It’s that time of year again, the evenings are starting to draw out, the weather has no idea what it’s doing (as if it ever does), and that means two things. Firstly, it’s time to start thinking about sowing the first seeds in the greenhouse, and secondly it must be time for the Steyning Stinger.
With the greenhouse clean, shiny, and looking better than it has done in many a year, I had a very pleasant couple of hours on the allotment Saturday morning sowing the first of 2024’s seeds. With the sun trying valiantly to break through the clouds, the birds singing from the hedgerow which borders my plot, and the Squirrels which inhabit the same hedge looking intently on, I dug the seed trays out of the shed and set too. 4 trays of Sweet Peas, a tray each of Spring cabbage, Sprouts, Broccoli, Kale and Winter cabbage, and two trays of Broad Beans. Followed closely by a packet of Leeks and a good sprinkling of Carrot seeds into an old recycling box, which will start off in the greenhouse and then get moved outside once the weather warms up a bit, got things off to a good start. I should probably have added the first of the Peas to that list too, but for some reason I omitted to pick them up with the other stuff and didn’t realise until I’d got to the plot and couldn’t be bothered to walk all the way back home again (which was extremely lazy of me), but there’s plenty of time yet and I’ll get a tray of Peas in when I go up next weekend instead. I really need to start thinking about sowing some flower seeds and the Chilli's and Peppers too, but they’ll have to live in the house for a month or so yet, which means I really need to wash some pot’s and trays before I can bring them home, and if there’s one thing I really hate (apart from painting) it’s washing seed trays, so that job can wait until next weekend too. The important thing is that were off to a start, and from here on in the growing season will pick up pace and my focus of attention will need to slowly move from hiding in the garage and workshop, to more allotment and garden related activities, and if I’m honest I really can’t wait. It’s been a long, damp, dreary winter, and finally seeing things starting to come to life, hearing the birds singing again in the mornings, leaving the house in the dawn light instead of the dark to cycle to work, and seeing the early spring bulbs bursting to life has been like a rejuvenating breath of fresh air in my life.
With the admin out of the way, I took the van down to Steyning on Saturday afternoon and took advantage of being that way by dropping in to see “Kathryn Stinks” and her tribe for tea, before settling in for the night, ready for an early start on Sunday morning.
I’ve run the Steyning Stinger marathon a few times before (2020, 2022, 2023) and if there’s a theme running through each run, it’s that it’s a hard, hilly route, with loads of ascent, and it’s normally muddy, slippery and wet underfoot. With the rain we’ve had in the past few weeks Sunday’s efforts looked like they were going to follow the same pattern, the only difference being that when I arrived at the start it wasn’t, raining, foggy, blowing a gale, but cold, crisp and still, with the promise of a glorious day to come. The Stinger’s unusual for an organised Marathon in that it has a rolling start, with the option to set off whenever your ready between 07:30 and 08:00, which to my mind makes for a relaxing start to the day. There’s no waiting around for the off, no jostling for position and no getting cold at the start, just turn up and go when you’re ready. Brilliant!
As expected, things were muddy from the off, but in the early morning sunshine, with a light frost glistening from the grass, conditions were pretty good considering the rain we’ve had over recent weeks.
The first few miles are fairly benign compared to what’s to come and provided the ideal opportunity to warm up stiff legs and settle into a steady pace, before the path goes steeply uphill for the first ascent onto the South Downs. The muddy, slippery path climbed steeply through the wooded hillside, hiding the view until sufficient height had been gained to reveal it in it’s true glory. Heart beating hard, lungs fit to burst, slip sliding through the mud, the trees came to an abrupt halt and the view opened up. Low laying mist littered the countryside, church steeples poking bravely through. Smoke rose lazily from chimneys far below as families went about their morning chores, and all was well in the world. I’ll take weeks of rain for the odd day like this. It might take some effort to run up the steep hillside, but it’s so worth it, and mid race or not, stopping for a few minutes to take it in in its full majesty was more than worth it.
I can’t spend all day taking in the view though, so reluctantly I pull myself away and continue onwards, slowly catching back up to, and gradually overtaking the runners who came past as I stood and stared. I can live with losing a few places and a bit of time though, there’s more to life than racing through it, and there’s no point in going to these places if I’m not going to take in the surroundings and make the most of the opportunities offered to me.
Another steep climb follows and then a flatter section and a long descent to reach the first checkpoint. On the flatter part I pick up another runner and we fall into conversation for a few minutes, discussing future plans, past adventures, and generally enjoying each other’s company to pass a few minutes as we progress steadily on.
I push straight on through the first checkpoint and loose my companion as I slog up the next long, steady, climb. He comes back past as I reach the top, and again stop for a few seconds to take in the view, and from there we spend the next few miles leap frogging each other, in a classic case of “The Tortoise and the Hare”. I’m slightly faster but quite happy to stop whenever an interesting sight catches my eye or a view requires my attention for a few seconds, whilst he pushes on, head down, pacing well, and then the cycle starts again as I once again tear myself away from whatever had my attention.
By the halfway mark the early morning frost had been burned off by the low laying sun, and despite steadily stripping off hats, gloves and layers, the day was warming up into a beautiful early spring day.
On the top of the downs, with the skylarks singing, the sheep grazing happily, and the sun beating down it’s hard to imagine that you’re only a mile or so from the traffic locked, congested, South coast. Look to your South from the hilltops and the entire stretch from Brighton to Worthing is one sprawling mass of housing and roadworks, wedged in between the South Downs and the Sea. Whilst a glance to the North is almost all open countryside until you reach the North Downs, some 30 miles to the North.
Contemplating peoples housing and living options, wasn’t getting the miles done, although it was certainly helping to pass the time. But as we drew closer to the urban sprawl and came into staggering distance from king car, so the paths became more churned up and muddy, where a thousand feet had turned the surface from hard packed soil to a slippery quagmire, reminding me again of our proximity to civilisation.
Mile after mile of slippery mud bought my average speed down, made my shoes heavy as it clung to the soles and sides, and tore at my calf’s as I plodded steadily on, slowly wearing away at my resolve and wearing at already tired muscles. The mud’s all part of the fun though, and somehow, it’s often easier to run on the slippery stuff, than it is to walk. An unfortunate slip on a particularly muddy section sent the person just in front sprawling, emerging seconds later from their unfortunate slip looking like the creature from the black lagoon, caked all down one side in wet mud. A quick check that they were OK and a double confirmatory “you sure”? Confirmed that no harm had been done, and once they were back on their feet we pushed on through the quagmire.
By the time the 22-mile mark had come and gone, the worst of the mud was behind me and all that remained was one more long hard slog to regain the high ground, followed by an easy couple of miles downhill back to the finish.
Twinges of cramp rippled through my calf’s as I slogged up that final ascent, paying testimony to the efforts of the day and possibly reflecting a lack of fluids over the previous miles, but as the slope slowly eased, I knew that the worst was over, and it was all downhill from here.
Plunging back down the slippery hillside through the trees, most of which have attained the size they have today in the past 35 years, having been flattened in the “Great Gale” in the late 1980’s, required some extra concentration to keep my footing on the slippery slope. One careless step now as I sped downhill could spell disaster and the phrase “more haste less speed” seemed apt.
Another mile across muddy fields and a final sprint to the finish and that was job done. 4:10 of muddy fun in the early spring sunshine, does it get any better than that? In this case, yes, because the real draw to the Steyning Stinger is that not only is it a brilliant route through glorious countryside with outstanding views around every corner, but you get a cooked breakfast at the end. And it really doesn’t get any better than that!
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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
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