continue through and down their lane. But then we had a really close call. There appeared on our right a gate of the kind that walkers and runners are very familiar with, so thinking we had found a bridle-path we headed through into a field. Something didn’t seem right and as we paused so a lady shouted for us to get back on the lane. We obliged and as we headed down to where she was standing, a large Alsatian came racing across the field at full pelt, gnashers out ready for breakfast. Which we clearly would have been and ‘Trespassers will be Eaten’ would not have been an inappropriate sign!

Back on the right side of the law again, we headed back to the house for breakfast ourselves. Ten miles in one hour 54 minutes works out to a pedestrian 5.3mph, but it was muddy, we did get lost and we also had to stop a couple of times to save our bacon. If success can be measured in terms of the amount of mud Nick would have to wash off his runners when he got home, it was a very successful morning!

The run didn’t clear my headache and neither has the writing, so I may just have to go and catch forty winks on the spare bed!

March 22, 2008

Really bad wind

Nessie made a delicious breakfast for Cliff and I this morning, consisting of eggs from the hens in the garden, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, fried bread… and beans. It was a HUGE plate and they waited patiently while I slowly worked my way through it – Cliff having woofed his down before their three huge dogs (which you can see in this video with After the Ice) spotted that he had food enough for all of them.

What was odd about it, was that whilst you would expect to have wind after eating a meal like that, we had it before. In fact, truth be known, Cliff had it much worse than I did.

It was one of those mornings where one look outside gives you sufficient information to call the planned run off. Alas, I knew that whatever excuse I could devise would not suffice… and certainly not ‘it’s fweezing cold and heaving it down with rain’. I suspect that even ‘hell hath frozen over and it’s raining frozen fire’ would still elicit a response along the lines of ‘get out there, you wuss’.

So it was that I found myself running with Cliff on this weather-filled day. He really is SO fit (as Daren’s fitness table shows) and it won’t surprise you to hear that he ran up the steep hill behind their house (25 minutes bottom to top) directly into the strongest Northerly wind I have run in this winter. Strangely, I neither ran up the hill nor directly into the wind… instead I ran (pretty much flat out) two feet behind him whilst watching the seemingly almost flat ground spew out from under his feet.

When we turned to the East towards Firle Beacon at the top of the hill, I finally emerged from Cliff’s lea and the full force of the wind hit me. It was so strong that it was actually difficult to breathe and when it started to hail, ten minutes later, it was like needles stinging the side of my face. My gloved hands were starting to freeze, but I knew that if I stopped it would only prolong the agony, so the only option was to keep on pressing forward.

As we approached the top of Firle Beacon, the full force of the wind was augmented by driving rain: the combination meant that I could see nothing out of my watery up-wind left eye! Momentarily I was transported back in time to kayak trips in my ‘teens & early twenties when the wind and rain always seemed to unleash their full force as we crossed an area of open water… despite the feeling of total wretchedness and despair, the only option was to press on. One paddle stroke forward, one to correct the heading as the wind caught the bow and seemingly a third stroke forward to get back to where you started.

Cliff’s run rate is right on the edge of my capability and I was really pleased to have managed to stay with him, even if I had slip-streamed him for the really difficult bit and now felt like up-chucking! But from here on in it was mostly downhill with the wind in our rear quarter. Slowly I managed to fill and empty my lungs more fully, while my frozen hands became more painful as the warm blood returned and eventually the pain subsided.

The sun came out and the run down was a delight in the little valleys where the temperature felt like a summers day. Bizarrely, on one last little uphill section, I could feel the intense heat of the material of my longs on my legs… something that I cannot recall having experienced before.

And before I knew it, we were back, showered and eating breakfast: the pain of the hill receding into my failing memory whilst the rain came down once again outside.

I’m not certain, but I’m pretty sure that we ran around 7.6 miles in just under one hour 10 minutes which is 6.5mph. This is a staggeringly fast speed bearing in mind that we climbed 776 feet and had to cope with a roaring headwind. And for the avoidance of any doubt, this was nothing to do with Nessie’s beans.

March 16, 2008

Breaking new, er… water

There seemed to be a plethora of possible titles for my entry today, amongst them ‘Harmless Barbie Lost Her Head-ing Too’ (I’ll see if I can get a picture at some point, then you’ll understand!) and ‘Beyond the Edge of the Known Universe’. Let me set the scene though: I didn’t feel like running, it was raining outside, my stomach was ready to eat breakfast, I was happy sitting reading about deforestation in China etc. But weighed against that was the need to write… and hence the need to run… allied to the fact that my gear is truly BRILLIANT. Out I went.

I couldn’t decide whether I was in the mood for a long or a short run, but I topped my water bottle up just in case. It quickly became apparent that water was going to be in abundance, with the brooks and streams pretty much filled to overflowing. This meant that it was also rather muddy… oh boy, is that ever the understatement of the year!

I quickly got into my stride, heading straight through most of the mud except where there was a more obvious firm line. One of the things that you quickly learn when you first drive a car off-road is that you have to slow down and this was no exception… trying to avoid a mudbath at the last minute was not an option given the general lack of traction, so it was often safer to go straight through!

I headed out to the Royal Oak and then decided to go a different way. It seems strange to me sitting here now why I always seem to do this on rainy days! I ran into Wivelsfield and up Slugwash Lane and then turned right where Nick and I normally cut across. Rather than going back down to Wivelsfield though, I headed East with the view of finding a path that goes South further across. I didn’t find it though and ended up running around a big WET field before passing the place I had come in. With the dull, overcast sky, I had managed to lose my direction in the process and now headed North by mistake, into a tract of woodland that could more appropriately have been called WaterWood.

The marked path was basically a small river, so I had no choice but to plough on through it. Splish Splash Splosh! It is very strange how the heart is heaviest when you think you’re going in the wrong direction but you’ve come too far to turn around: out of the whole run, it was only here that I actually registered that it was raining.

Eventually, after more trees, more water and some beautiful, but distant country houses, I emerged back onto Slugwash Lane, although I was sufficiently disorientated that I didn’t realise it. Faced with the choice of which way to go on this unfamiliar road I did what many of my other friends might have done… I chose the up-hill direction. Training is training, after all.

I finally realised where I was when I came to the junction with Lewes Road, to the East of Haywards Heath… and off the top of my map (no, I didn’t have it with me, silly!). The quick way home might have been to turn round and head back down Slugwash Lane to Wivelsfield, but instead I turned towards Haywards Heath and then, some way along the road, made a right turn into Colwell Lane which was marked as unsuitable for motor vehicles.

It seemed okay to me as I ran down the tarmac but then the tarmac ceased and I soon came to understand what the sign meant. Unsuitable? HA! This was the muddiest lane I have run on this whole winter! Oh, how I wish the Bok had been here with his freshly laundered trainers! I could almost have paddled my kayak in places, it was that wet. On and on and on it went and anyone hiding in the undergrowth as I passed (and they would have been hiding, believe me) would have heard the mud-covered monster laughing out loud as he sploshed through the worst of it.

Eventually the tarmac resumed and I emerged onto Fox Hill, passed the pub (very tempting to stop, but they used to have a policy of not allowing muddy boots and I know I would have not even have made it to the door) and headed back into the country in the general direction of Burgess Hill.

Some records are not destined to stand for long and I quickly found that, on reflection, Colwell Lane was not the muddiest of them all. This bridleway really was hilarious and I ended up with one main consideration… not losing my trainers! In places the water & mud was up to my ankles, but on I went. Finally, when it had been assured of it’s place as the new record holder, it morphed into Theobalds Lane, and the ancient tarmac with its plethora of axle-breaking puddles served the useful purpose of washing the mud off my trainers… once again, where was the Bok when I really needed him!

There are two reasonably direct ways back home from this place, one of which has thick mud in the middle of summer, so I opted for the other, even though it was a little dull running on the road.

So, my little run had taken me some 10.2 miles in one hour 45 minutes and whilst the speed of 5.8mph is not outstanding, I think it can hold its muddy head up with pride given the fantastical conditions. As can my gear… my Rono soft underlayer, Gore jacket and iQ beanie, all from Run in Hove (actually), really do help make every day a fair weather runner’s day!

January 13, 2008

Splish splash splosh

I ran earlier. Much earlier. Before eating Kim’s delicious chili. Before spending the day tiling the bathroom at the flat and working out what still needs doing in the kitchen. Before hand-washing my mudden (my new technical term suggesting muddy AND sodden) running gear and showering me off too.

Eight ate handsomely at Grant & Karen’s last night and we were treated to a riot of flavours along with some of Grant’s friends that we’d not previously met. Grant, a chef of some renown, was in a Moroccan mood and whilst I can’t begin to remember what any of the dishes were called, they were certainly very tasty!

After such great food and a late night (and after a heavy day working at the flat), the alarm went off too early this morning and I took the tiny window of opportunity to get up, otherwise I would have fallen back to deep sleep! The espresso machine dished up the goods and I sat supping it until I was at least half awake. Then I was out the door!

I quite fancied a long run, but I really didn’t feel up to it, so I started with a short run instead, thinking I would see where it got me. It had to be the wettest morning underfoot so far this year… thank goodness for Kurt’s woolen Thurlo’s, otherwise my poor little toes would have been washed away in all the cold water. If you’re precious about how your trainers look, running in the countryside at this time of year is probably not for you.

I ran South towards Ditchling, thinking I would then track East as far as the tunnel under the railway line and then come back via the Common, but when I emerged onto Spatham Lane with a choice to head North or South, I had only been out for 25 minutes so it seemed churlish to head for home so soon. So I headed South again towards Westmeston at the foot of the Downs.

After trying one or two paths that didn’t take me in the right direction (a habit of mine), I eventually found myself running up the scarp slope of the Downs and arrived at the top between Blackcap and the Beacon. There’s more to say about the climb, of course. It was muddy, very muddy and I reckon that Dai’s new shoes would have been a real boon! As it was, I had to stop running several times on account of nearly falling flat on my face, each foot sliding out behind me quicker that I could replace it!

I ran towards the Beacon, but was pretty knackered so took the path down before I got there. Having overtaken a couple of horse-riders, I then slithered down the muddy track using skiing techniques as much as running ones! The track returned me to Westmeston and from there I paddled down to Ditchling… I kid you not, the path was sub aqua much of the way. Splish splash splosh!

Energy levels really were on LOW by then, so I took a rare decision and took the roadhome. I’m not a great fan of running along the side of the road, but there was not much traffic and whatever getupandgo I had remaining was at least applied with good traction, so the going was faster than it would have been… shortening the agony.

By the time I’d nearly got to our road, my legs felt like they did at the end of the Barns Green half marathon… pretty much lifeless! But I kept the machine running right up until the end and was pleased to see two hours and seven minutes on my watch.

Having stretched and peeled of my mudden kit, I sat down with the map and a couple of slices of toast & peanut butter to find that I had run 20km, or 12.5 miles. Despite the sodden going, the muddy climb and run home on empty, I had averaged 5.9mph.

January 6, 2008

Civic pride

It was such a glorious morning and there was ice on all the cars so I dressed warm for a short run. The first thing that hit me when I went out into the sun was how warm it was. Odd really, as whilst all the shady parts were slippery with ice or crunchy underfoot, everywhere else had that look of Spring having arrived. And the depth of the mud attested to how unfrozen it was!

Still knackered from my Friday run and from refurbing all week, I fancied a short, unhurried run around town. I quickly revised my intentions when I realised how slippery the shaded pavements were, so I headed for a more forgiving surface… mud is always slippery!

I ran out towards Keymer and then round to the South of the town by Tesco’s. There was a rumour of a path being created so that people could walk right around the outside of the new perimeter road and a few months ago I managed to get lost whilst trying to discover where it went. That was August and uncertain whether the local Council acts quickly or slowly in these matters, I decided to try again.

The path has certainly been extended, but only as far as Gatehouse Lane, but I persevered by trying to get around the back of St Pauls School again, to no avail again. Chastened by the memories of getting caught astride a barbed wire fence last time, I sheepishly retraced my steps and ran along the rest of the perimeter road.

I continued through Sheddingdean Industrial Estate. I think it is such a shame when an estate such as this, with some excellent companies such as Sussex Sport KTM and the wonderful Earthworks, has so little self esteem as to allow an age old and decrepit sign to herald the entrance. Far worse still, it’s one of the first things that visitors see as they enter Burgess Hill. If anyone from Burgess Hill Town Council reads this and wants to understand how a few small (and inexpensive) changes might make a large difference to the feel of the town, please get in touch!

Beyond that, I ran past Burgess Hill Football Club ground and on through the tunnel to Valebridge Road. Here I was tempted to run through the twitten and up to Ote Hall, but to be honest, I was knackered, so I ran back up Junction Road instead.

In all I was out for one hour twenty minutes, covering about 7.4 miles at a sedate 5.55mph. I’m not sure where the boundary between short run and long run is, but it sure felt like the latter!

The day has turned grey now, so I’m really glad that I made the effort while the sun shone… and my Oakley’s were happy to get a breath of fresh New Year air too!

January 2, 2008

Showing the outgoing year a clean pair of heels

It was a really good start to the year… waking up about 30 seconds before my alarm went off at eight. Not that early I know, but too early for most and a great time to go for a run.

The morning was mild , quite still and slightly misty and sound seemed to be deadened, which meant that I probably scared the tails off about 20 squirrels. As I ran out towards Ote Hall there was no-one around and the first person I saw was a farmer going about his chores. There were a couple of cars on the main road at Wivelsfield, but I could have crawled across on all fours with no danger.

The Alpacas eyed me hungrily but I made it past both them and the sheep in the next field without becoming a tasty new year snack. I passed a cheery family out for a walk as I dropped down into the village centre and then I headed out onto Hundred Acre Lane where I saw the bunny-rabbit tail of a red deer bounding into the undergrowth… clearly a relative of the Bok. Down through the wood, a slight detour around a field looking for the exit and then back up into and through the wood along to the end of Spatham Lane.

From here I cut across the Common, over the railway line and down to Wellhouse Lane, past the water tower and over to the other railway line. There I following the path alongside it to the station, stopping en route to take the weird photo above, before pushing up the last hill to the top of town and back down to home.

In all, I was out for one hour twenty-nine, covering 9.125 miles (or so!) at a speed of 6.08mph. I was very happy with this, despite the fact that Nick had emailed me to quite frankly, er… gloat, that he had run nearly 6 miles in 45 minutes… a speed of 8.57mph. I always said he was faster!! Way to go Nick, although that was technically last year!

The rest of the day was spent relaxing in front of the… that’s rubbish, of course… we’ve been working our little socks off lately doing up Kim’s flat and today was no different: cutting down an old cupboard-side that I just cannot remove as it’s had the gas pipe and the dist-board for the heating system carefully woven through it; cutting the kitchen worktop (and pulling the muscles in my back trying to test it for size… which I didn’t manage to do!); working out where the tiles will go in the bathroom and fixing the first couple of rows; getting the bathroom door-frame ready so that I can hang the door on the other side; failing to remove the skirting and having to rebuild it (work in progress… sorry Kim!); drinking tea and occasionally swearing… though these latter seem to be the only aspects of being a builder that come naturally!

November 25, 2007

Ironing hydrogens

Picture this, if you will. It’s half past three in the afternoon and I’m sitting with my feet up on the sofa, facing the heat of the logs a-turning into charcoal and then to ash; laptop on lap. I may have loads of weekend chores to do, but I’m dug in here now for the duration!

Kim read something to me about tempo running yesterday – I can’t say that I understood it completely, but it was basically talking about warming the muscles up gently with a jog for 15 minutes before running harder than your normal speed, but not flat out, for 2 to 4 miles and then slowing down before the end. Sounds pretty much like a normal run to me (gasping for breath the whole way round and running out of energy at the end) so I’m obviously missing some key details.

The missing detail is something to do with lactate and hydrogen ions, which form in your muscles as a result of metabolism. These normally build up to form lactic acid, which stops the muscle working properly. Pushing the lactose threshold means that the muscle gets used to using these by-products, allowing you to run faster and further.

With this in mind, my loose plan this morning was to warm up gently, then run a bit harder than normal, before slowing down before the end. It was also to run from Jack & Jill back to the house.As we pulled into the car park at Jack & Jill, so a clearly well-seasoned runner was warming up to leave. I hoped to get parked before he left, to get some company up the hill, but he legged it off.

It’s funny, but give me a boy-racer at the traffic lights and I will pull gently away and let them get on with it: give me a hill with a runner up ahead and the testosterone kicks in! So much for the gentle start then.

Half way up the hill and I had reeled him in a little when some walkers asked about my circuit, so I paused for a moment to explain my plan – they laughed when I said I’d just started as I was panting so hard!

Off again and by the time he had got to the next gate at the top of the rise and I was almost there myself… he was kind enough to pause and hold it open and we ran on together. Meet Mark Johnson, pictured above – oh yes, I went into MCL yesterday and Daniel helped me figure out how to send an email from my phone.

Mark wasn’t running at a huge pace, but he gave the clear impression that the sea anchor devise would not have affected his pace in the least… he had a really purposeful style and had I not slowed him down on the hills, I’m sure he would have just kept the same tempo regardless.

There is no doubt that chatting to another runner is a great way of helping the miles off with their jackets, allied to which the tendency is to keep going at times where you might have walked on your own.

We were having such an amicable run that I ignored the turn I was planning to take to the north and carried on with him to the outskirts of Lewes, with a new plan to peel off on the return leg. This was where I realised how deceptive and consistent his pace was, as the going is uphill for quite a way and he just hacked away at it as before.

Despite Mark slowing for me, the pace was fast enough for me to feel knackered and as we reached the top of the rise the desire to slog it home to the north evaporated. Which just left the slog back to Jack & Jill to contend with. It seemed rude to suggest he run on ahead so I resigned myself to just having to go with the flow.

There’s a lovely point on the return trip where you mount an oh-so-gentle summit and Jack and Jill sit below you… pure joy to behold! The going underfoot for the first part of the descent is soft and springy and here my gait lengthened and I relaxed into the freefall. We crunched down the last path, managing to avoid a couple of startled walkers who were looking at us over opposite shoulders while they tried to get out of our way, each pinned by the other’s shoulder going in the opposite direction.

Kim and I used this route, with some minor variation, when we were training for Berlin in 2004 and it used to take us two and a half hours; so it took some time for the 1 hour 51 minute time to sink into my skull! On the map I realised that I hadn’t been quite as observant as I should, so I’m not certain where we turned, but I make it a minimum of 19.75 km, or 12.3 miles, making for a 6.65 mph speed.

Interestingly, this is more or less the pace I ran at Berlin, coming home in a thoroughly depressing four hours, two minutes (having stopped to pee five times), but that was on flat tarmac whist this was anything but!

Overall a really lovely run on a beautiful morning and with great company… thanks Mark!

Note to self: introduce Mark to Pete and Cliff – he has a strange desire to cycle some of the Tour de France sections and also to compete in La Via Marenca or Mont Blanc Ultra next year!

Second note to self – figure out where I went wrong sending the photo from the phone, as it didn’t arrive! (got the photo now, after sending four messages!)

Third note to self – don’t write blog on Mac. And if you do, don’t edit it on there. Remember, you lose ALL the formatting every time you open it!

November 11, 2007

Motivation

I’m sure that people start writing blogs (or anything else for that matter) for any number of reasons, but for me it was to create a cyclical pressure to both write and run. I want to write, so I have to run, even on mornings when I don’t want to, in order to have something to write about, even on days where I don’t feel like it. Shall I give you a moment to absorb that?

Today was one of those mornings where, having returned to a warm bed after working out where the alarm noise was coming from, I really did not want to run. Sitting here now, I can also tell you, I would rather be sinking into the sofa than trying to muster the energy to write. But run I did, so write I must!

It looked like rain, but within ten minutes (the time it takes the body to warm up to running temperature) I was regretting wearing two base layers AND my Goretex jacket. By the time the second runner passed me in the opposite direction wearing only shorts and t-shirt, I was feeling pretty silly It was milder than I had anticipated but I was only going for a slow run around the block, so to speak, so no worries.

You may already have realised that I’m fascinated by the power of the mind and its internal dichotomy – the conscious and unconscious. The writer Julia Cameron calls her unconscious inner critic ‘Nigel’, creating a persona for what the rest of just know as the thing that tries to stop us achieving our goals. The way to get around our inner Nigels’ is to creep up on them with practiced stealth, which is why I had decided to do a 45 minute circuit this morning… and why the run took me steadily away from the house. I could turn around at any stage, but all the time I felt okay I could also keep going.

When the rain finally came , I was already running through Ditchling with (half) a mind to go to the bottom of the Downs and turn around. The Gore jacket is such an effective bit of kit that it was a real pleasure running in the rain and this, ably supported by my iQ beanie, helped me run on until I found myself on the path that leads to the top of the Beacon. How strange.

How strange also that, despite not feeling at all like running, I would not allow myself to pause or walk in the ascent, so I just plugged away up the hill until I got to the very top. I note with interest that Sri Chinmoy, the Indian spiritual guru who passed away recently, believed in hard physical exercise as a route to enlightenment. Nietzsche similarly encouraged his readers to scale the peaks, physically and mentally (have you ever tried to read his work?!) and it’s true that there is a special draw about attaining the very top of a hill. As a man of discernment standing on a rocky eminence beholdeth those who are below and in distress; so doth the sage, who by his wakefulness hath put to flight his ignorance, look down upon suffering mankind from the heights of wisdom he hath attained. The Buddha.

These guys must have been fit, because I was knackered and standing there it was as much as I could do to take a photo… which I’ll upload when I have worked out how to email pictures from my new phone! Daniel? Tina?

So it was that I found myself slip-sliding back down the Beacon and retracing my steps, back through pretty Ditchling, back past the horny goats, back through the chicken pen, back past the horses and through the electric fences, back past the farmers with their shotgun (a bit too close for comfort on the way out!), back across the common and back to the house. Back to stretch out my tight muscles and then flat on my back with knackeredness.

The surprising things: my short run was two hours on the nose and 11.25 miles (18km) in length; including the climb I reached the Beacon after 1 hour and three minutes and it took me 57 minutes to get home again; three hours later, I’m still knackered!

November 4, 2007

Waving at passers by

It was another glorious morning and Jack was in a romantic mood, back-lit by the sun and softened with a hint of mist. It was one of those mornings where I too would have been happy just to stand in the sun and wave my arms around.

I certainly wasn’t in the mood to run, but heh-ho, here I was. Heading East from Jack and Jill, I passed Ditchling Beacon, where I paused to stretch and then headed for Blackcap, stopping on the way again to take a photograph of a persuasive sign saying ‘don’t stray off the path’… the words chosen for the purpose were ‘Firearms in constant use on this farm… for your own safety stay on the public footpath’. Sticking to the middle of the path, to avoid any doubt, I ran on and arrived at Blackcap faster than two weeks ago… which is amazing bearing in mind the stops and how slowly I felt as if I was running.

From there I backtracked a little and dropped off the Downs to Plumpton Agricultural College and headed North as far as the racecourse, then West. The houses around here are just beautiful and the little hamlet of Streat is charming, with the sound of its parishioners singing their hearts out emanating from the church. I had spooked a horse with an old lady aloft two weeks ago and then had to pass them a second time ten minutes later… the horse was clearly unsettled by something, possibly my bright blue gilet. Today she greeted me as I paused to let her pass, just in case, but the horse walked past nonchalantly. ‘ I’m not scared of you, you silly runner’ it must have been thinking.

Then I was back onto the old faithful track which goes North from Westmeston… I really love it because it’s been here since Roman times and I suspect that not much has changed since then. When I got to the railway though, I just had to stop and walk for five minutes as my mind was still not really in the run. It’s a powerful thing, that thing in your head!

There’s a path that runs along one edge of Ditchling Common that I think is magical and I ran down it today. It’s a narrow path along the treeline that winds between old trees and and through thickets and seems almost enchanted. For some reason I felt my strength return and I blew along it effortlessly like the wind.

Back out on the Common I had another pause though (bit of a habit today), ate a Tracker bar and then jogged home the last ten minutes.

Overall, particularly in the psychological department, a really awful run, which was reflected in the speed at 5.69mph. But it was 12.3 miles which is almost 20km, so it was not all bad. And nothing could take away the fact that, with the Autumn leaves turning shades of red and gold, it was a glorious morning!