And just like that we loose an hours sleep but gain and hours useable daylight. Although to be honest I was using that hour at the start of the day. So as far as I'm concerned we could have left it like it was for a bit longer. Apparently, I'm in the minority there though, and as all the normal people don't like getting up early we've moved time again.
Personally, I think that they're missing a trick as the early mornings the best bit of the day. Whilst most people are still sleeping, the dawns breaking, the birds are singing and everything's tranquil and quiet. As the sun brightens the night sky, there's something magical about welcoming in the new day. Fresh legs, rested eye's and a whole day of experiences and adventures to look forward too. Surely that's better than aching limbs, tired eye's and just wanting to go to sleep? I'll take the mornings any day thank you. I suppose that now we've gone to all the trouble of moving time, I'd better make the most of that extra hour though, and what better way to do so than a day out on the bike for the Start Of Summer 200Km Audax.
Now, I've done this ride a couple of times before (it also runs as the End of Summer Audax) and if I'm honest it's not a route that I've ever really enjoyed. There's nothing really wrong with it, in fact it's a nice ride through some lovely countryside. My problems always been the idiot minority that seem to think screaming around the countryside at 100 miles an hour is a good way to spend their weekend.
You see, in order to maintain a passable route whatever the weather (it's more likely to snow in March than December), it makes use of some bigger B roads, and whilst that in itself is normally brilliant, it also passes through the South Downs and swings past Goodwood Motor Racing circuit on the South Coast. This in itself seems to attract a certain type of older "boy racer", who seem to enjoy using the same roads as a race track extension. Not the best experience when your on your bike I can tell you! This year though, that all changed, as we rode the route in the other direction, completing the South Downs Loop first (L/H side of the map). Not only did we tackle the biggest climbs on fresh legs, but it would appear that the "Boy racer" element don't like getting up early either. Good news all round then. Not only would I not have to put up with screaming motor cars trying to kill me, but I wouldn't be in their way either, win, win as they say! So, having made full use of my extra hour not in bed, I was ready and raring to go, on what was a bright but chilly morning, having had a good nights sleep in the van, a leisurely breakfast and even time for an extra brew. It didn't take long for the sun to start burning off the frost, whilst the climb up to the first checkpoint at Petersfield soon warmed up my legs and necessitated to removal of the first, of what would become many, layers of clothing as the day wore on. Through Petersfield and it's not long until the climb up Harting Down really gets the legs working and the temperature rising. It's a long steep climb this one, crossing the South Downs Way at the top, before a long, steady, fast descent the other side, which requires a re-zipping of jackets, for the run down to Chichester.
A brief pause to note down the answer to the Info control at Chichester and then it's back uphill again, regaining all that height lost on the way down to the coast, as we head back to Petworth for some much needed refreshments. Brevet card stamped, more layers stripped off as the morning sun continues to do it's magic, a much needed brew, and a very welcome serving of beans on toast. Is there a better way to spend your Sunday morning?
No time to sit around having fun though, I'm not even half way yet, so it's back in the saddle for the next leg down to Shoreham. Within a few miles I've got a right old sweat on, it's unseasonably warm for late March. But, in an unusual bit of pre planning, I'm prepared for this. Shorts and leg warmers had been a sensible decision instead of long leggings this morning. Whilst shorts, rolled down long socks and winter cycling boots probably isn't the dress choice of the discerning gentleman, feeling the cool air and sun on my legs for the first time in many months more than made up for any fashion disasters, and was far more comfortable to boot. Send the fashion police round if you will, I was happy and that's all that matters. Shoreham dispatched by early afternoon, and it's Northwards, heading for Pease Pottage services and the chance to replenish water bottles and grab a chocolate bar, as sustenance to see me through the final leg. One final push then and it's not long before I'm back where I started from 9 hours previously. This time though, there's home made cakes on offer, courtesy of todays ride organisers wife, along with a warm brew and the chance to sit down and compare stories with my fellow riders from the days adventures.
And as one final bonus, that extra hour of daylight did pay off in the end. Not in my case whilst riding, although there were plenty still out on the route long after I'd packed up and gone home. But by the most magnificent sunset as I headed back for home in the van. The sun slowly sinking through the clear blue sky to eventually disappear behind the hills, bought a fitting epitaph to another brilliant day out.
---------------------------------------------------------------------- As a postscript, I'd just like to add that it's almost impossible to give enough thanks to the people that volunteer their time to make these days out possible. Whilst I always try to make my thanks known at the time, it's not always easy to thank everyone individually. But, the efforts of every organiser, assistant, baker, tea brewer and general dogsbody is certainly massively appreciated and plays a significant part in making all of these days out the enjoyable adventures that they really are.
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You’ll all be pleased to know that I’ve had a busy weekend so there’s lots to tell you about this week (like I ever have a quiet one). But before I do, I’m just going to “sing the joys of spring” for 2 seconds.
This last week we’ve had some lovely weather, the suns been shining, there’s been a full moon, the Daffodils are blooming, all the little birds have been singing their hearts out and it’s amazing how much more productive and invigorated I feel. That little bit of sun coupled with the lighter evenings and an absence of rain, makes all the difference. Gone are the days of commuting to work and back in the dark. Granted it’s still cold in the mornings but coming home with the sun on your face is a real joy.
Getting up and opening the curtains in the mornings to be greeted by daylight is so much better too. OK, the low sun shows up how dirty the windows are, but that’s a small price to pay for having your breakfast in natural light, and things are going to get even better when the clocks go forward next weekend, giving us an extra hour of daylight in the evenings too.
Roll on the Summer then, because if this is how I feel now, come the real warmer days and longer evenings there’s going to be no stopping me!
Right, annoying, feeling good, spring in my step, anti rant (whatever that’s called) over, let’s get onto the meat of this week’s adventures and fun.
Having expected a few “tired legs” issues after last weeks planned 75-mile running attempt, I didn’t actually have anything planned for this weekend. But, by midweek my legs didn’t feel too bad. Certainly not “running good” and my left Calf still feels a bit sore, but good enough for a bit of cycling, and what better way to celebrate the return of the sun, than with a long ride and a night out under the stars? A quick fiddle with the route planning software one lunchtime in the week, and I’d got myself a nice little 200-mile loop. Departing from work on Friday afternoon, I'd travel up to Evesham through the Cotswolds and come back home again via Cirencester, Royal Wootton Bassett and Marlborough. (cycle.travel works quite well as a route planner for a starter, as long as your wise to its preference for off road diversions).
With the weather forecast looking favourable for the weekend, I’d hunted around in the loft on Thursday evening, gathering up all the camping gear that’s not seen the light of day for a couple of months and packed the bike up, ready for a quick getaway from work on Friday afternoon.
A touch of clock watching and numerous furtive glances out of the office windows, as the cold and frosty morning gave way to a bright and beautiful day, saw the morning drag slowly towards lunchtime and as the clock approached midday, I made my excuses and was away. And a beautiful afternoon it was too. Within the first couple of miles, I’d stopped and ditched my jacket in favour of a thin fleece top, and the winter gloves and neck warmer soon went the same way.
Heading up towards Newbury, with the breeze on my back, the sun in my face, the hedgerows alive with the sound of birdsong and the numerous Daffodil laden sunny verges alongside my route I was in my element.
All great things can’t last forever though, and as I approached Newbury a moments inattention saw both wheels clatter through a pothole, followed almost immediately by that unbalanced feeling that indicates somethings gone awry. Suspecting that the impact might have snapped a spoke or buckled the wheel I stopped for a look and was relieved to find that, although the wheel was in fine fettle, the tyre sidewall had obviously been damaged in the impact and was now showing an ominous bulge. Not an ideal situation when you’re planning on another 180 miles, and certainly not something that I could live with! There are 2 choices in this sort of situation, you either slink back home, dejected and broken, or have a quick think, come up with a solution to the problem and fix it. And as giving up isn’t in my nature, it’s got to be option 2. Luckily, not being far from home I knew there was a bike shop in Newbury. So, let a bit of air out of the tyre to reduce the bulge a bit, followed by a quick look at the map, and with a slight diversion head that way. Obviously, beggars can’t be choosers and my tyre choices were somewhat limited, but from their meagre selection I managed to find a suitable replacement. A quick 20 minutes of fiddling in the sun in their car park (most of which was unloading all my stuff so I could get the wheel off and repacking again) and voila, I was back on my way again!
Steadily progressing through the afternoon, I stopped in the late afternoon sun on an ideally placed bench, just North of Faringdon for a brew and a biscuit. Sat in the sun with my brew I was reminded of how the world is a changing place, when the local farmer pulled out of the entrance opposite driving a large tele-handler and proceeded to place his rubbish bins in the bucket (saves wheeling them to the end of the drive I suppose).
Spotting me, sat quietly watching, he wandered over for a chat, enquiring where I was off to and where I’d come from and generally singing the praises of the local countryside which he was obviously a proud custodian of. But the thing that struck me most during our brief meeting, wasn’t the fact that I’d guess he was in his later years (70+) and was obviously fit as a fiddle. But that he was immaculately turned out in a clean boiler suit, fleece jacket and wearing a shirt and tie. He may have been driving a massive modern machine, and doing a hard, dirty, physical job, where he was unlikely to meet another person all day, but there was no slipping of the old standards as far as he was concerned, modern meets traditional, in the true sense of the word.
Sitting around chatting and drinking tea wasn’t going to get me to todays destination though and as the afternoon started drawing to a close, I pushed on, arriving in Moreton-in-Marsh just as the day trippers and visitors were leaving.
A portion of chips, sitting by the riverside as the day turned to night, satisfied my hunger for a while longer and provided an ideal opportunity to sort my kit out for the next leg, and after a slightly longer than planned stop I headed back out into the dark. Climbing out of Moreton-in-Marsh with the last vestiges of the setting sun colouring the sky on my left and the full moon rising on my right was a real treat. And on quiet roads, accompanied only by the moon and the stars, I pushed on for another hour or so, bringing the days total mileage up to 96 miles before spotting a likely spot for my nights bivvy and bringing the days efforts to a close.
With the sky’s clear, the moon full and bright, and an easterly wind picking up as the night went on, it was a cold, but brilliantly lit night. When on occasion I awoke to the sound of deer barking in the surrounding fields or the wind rustling the trees, you could see as clearly as day, in the light of the moon. And as the sun rose to push away the remaining darkness it was to reveal a clear blue sky.
Too cold to linger in the cool morning air, I’d had a brew and my morning porridge and was on the road, fuelled and ready for another day’s adventures by 06:30. A few uphill miles helped push the cold from my bones and the stiffness from my legs and as I crested the last hills before the descent onto flatter ground Broadway Tower stood out tall and proud against the clear blue sky, in the chilly east wind which was now blowing strongly across my path.
A long, chilly descent from the high points of the Cotswolds saw me rolling into Evesham for 07:30 just as the market traders were setting up their stalls for the day and the last few party goers staggered sleepily home.
Another few flat easy miles and then, coming back into the Cotswolds, a return to the real work of the day, with some serious climbing to get back up onto the high ground, climbing made significantly harder this time around by the strong, cold, headwind that was now trying to push me back the way I’d come.
I’ll happily admit that there were a few occasions during the day that saw my tired legs defeated, resulting in the ignominious push of shame up some of the steeper hills. On one occasion, stopping halfway up a particularly long and steep drag, I spotted a nice little spot slightly above the road and sat for a while with a brew, watching, unseen from my perch, as a number of other cyclists, out for the day on their lightweight machines struggled up the same incline. Maybe with the extra weight of the camping gear I was carrying my legs weren’t in as bad a shape as I’d thought!
Through the worst of the Cotswolds hills and after a brief sustenance stop, the last of the big climbs of the day over the Hackpen climb on the North Wessex Downs and back towards Marlborough. By now, approaching lunchtime, the wind had really picked up, and coming over the top for the descent to Marlborough I was nearly blown to a standstill. There’s a long, steep, straight, descent here, where the only limit to the speed you can normally hit is the “scaredy cat factor”. Today though, despite giving it all I’d got and pedalling hard, I couldn’t manage 15MPH against the wind! Tiring, demoralising and with 50 miles still to go, hard going!
Coming wearily into Marlborough I resupplied and the found a cosy little spot, sheltered from the wind, and sat with a brew, stuffing my face with hot cross buns whilst wondering if my legs had it in them to push home against the wind.
It’s either push on, or put the Hammock up and sit out the day waiting for the wind to hopefully drop overnight though. And as I’ve got other stuff to do tomorrow (the allotment calls) sitting it out’s not an option, so I push on, legs stinging from the effort, neck aching from constantly hunching over trying to make my frontal size as small as possible, mind just focused on covering the miles, suffering in silence! Eventually through, the miles do tick down, and I find myself in Kingsclere, just 15 miles left to push, no point stopping now. A quick choccy bar, whilst investigating an unusual pile of empty snail shells (I’m guessing that’s some bird’s dinner table) and on again, into the late afternoon sun.
Finally, arriving home at 17:30, 11 hours after setting off in the morning, I’m happy to admit that I was spent. The wind had done for me. 100 miles into a headwind isn’t fun. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that it’s “character building” but, my characters built enough already thank you!
Wind or not, it had been a great couple of days out through, I’d been to a few places that I’d never been to before, I’d stopped and admired churches, war memorials, rivers and houses a plenty. I’d taken in far off views and watched as butterflies and birds skipped around within hands reach. I’d slept under the stars and admired the moon in all its glory, and I’d been pushed to my limits by mother nature and overcome everything that she’d thrown at me. What more can I add to that, except to say, when can I go again?
Well, that didn't go according to plan, in fact it was a bit of a disaster!
Going back to where I left off on Friday, "The Emma" dropped me off as planned in Aldershot after tea and I settled in to my salubrious accommodation for an early night. One early night, a few hours of tossing and turning, a bit of door slamming and just after 03:00 I gave up trying to sleep and got up again! In all fairness, I had set the alarm for 04:30, planning an early start anyway, but as I was awake, I might as well just get on with it. Peering out into the darkness as I waited for the kettle to boil, I could see the rain teeming down, reflected in the light of the street lamps and pooling on the road. Not what I was expecting, certainly not as per the weather forecast, which was for light rain at lunchtime, and not the best start to the day. Luckily, by the time I'd had a couple of brews, a bit of breakfast and sorted my life out, the rain had stopped. Although as I stepped out into the cool night air just after 04:30 there was still drizzle in the air and an all pervading sense of dampness and more to come. Within minutes I was out of town and picking up the Basingstoke Canal tow path for the first few miles, heading towards Fleet and the section of route that I'd "reccied" a couple of weeks ago. With my head torch reflecting off the Canal and the puddle strewn towpath, the canal made a nice start to the day. Easy running on a good surface to warm my legs up and get settled in to the days task.
With the miles gradually building, accompanied by the glowing eyes of unseen creatures in the undergrowth, it wasn't long before I'd left the canal for the woods around Fleet Pond and pushed on towards the first crossing of the M3.
Surprisingly, Just after the Fleet Ponds section, I met the only other runner I saw all day, coming the other way. What was most surprising about our brief encounter was the fact that we were both in the middle of nowhere, it was still pitch dark and can't have been much after 06:00. I suspect that we both wondered where the other was going and how we got there, but I guess we'll never know the answer to that question. Pushing slowly on, accompanied by the breaking dawn, I arrived in Hartley Wintney with 12 miles under my feet at around 06:45 and grabbed the opportunity to pack away my head torch, hat and arm warmers, whilst grabbing a couple of photos for the record.
Through Hartley Wintney and out the other side, through Winchfield with it's commuter train station and little else, and into more open countryside for the next leg. With the low sun shining brightly, accompanied by the sound of bird song, and the odd glimpse of Deer and rabbits, caught by surprise in the open, as I ran slowly past their homes and hunting grounds, it was pleasantly warm ticking off the miles in the quiet early morning.
A momentary lapse of concentration coming out of Rotherwick saw me off track and despite knowing pretty quickly that I was wrong, it took me a while to work out how to get back to where I should have been. Probably adding another mile or so to the days total, which was somewhat frustrating.
Making steady progress, within a couple of miles of Bramley and fast approaching the Marathon mark, the rain returned. Gently at first, not enough to make you stop for a jacket, just enough to provide a nice cooling touch. But, soon enough, it became torrential, and arriving on the outskirts of Bramley I took refuge in a bus shelter, planning to don my jacket (although the damage was already done and I was soaked by then).
Typically, by the time I'd got my jacket out the rain was easing off, so I put it away again and waited for the worst to pass, before pushing on for the final mile or so into Bramley and the opportunity to resupply.
A bottle of water, a hot Cornish pasty and the best bit of Bread pudding I've ever seen, from the bakery and I was back on the move. The next couple of legs were stretches that I had concerns about. From my "reccie" runs I knew that this area was low laying, boggy and potentially muddy. Just how muddy it turned out to be, was beyond even my expectations though and from departing Bramley it was hard going.
The mud was slippery and every step had to be thought about. If I put my foot there will I disappear up to my knees, can I jump that puddle or will I end up slipping on the mud the other side, can I get traction up that bank, what's under this water that I can't see through? Every step a challenge, constantly trying to get your balance as you feet slip on the loose wet mud, feet constantly wet, with the oozing mud finding it's way into your shoes and socks to rub against the skin of your feet and the cold water splashing up your legs as you traipse through the puddles.
Despite the mud I was still making good progress, dispatching my next progress marker at Tadley in good time and more importantly, despite approaching the half way point, I was still feeling good. Between the day dreams that keep my mind occupied during these long runs my thoughts were starting to turn towards my next replenishment stop at Kingsclere and what goodies I could acquire from the shops there to see me through the next stage.
Additionally, I knew that if I could get to Kingsclere, which at that point seemed achievable, I should be out of the mud, as the route climbs slightly and moves onto chalkier, hiller terrain. Stepping awkwardly whilst wading through a flooded field at Ashford Hill I felt my left calf tense up, and coming out the other side of the lake I'd been wading through, I stopped to stretch it off. A few tentative steps and it seemed Ok, a bit tight but nothing too serious and I pushed on. Another couple of miles and with the aerial masts of Kingsclere (my lunch destination) clearly visible ahead of me I landed my left foot on a slippery muddy rut and felt my calf go again. This time it felt more serious though and I pulled up sharply, with the pain shooting through my calf!
Ok, stop, give it a rub and a stretch and lets see what's what. Once I'd stopped it didn't feel to painful, let's try walking it off.
I pushed on for another mile or so at walking pace, and whilst it felt a bit better, I knew deep down that it wasn't right and finding a convenient dry spot in the sun, I stopped to consider my options. I was just over half way, so realistically had another 35 miles still to go, walkable but not quickly and not much fun. Plus, by pushing on I was likely to just compound any damage that I'd already done to my calf. Looking at the map I was also in about the best location I could be for getting home again. Thatcham and Newbury were both within striking distance and both had train stations, and I knew that the area after Kingsclere was the bit of the route that I'd had the most concerns about from day one, as it's sparsely populated and there's no easy way back once you set off. Grabbing a sandwich from my pack I mulled over my options for a few minutes, but knew deep down that there was only 1 sensible choice!
Taking my dry, warm, clothes from my pack I got changed and plotted a course for Thatcham, the train station and the long trek down to Andover to recover my car. Having stopped to gather my thought's my calf had started to stiffen up and as soon as I set off again I knew that this was the right decision.
5 miles of slow walking eventually got me to the station and another two and a half hours and multiple train changes finally got me to Andover, where luckily the little Peugot was still where I'd left it. Not the end I'd hoped for, but a sensible decision in difficult conditions?
Sitting here now on Sunday morning I know that I made a sensible decision yesterday.
Yes, I could have pushed on, and if I was only going 50 miles I probably would have, but with another 35 still to go, no support and heading into the remotest part of the route, it would have been foolish. I suspect that I've torn, or at lest pulled my left calf muscle, judging from how it feels today. And I would guess that last weeks Marathon effort's probably didn't help matters. Going into a major endeavour on tired legs is never a brilliant idea, and that, on top of the endless slip sliding through the mud, has ended in defeat! Is it a defeat though? I ran well through some difficult conditions for the first 40 miles, pacing, eating and hydrating well, and still felt strong when I did have to stop. I made a sensible decision and extracted myself successfully, without drama or problems, from a pretty remote location and that in my book is a major success. It isn't the result I wanted or had planned for, but and it's a big but, if you succeed in every challenge or endeavour, it probably means that the challenge isn't hard enough. If it was easy and guaranteed to end in success then it's just another day out and not a challenge. So, I'll take yesterdays efforts as a positive, I'll learn from it and come back stronger and better equipped for the next one. And once my legs better, which will hopefully be sooner rather than later, due to yesterdays sensible decision making, I'll have another go. Watch this space, but don't hold your breath as I've got a whole raft of other adventures lined up before we revisit this one, but revisit it I will! Here we go then, it's time for stupid idea number 1 of 2022 and to be honest, even by my standards, this ones pretty stupid.
At the back end of last year, The Brenda Parker Way trail marathon caught my eye, 75 miles from Aldershot to Andover via a meandering route through the Hampshire countryside. Sounds great, might be a bit cold and muddy in March, but what's the worse that can happen? Well, for a starters, Coronavirus uncertainties lead to insufficient numbers signing up for the event and as such the organisers cancelled it a couple of months ago! By the time the cancellation arrived and I'd had my refund, I'd already booked a cheap hotel in Aldershot for the Friday night and started scoping out the route and whilst my initial thoughts were "well that's blown that idea" after a bit of thinking about it, I thought "Sod It, I'll just run it on my own anyway". Looking at the maps, it looked like it should be achievable, self supported. There's the the odd shop on the route for resupply, I'd already sorted accommodation at the start and with a bit of planning I could leave a car at the end to get home again. The only problem being the Leg between Kingsclere and the end, which is about 30 miles with nothing at all. After a bit of discussion "The Emma" agreed to meet me during this leg with a resupply of water etc, but then she found something better to do instead (I'll forgive he this once as it is her birthday), which again called my plan into doubt. A bit more investigation identified that by diverting slightly I could reach the A34 Services at Tothill during this stretch and resupply there, just leaving 25 miles to the end, which again seemed just about achievable and the plan was back on again. So, to that end, I've been off work today, prepping for tomorrows attempt at running 75 miles and I've got to admit that I'm a bit nervous about this one. I've done all the prep work that I can, I've run most of the route over the last couple of months, so I've got a rough idea where I'm going. I've been through my kit and I think I've got everything. I know where the shops, and hopefully the problem areas are and I've had an easy week so hopefully my legs are up to it! This afternoon I've taken the Bangernomics Peugot down to the end at Andover, abandoned it in a car park and cycled the 25 miles back in the rain, which was a good start to the weekend. Fingers crossed, if and when I get there, it will still be there, otherwise I'm going to have a bit of a problem! So, I think I'm good to go, although as I said before, I'm a bit nervous about this one. Not only is it a long way to be running, but it's still winter and the weather forecast isn't looking too good for tomorrow either. But, everything's in place now, so it's now or never and whatever happens it's going to be an adventure. "The Emma's" going to give me a lift down to my palatial (cheap) overnight accommodation at Aldershot after tea tonight, so I'm going to leave this here for the time being and fingers crossed, if all goes to plan, I'll be back with either a tale of epic adventures or abstract disaster on Sunday!
Blimey, what's going on, it's a touch on the nippy side, or at least I think it is. It's been one of those days today (Saturday) when I get cold and then just can't warm up again. I was out early getting in a few bike miles before Sundays real fun, you know how it is, you've got to keep the legs moving, you can't have them thinking that they're in for any easy time can you. And whilst it started off quite pleasant, in fact I even thought about stopping at one point to loose a layer, as the morning went on, it just seemed to get colder and colder, and once your fingers and toes go, then there's no way back.
I suspect that the temperature dropped as the wind picked up, but even so, according to the van temperature thingy it's still 7 degrees, so it's hardly cold! Either way, I'm sat here now, having travelled down ready for Sunday mornings running fun this afternoon, with the van heater blowing warm air onto my toes, some soup warming gently on the hob and some nice crusty bread to go with it, and then I'm going to get an early night. Tomorrows an early start for the Steyning stinger Trail marathon. One of many that fell victim to the Coronovirus Kerfuffle last year. So I'm looking forward to renewing old acquaintances, in the shape of some of those steep climbs up the side of the South Downs, and you never know, this might be the first year that I've run it that you can actually see the bottom from the top!
Well, what do you know. Having warmed up and had a great nights sleep (I always seem to sleep well in the van, probably due to having been out and about in the fresh air all day) Sunday morning broke cold, dry and overcast. The perfect weather for a bit of trail running fun (like there's any sort of unsuitable weather for running fun!).
As usual the organisation was first class, and it wasn't long before I'd collected my race number and was stood at the start, ready for the off at 07:30. This years start took a slightly different form to previous years, with it being a case of pitch up and go as soon as your ready, instead of the normal setting you off in groups at 1 minute intervals, which made for a bit of a mass start as those keen to get away early, which seems to be most runners, went for the earliest start time possible.
Hanging back (OK, I'd gone for a last minute wee), saw me depart at the back of the main group, which I often find is a good place to start. Not only does it give you someone to chase and exchange small talk with as you catch them, but overtaking people is always good for morale and today proved no exception as I slowly made my way through the main group as it started to spread out in front of me.
By the time I'd got to the A24 crossing and onto the first real climb of the day I'd settled into a steady, but pretty fast (for me) pace and was starting to enjoy myself. Cresting the top of the South Downs for the first time, provided some dramatic views over the surrounding countryside, although the strong breeze blowing across the tops of the hills had a cold bite to it and I was almost glad to complete the loop around the marshal, who had the dubious honour of being stood exposed to the elements, at the top of the hill and start the descent back to re-cross the A24 again. With 2 runners just visible in the distance I made good use of the downhill, catching them just as we arrived at the first water stop. A stop which was helpfully positioned at the bottom of what for me is the hardest climb of the day. Just past the the limit of runnable, but not steep enough to be walkable, it's a good mile of hard running to regain all the lost height and arrive back at Chanctonbury Ring, ready to turn off the half marathon route and head, downhill again, towards Cissbury Ring.
Holding my pace well I caught another small group around mile 15 and fell in behind them as we again resumed the climbing, making our way back up towards the South Downs Way and the road crossing to take in the loop around Steep Down.
Having gained another couple of places during the Steep Down loop and held a good, steady pace for the first 3 hours, at mile 22 my race took a turn for the worst, when I felt the first twinges of cramp in my calves. Previous experience has shown that this is solely down to dehydration and there's only one cure, getting water on board. It caught me by surprise today though. I'd started with about 1.5 litres in my camel back and had slowly sipped my way through most of that during the proceeding miles and hadn't felt thirsty, or that I'd been sweating overtly enough to lose those fluids, so I'm not sure why I got caught out today. Dropping the pace to stop my legs totally giving up, I surrendered the hard earned places I'd gained over the proceeding couple of miles as I slowly made my way towards the next checkpoint and the chance to refill my water supply and rehydrate. Bottles refilled and an additional half litre gulped down, I took the opportunity to walk the final steep uphill section, allowing those precious fluids time to reach my dehydrated muscles and start to work their magic.
By the time I regained the South Downs Way for the final time things were feeling better, and as we re-joined the half marathon runners for the final couple of downhill miles back to the start I was able to resume my earlier pace for a fast finish.
That lack of hydration, a school boy error if ever there was one, had cost me dearly though, and I would guess that I lost at least 5 minutes, through a combination of having to slow down, walk the final uphill (which should be runnable) and stop at the checkpoints to refill bottles. Not to worry though, that's all part of the fun and what makes these things a challenge. And stupid mistakes aside, my final time of 3:41:19 was still good enough for 17th place from the 255 finishers, which I'm more than happy with! More importantly though, I'd had another great day out, I'd felt the cold on my fingers, the wind on my face and had the opportunity to run alongside some great fellow runners, now what's not to like about that? |
Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
March 2024
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