December

[Sweder]

Aahhhhh ... that sigh of relief echoes through the windswept Sussex hills even as I rest, hands on knees, sweat dripping onto the chilled tarmac above the marina, gulping restorative ice-cold air as my tender hamstrings gently stretch.

Eight miles, twelve cliff-top kilometres, one for each day of a Christmas that's seen my running ambition soar and dive in crazy fashion. Following my ugly Christmas Day lumber I rested my battered, weary legs, taking the traditional car journey north for Boxing day with my family. Several helpings of Ma's delicious turkey curry later I drove back, hunched over my straining food baby, praying for clear roads and an early night.

This morning I rolled out of bed and squeezed into my newly-gifted Canterbury ‘cold’ microweave under-garments. The industrial waistband on those shorts strove manfully to restrain my burgeoning midriff; I may have to invest in more of these for everyday wear. Outside the cold wind raged, treetops dancing as if taunting me, daring me to set foot outside my lovely warm house. Dare I did, splendidly attired in RC vest and purple shorts, a seasonal salute to my old running partner. Despite the storm's cruel intentions I felt remarkably snug in my tight fabric layers, a veritable Lycra Lasagne.

On the cliff-tops that cold harsh wind drove out of the west, shoving us on as we fought to hold a steady pace. Again numbers were diminished, though with most of the snow and ice melted Ade and Simon had at last emerged from their winter lairs. Before I left the house I'd enjoyed Glaconman's tales of beasting across the wild north moors. Stevio, our own Beast-master General, was left languishing at home this morning, all the good work of his warm-weather Cuban training camp undone when he blew a calf muscle at Preston Park. Get well soon mate. I’d pre-selected the Wire, a 6k out, 6k back route, as my track du jour. Leaving water, wine gums and anything else that might encourage me to go further at home was a smart move. I’m easy prey to the likes of Ade who smile charmingly when suggesting a Snake run might be just the thing on a bright, chilly December day. Mindful of my Friday sluggery I needed a morale-booster; less would on this occassion be more.

As things turned out the return run was plenty tough enough. A lively force 6 howled into our faces as we set off from the eponymous halfway fence. It took three times the effort and a good deal longer to cover the same distance, accompanied by plenty of noisy huffing and puffing as I flogged my corpulence westward against the storm. As I struggled I reflected on the solitary nature of running, especially, paradoxically, when running in a group, stretched out along the cliffs by a variety of fitness levels and body sizes. I could see the leaders on the horizon, a full-bloodied drive to the WACA fence ahead of the next fellow, himself half that distance in front of me. Behind us a string of runners followed, each meeting the challenging conditions in their own way, finding those mental diversions that allow the body to grind out the miles when every fibre of an untrammelled mind would surely scream ‘stop!’. My own distractions today included these very ruminations and the fact that this disparate band of brothers and sisters, alone and apart yet striving to attain a common goal, once again underpinned George Livingston Seagull Sheehan’s time-honoured creed concerning the experiment of … (see page 92).

I’m happy to relate that, in the words of Billy Bob Thornton’s spikey Love Actually US president, we got what we came for. At least I did; an uplifting run that left me knackered but happy with something in the tank. I can build on this; I just need to regulate my intake, marry up regular running with other healthy activities and – gulp – lay off the beer. I know, I know, it goes against everything I’ve espoused over the years, but the scales have tilted horribly into the red lately; drastic measures are called for. I’m on the wagon from here on in – no waiting for New Years’ Day, it’s a pointless nonsense that I simply don’t hold with – and that’s that. For how long very much depends on the results, but I’d like to think I’ll be back in business by the end of January, for reasons that will be fairly obvious to regular visitors here.