January 2010

[Sweder]

Another cracking run with the mighty Ladyrunner, this time around beautiful Stanmer Park (between Brighton and Lewes). As can be clearly seen in LR's photos above there was still plenty of snow and ice about, much of it compacted along the popular woodland trails. A lot of slipping, sliding and near-tumbling ensued.

Around 6k into the run I was feeling pretty chipper. Despite Sunday's tough outing my legs felt reasonably OK. Whilst challenging the terrain was manageable; gentle inclines, kindly winding descents, plenty of crunchy snow to help my battered old runners find some grip. I pondered the rare advantage (one of very few) of being a lardy bastard on days like this. There's no doubt I was having the least trouble of the four of us in the conditions, my usually unwanted extra timber helping to drive my shoes harder into the reluctant, hardened snow. As the much lighter ladies skittered about, arms out-thrust for balance, I allowed myself a wry smile. It's tough out there; chasing attractive lycra-clad ladies across this fabulous winterscape. Tough, yes, but somebody has to do it …

Complacency will, given time, bite you in the arse. Sure enough five minutes later we'd reached the low point in the park (topographically speaking), the road that runs past the impressive Palladian facade of Stanmer House. Built for the Pelham family in 1722 by the French architect Dubois the building recently housed the University of Sussex admin department during construction of the new SU campus. The stately structure stood proudly amidst this idyllic winter scene, surrounded by tall trees laden with snow, it’s well reputed café closed to poor wretches like us.

When you've hit rock bottom the only way is up - and up we ran, up, up, up across the deep snow of the eastern hills, up across the polished glass of the dog-walkers' trail, peppered with partly-sunken canine ordure, and up into the woods. As ever Ladyrunner took the lead, pulling inexorably away from the three of us as we laboured behind. Every right-angled turn through the trees took us higher, for well over a mile (though it felt like five). At every other step I managed to achieve wheel-spin, each sideways slip of a size 12 boot drawing a bluntly exhaled curse. In no time LR was 100 metres ahead, a willowy figure in black dancing through the lofty pines like some shy woodland sprite.

After a brief pause at the car park, where I took time to catch my breath as I ruminated on the wide-as-ever fitness gap and wondered how long I'd be able to follow this tireless Terminator in Almeria, we were off once more. Where? Up of course. At the top of the park Jeanette and Kirsty were making determined noises about heading home and it was hard to blame them. LR, eyes a-blaze, clearly wanted another lap. I was feeling the pace, legs whining like spoilt children passing the Pick-n-Mix, but I'm hungry for mileage just now, mindful of pressing engagements in the coming weeks. In the blink of an eye the two girls were off and we two had started lap 2. I cursed my greed – in no small part encouraged by my desire to advance in LE JOG - and tucked in behind LR, trying not to think about that blasted big hill.
'We'll blast that big hill this time' came the cheery pronouncement from the front.
'Blast it? BLAST it? I'm cursing it already ...'
My mumbled bravado died on the biting wind as my lungs demanded I use all available oxygen to feed the furnace. Twenty minutes later those same lungs were in trouble, wheezing like a pair of moth-eaten bellows as once again I watched LR disappear into the forest.

Another 19.5 kilometres tucked away, another evil snow-run behind me.
My Mizunos are coming apart at the seams; I doubt I'll make another journey in them, unless it's to walk the hounds. I took myself of the Jog Shop where Sam unveiled a shiny orange-and-black pair of Wave Harrier 2's. Never has a fool been more readily parted with his money. To sweeten the deal (or possibly to encourage this large, steaming and far-from-sweetly-smelling man to leave his shop) Sam threw in a pair of 1000 Mile All-Terrain Tactel Socks. I think the old boy was moved by the sight of my big toe winking through my shredded footie socks as I pulled on the new boots. I'll give both acquisitions a spin later this week. For now I'm off for a good lie down.

Below: Elevation map of today's run