DECEMBER - well, you have to start somewhere . . .

[Sweder]

Lost a wingman tonight. Tim suffered nasty achilles damage following Sunday's jog around Seaford and looks to be out for a week or so. He's convinced it's mostly down to poor conditioned trainers so I've advised him to visit Sam The Man at the Jog Shop in Brighton.

Sam's an Oracle in the world of running shoes.
I first entered his slightly sleezy runners' emporium in Brighton last January.
Once again, SP had trod this path before, and it was on his advice I now entered the small sidestreet shop. Funny how incongruous one feels on first entering a 'real runners' shop. I had barely covered 10 miles in 3 weeks of post-sofa action and was suffering in the feet department.

I crept in, painfully aware of how alien this environment was to me.
'Come on in son'. A voice, Lemmy from Motorhead laced with extra gravel, cut through the gloom from the rear of the store. Then, as a barely audible aside to his assistant: 'American 13, E fitting. Try the Dasics or the Mizuno - don't bother with the Nikes.'

I could see no other customer in the shop. I stopped, and the confused look on my fizzog must have conveyed my thoughts.

'Take a seat mate. I'd guess you're looking for a pair of runners - those look a size too small from 'ere.'
I sat. The assistant appeared with a small stack of shoe boxes. I kicked off my Nike cross-trainers (instant relief!) and awaited the first offering.
'Mizuno X10, American 13, E fitting' announced the assistant.
Sam (Jog Shop Supremo) leaned forward, eyes only for the silver/red/blue beauties. 'Lovely. Pop them on - see how they feel.'

I was still in a daze. This man had barely glanced at my Nike's and there was not so much as a tape measure in sight. Oh well, in for a penny . . .
. . . oh my God; it's like the Emperor's New Runners. Hardly any weight (compared to the hobnail boots I'd just removed) and . . . moulded to my feet. I was grinning like a fool. Sam straightened up, a half-smile lighting up his face. 'Feel good eh?' He chortled.
'Er - bloody brilliant' I managed.
'Go for a quick jog up the road' growled the Guru.
I did think, for one wee microsecond, that this was fairly risky; I'd be leaving behind a fairly rotten, hefty old pair of abused Nike's and leaving in 70 quids' worth of foot heaven. Then the penny dropped and I looked back at the solid, slightly bow-legged proprietor and his whippet-like, lycra-clad protoge;
you'd get about 100 yards tops, I thought.

Suffice to say I bought the X10s, and this January popped back to replace them with this years' model of the same. I'll be there again in the New Year, and I won't so much as glance in another shop window on the way.

You can't beat a decent pair of trainers, and you definately can't beat advice from the best in the business.

PS: Sam also hosts the Sunday long runs from the West Pier, Brighton, pre FLM. He cycles so that he can patrol up and down the long ribbon of runners, joggers and hobblers, dishing out advice, encouragement and gel packs in equal measure. A good man to know.

Wednesday, December 15th - 2 x Lewes Loops
Undeterred by Tim's misfortune Simon and I met up at 7pm for a double loop of the town (around 5 miles) incorporating around 3 miles of hill climbs. Simon had not run since Sunday, and I'd just had my dissappointing solo effort on Monday.

Conditions were perfect - slight breeze, very mild and dry - and we set off at a comfortable pace. After the first (3 mile) loop I was pleased to congratulate Simon on a good pace and much improved hill work. We hit the mini loop (2 miles) and maintained the pace. I felt great! Simon peeled off just after 5.5 miles and I rewarded myself for a good session with one more 2 mile loop. No run until Sunday now, as I join SP and our Golf Society for an evening of abject debauchery at our AGM. Roll on the Black Gold!