February 2017

[Sweder]

Of Mice and Men

29.04 kms
3:47:14
Average pace: 7:50 per km
Average HR: Not a clue (not bad for the first 10k, shredded after that)
Terrain: hilly, offroad

... and their best laid plans. The jaunt across to Bevendean ParkRun went as planned. 07:45 departure from Chez Sweder, nice easy pace (average 8 mins per km) in misty conditions. Up the Big W, summit crowned with Trumphair cloud, we forked right before Castle Hill Nature Reserve, crossed the Drove just south of the Amex stadium and hedged around the edges of a Tetrus of farmers' fields to Bevendean. We arrived 4 minutes before the off; perfect timing.

It was here things started to unravel. A wise man might have continued the easy pace around the ParkRun circuit, but not me. Not OATR, either, if his scorching first lap pace was anything to go by. We'd met Tom Roper minutes before the off, resplendent in full Captain Pugwash beard and looking mighty spritely, just a week out from the Brighton Half.

I took it easy, or so I thought, up the first set of hills. That was, until two lithe lovelies bounced past, light on their feet, tight lycra shimmering in the emerging sunshine. I tucked in behind and kept pace, overtaking them as the hill flattened. Once around the top I felt like letting my legs go a bit and thundered down the long drop towards the Dew Pond. I was flying. 4:10 per km, matching my Almeria PB pace, albeit down a pretty steep slope. I shot across the lower slopes and attacked the hills on lap two. Again, I felt the need to go on the down hill section. I've just this minute received an e-mail from Parkrun: 28:25, a minute outside my best time on this course. Strewth.

Apres ParkRun was taken in the Bevy. I sucked down a plate of egg and bacon and a mug of coffee before Rob announced the route back. We were going through Falmer, alongside Sussex Uni and up to Blackcap. Hurrah! Tom quietly reminded us there was a comfy ride back on offer, but we were full of ourselves. An hour later I could have wept at our foolishness. 

The climb up to BlackCap from Falmer is long. It is looooong. The five minute blocks ticked by. I walked, trying to keep my heart rate within range, but no chance. It was 135 to 140 just walking slowly. In the end I blew out the monitor, jogging to catch up with Rob, who had kept a steady, easy pace all the way. By the time Runkeeper chirruped the Half Marathon time, I'd had enough. 2:45 for the half. Not bad, I suppose, but my legs were shot and we still had an hour to go. 

When we finally hauled ourselves up to Blackcap I threw myself down onto the warm, damp grass, sucking air like a landed carp. Another error in this adventure had been not to bring any water. It's all well and good, this 'wait 'till you're thirsty' lark, but when you ARE thirsty you need to drink. There was no water here, so we had to press on. I took up my default, nothing-left shambling shuffle, all half-breaths and ugly stumbles. This has got me home on a few occasions where the wheels have come loose, and it worked a treat today. 

The sun beat down, a gentle zephyr stroked out backs, we couldn't ask for better conditions. The trail kissed out feet, soft, loving, tender by comparison with those brutal Andalucian streets of a fortnight ago. Everything hurt, yet, as I happily reported to OATR, it all hurt equally, which was nice. Feet, ankles, knees, quads, hamstrings, hips, lower back, and both nipples were long gone. What a catch. 

We made it home in 3:47 and change, a shade over 29 kilometres all in.
Next time I'll take some water. And some ibuprofen. 
And I'll accept that offer of a lift. 

   

PS: rewarded myself with not one but two pints of Harveys Best, first ale since Almeria.
Went down a storm, too. As did the Rooks, 1-5 to Tooting & Mitcham