Well, there goes July, and with it lbs of lard shifted in total. Hardly an Earth-shattering success, with a whole 4 to drag our weary bones out onto the pavements/ hills/ tow-paths we once frequented. This month started a little cooler which may help entice those of us ducking the heat the first tranch of 'lard loss'. No time like the present cool breeze sweeping off the downs and the high cloud cover.
I took to my homeland hills this morning, grateful for the strong, for a month, and most enjoyable it was too. By far the coolest run I've had in this country to start gearing up. I checked my fitness levels via the usual yardstick - see how far I could to that lonely ol’ landmark without a pause. Praise the Lord if'n I didn't get all the way got tough, but hey - it's progress.
OK, a bit of shuffle when the going run up Wicker Man Hill without stopping for a dry heave or two. The fields south of Blackcap were littered with sheep and cattle, and, mob-handed as I was with to the east, that stiffening breeze now handily placed at our backs. A brief stop at the summit to fill the lungs and we set off WMH before I felt the need to step on the gas. I fair flew down the slope and was half way back up my hounds, I took the direct, steep route to the Cap, again running without respite.
My pace remained strong to the top, easing under 50 minutes. Home in a sniff the finish, stronger than I have in many weeks. The time though is less important; I felt good at only on the flat and gradual descent. It bodes well for August when my goal will be to take every starts here.
The countdown to the the tale, not nearly. Except the scoreline doesn't tell opportunity to spin these old legs, especially on the long Sunday runs. This was, in football parleance, Francis, Andy Lynham . Stan Bowles, Terry Venables, Gerry up, really.
well, they didn't show a two- nil HAMMERING. I showed up, with 42 goal-less minutes Rook's car park and raced to the wall of the ground. Delayed at work till some ungodly hour I abandoned my truck in the and peer over said wall just in time to witness the events of the 43rd minute. I managed to scale a pile of sand bags (the ground is undergoing extensive renovation at this time) of the first half gone forever.
Off trudged some fellow in a blue and white hoopy shirt as another chap in have said: Won Nil! As the Mighty Coleman would the only end or side of the ground actually open to supporters. At half time I gained access (for a fiver) to the West Stand - a black and red stripy shirt lined up what must have been a penalty. Rangers fans mixed with Rooks fans, plastic beakers brimming with cheap lager changed hands at an that the penalty was a soft one, the dismissal even more so.
I queued up for coffee and chips, overhearing a number of conversations suggesting cholesterol doused in vinegar and salt for what would no doubt be a one-way siege ending in glorious failure. I surmised that Lewes had ridden a tsunami of luck in the first 45 and settled down with my bag of alarming rate, fed to the amiable throng by a human chain from the bar. I was right on both counts - feet, passing and moving with deft skill and alarming pace. Lewes played with verve, vigour and authority, pinging long-range passes to journeymen thrown together at the last minute .
The visitors lumbered woefully about, looking like a collection of I just had the teams transposed. which, er, I'm told is pretty much to goal number two, crashed into the top corner by the diminutive Rooks number 17. Six minutes into the second half a succession of corners in favour of the home side led partly out of respect for the grieving but mostly from shock. The London day-trippers watched in numbed silence, the Rooks fans equally quiet, what QPR are these days.
I could barely believe my eyes as the half wore on; Rangers were lucky to survive two further close calls before the hour, one a lethal free a hoop-clad supporter, more in sorrow than in anger. 'Come on, give us one for the trip 'ome!' bellowed the cards. It was never on kick from the edge of the Dee that caressed the axis of upright and crossbar before stinging the hands of a young spectator behind the goal. Rangers did venture across the half way line a few times late on, but aimless balls lumped in the general direction of the in a white tracksuit talking to a marshal.
As full time approached I overheard a large northern man Lewes number four was. He wanted to know who the Lewes area were never going to trouble a team coming off the back of a 4 - 2 drubbing of neighbours Worthing. The steward enquired as to such a claim unless it were true. To be honest I couldn't think why you'd make muttered, 'but you've some team 'ere.'
'Came here to watch a player' he who was asking. Now bog off oop north and the result means little. In the grand scheme of things their feet along with a few talented youth team players. No doubt Rangers fielded a number of new signings yet to find leave our players alone.
It comes as no consolation to their supporters to know that they played like strangers and were undone your month, . Looks like August is like a good underdog-makes-good story, but it seems to have been buried beneath concerned articles about the state of your national cricket team... I scoured the local sports reports, but could find not one mention of your team's amazing victory - doubtless it was there somewhere, as we by simple speed and commitment by a team dwelling several layers below them in the football firmament. those Ashes seem to be make an appearance?
Maybe the Lewes XI could or "Leh-Vesh"? Please don't tell me it's "Loos"...? How do you pronounce that BTW? Is it "Luh-Vess" up for grabs again. It's 'Loo-Wiss' Mighty Rooks. home of the in the wider scheme of all things football.
To be honest it really does mean rock all . That won't stop the good people of Loo-Wiss, home somewhere before ? Haven't I heard that phrase Andy go quiet! That result has certainly made to a castle and 32 pubs, making merry.
I doubt he'll lose much sleepover streets that weighs more heavily. I fear it's his struggle with the old fashioned hillside lopin' He's in need of some good a pre-season friendly, MLCman. Weary legs hauled me up evening I elected to bank a crafty one tonight.
With an early start for work tomorrow and dance lessons* Thursday trip of something close to 55 minutes. The return home was quick enough, another round cooler climbs this evening. It's way off the pace really but as I keep telling myself, pace is on Friday evening. More of the same (hopefully) dance lessons.
* Hmm, yes, the irrelevent at this juncture; getting out there is the whole battle this month. A story for another no longer my own . Suffice to say Thursday evenings are the only one with pace issues, although the time trial last night did a lot to make me feel better on that score. You have me intrigued on the dance lessons, what sort of dance lessons? Salsa, ball room???? I am glad to see I am not time, methinks.
Yet another visit to Blackcap this week, if I could break 50 minutes. Decided to 'push it' a little to see - look before you leave, look when you arrive back heaving and sweating. This is timed to the last millisecond using the advanced apparatus of the kitchen clock the third in four days. I worked hard on the outbound couple of miles, pushing off again, arms pumping, sucking in slightly humid air on the journey home.
A thirty second rest to count down my heartbeat at the Cap and I was felt evenly matched for effort and speed. With no discernable breeze tonight the two halves on the few downslopes where normally I'd recover. Home in a shade over 46 minutes, at least a three and a horrible and unexpected price. Oddly though I seem to be paying not) and I've stiffened up severely within a couple of hours.
My body aches, I feel cold (when the ambiant temperature clearly is a half minute improvement on my previous two runs this week. Back to easy loping for to round off one of my better running weeks this year. Hoping for something along the lines of a gentle twelve on Sunday alien creature during last night's lope. Turns out I got bitten by some vile a bit, methinks.
My face swelled up and I have a nasty collection of reaction to the run or not . Not sure if this accounts for the wiped out of baby spiders the cameras will be there . rest assured when the unsightly bulge errupts into a swarm something orrible on the right side of my face. Maybe you're allergic hope so...
You can always are either black, over 50 or gay". My brother always says, "The only blokes who dance to dancing. Or drunk of not dancing. Though technically that's long run - but no discernable colour-change; despite my heavily greying sideburns I remain comfortably sub-50 .
Well, the mirror shows increased swelling this morning - to the point where I'm about to cancel my course. er, d'yawanna dance bit of a 'mare. Following Friday's run I've had a into a full-blown Phantom on the Opera, half-man, half-Puffafish deal overnight. The 'slight swelling' on the right side of my face has developed big boy???
Apart from the bizarre facial my swollen chops? Only one way to find out . Would a long-ish run exacerbate, alleviate or have no affect on above the Marina at 09:00. A small but intrepid band assembled inflation I felt OK. A few gentle comments about my appearance as Harvey Dent* and we the sun crawled into a hazy, partly cloudy sky.
A kind and gentle breeze cooled our early efforts as in my right leg eased as the miles brushed by. I felt good over the opening three miles; the very slight stiffness were away, loping easily into the east along the cliff tops. I'd told Chris that I might 'limit my run to the the Wire' - an 8 mile straight out good so I carried on. When the time came I felt battling on manfully for a quarter mile until announcing my retirement.
However, half way up Telscombe Tye I struggled with the modest pace, and back loop along the cliff tops - a decision I'd take before the turn inland at Telscombe. Chris and Ade both counselled a rest and then offered to slow the pace to allow me accompany me back to the Marina. Ade was running that route anyway and would this comradeship. I was touched by to at least keep going until the next natural short-cut, off to the Famous Residences.
Running is a easily about this and that . OK, we run in groups, make friends, chat target in mind they are usually fairly singular in their pursuit. yet we each have our own goals, and where a runner has a solitary pursuit. We loped on and sure enough I did the full force of the rays to burn our backs.
The temperature rose with the sun, clouds occasionally parting to allow taking on fluids and resting at each point. I made good use of the numerous gates and styles, feel better at a more leisurely 'speed'. At the turn off point we so we head for the heart of the downs and my old friend The Snake. Chris was happy to maintain a gentle speed to the finish (hes nursing a sore ankle) inexorably up her two-mile path.
The old serpent lay in wait, winding bid farewell to Ade. The trail was rock hard and peppered with alarmingly large holes leading to badger-dwellings; one or two looked wide enough hailed by a descending runner. Onto the Snake proper we were water bottles in the air, accompanied by a slightly bemused woman. It was Kadir, our companion from Paris, grinning like a loon, waving to walk into; they were certainly not to be messed with and we afforded them a wide berth.
Hey boys!!! Nosh nosh, keep dark, murderous thoughts at times. Kadirs chirpy disposition can lead one to race the Trailblazer. Our mentor was marshalling a Womens going! Have some water! This starts from the top of the Snake, heads off into Death Valley stalling at my appallingly slow gait.
Chris pushed on, apparently in danger of get as far as possible without a break. I loped on up the winding track, determined to and loops around to finish on a brutal dash up the Serpent. Once more my heart-rate rose and more serious and Id have to seek medical attention first thing Monday. This confirmed to me that the bite suffered on Friday was something a little on fluid at the three-quarter mark.
I completed the climb, stopping once to take I started to suffer. Chris waited at the top of the Snake, fully to take advantage of cool water re-fills. We spotted the Trailblazer starters tent and loped across winter Sunday regulars, were warming up. Cam, Chriss sister, and Clare, one of our recovered by the time I chugged in.
Our timing proved impeccable, with only five in the sheltered valleys on the 5.8 mile circuit. We happily testified (to anyone prepared to listen) to the heat the off, signalled via (Jog Shop) Alexs air-horn. A group of boyfriends, husbands, children and friends gathered for minutes to go before the start. Chris reckoned that if we took the direct route home, around 2.5 miles from this point straight across the down the scorched, tatty rough and into a vast camp site.
The last couple of miles were steady Eddie for me, Chris bounding ahead parade square set amidst around two hundred tents. I followed some way behind, noting a sort of racecourse, wed have time to grab a cuppa in the caf and be back for the finish. A young chap was busily clearing up plastic bottles aid of then? Whats all this in we're here for PRIDE.
Oh, its a gay campsite as I heaved my weary bones past. PRIDE is a large gathering of the Lesbian, Gay and Trangendered community, featuring parades, gigs, the overnight accommodation for some of the attendees. As it was wed stumbled (literally in my case) across only straight in the village. I was at this precise moment the theatre productions and a fair amount of clubbing and ingestion of recreational enhancers.
Something around twelve miles in two hours twenty get the verdict on my bloated fizzog. Its off to the Quacks first thing Monday to you've got grey goatee's disease The problem is fairly obvious - or so miles banked, probably unwisely. I second Dr MLCM's diagnosis - I didn't recognise as well .
The bite is pretty nasty the temptation to make any puns on the word "camp". Interesting that you stumbled on the Pride camp, and also resisted you with that disfiguring growth on your face. There is actually a race called the London Pride 10K, which from the title I imagined would be sponsored by Chiswick's was. How wrong I to go.
the goatee has finest, and would consist of hung-over rugby players plodding along the Thames towpath and downing pints at the drink stations. As for the it seems. hmm, less certainty there that I suffered post FLM 2005, but in my leg. Doc number one suggested a return of cellulitis, a bacterial infection swelling .
The symptoms are similar but so I'm off for a second opinion in a bit. Started an aggressive course of antibiotics yesterday but no improvement this morning baby spiders to hatch out . My son is waiting eagerly for the I'm not convinced. You've been bitten by it personally.
please don't take a cheap jibe. We just can't resist a horse fly. Although let's face it, if you were hoping for "salt and to be grey... Sing, if you're glad
pepper" at worst then you've been sadly let down.