It was back down to my parents house in Woodingdean this morning for another long road run, though there wasn’t as much bounce in my step as last week.
Maybe this had something to do with the weather, which was flat grey and though not quite as cold as last Sunday, still very chilly indeed. As I ran down the Falmer Road, I was transported back to a very hot and sunny day in the early seventies.
Do you remember those small, dense rubber balls that were popular at the time… the ones that were super-bouncy? I was walking back to school after going home for lunch and I was about to cross the road by the petrol station when I dropped the ball I was carrying.
I chased it as it rolled down the gutter, but I was not nimble enough. Every time I got ahead and reached out, it snuck away, eluding my grasp and carried on rolling. It got all the way down around the corner, virtually a quarter of a mile away, before I finally closed my hand around it. I might have got it sooner but I was acutely aware of the traffic on the road.
It was the day of the annual School summer gala and all the children had assembled in the playground surrounded by parents, each class ready to perform some musical oddity or other. Having run down the road and hurriedly staggered back up again I was hot, late and out of breath. I seem to recall that Mr Matthews substituted the recorder that I had been due to play with by a triangle, much to my chagrin.
Today I stretched out my pace lazily down the hill and on down to Rottingdean, turning right for Brighton. Although the sky was flat grey, the view out onto the sea was gorgeous, with the sun occasionally breaking through the mat of cloud to bring some welcome contrast.
I ran on and it occurred to me that the myriad runners I passed (mostly going the other way) were a most insular, surly, antisocial bunch. I make a real point of acknowledging each runner I pass with a smile or a grin, a wave of the hand, or a breathy hey or good morning. What I got back, in the main, was a blank stare, as if I had just violated some sacred rule forbidding brevity or camaraderie.
Fortunately, enough people reacted positively to my greeting, mostly runners but with the odd carefully-chosen cyclist, walker or older couple, for me to know it was not just because I look like some madman… although I realise that I do!
After many such interactions I reached the Palace pier at 52 minutes and the Peace Memorial, just the other side of what is left of the West Pier, at the one hour mark. This works out to 7.25 miles.
Here I turned around and started to run back again and it was immediately apparent that those runners who I now passed for the second time were far more inclined to open up and return my smile or wave.
We’re all out there in the fresh air with our distinctive Lycra running gear, pitting ourselves against the landscape, the weather and our goals. For whatever crazy, personal reason we have, we share the same passion, at least to some measure. Why can’t we celebrate the pain and the gain by hailing the other runners that we pass… call me old-fashioned, but surely we are far the richer for these tiny nods of socialisation, indicative of a more respectful, cohesive society.
I ran along Madeira Drive and up on to the top again past the Marina, all the while thinking that it was far easier last week when I had Nikki for company. The view was still great though.
The outside of my right thigh had been painful, to some extent, for most of the run although up until Rottingdean I had been fairly successful in zoning it out. But the hill that is the Falmer Road brought it right back front of mind. I ran with the pain however, rather than stopping, knowing that I would only be taking longer to get back. I was not in the mood to run to the top of the village though, instead running only as far as the Downs Hotel.
Alas, I now realise that this meant that I did not quite reach my goal for the day, instead managing 14.55 miles in 2 hour 11 minutes. Still not bad though and at an average of 6.7mph, faster than the similar run last Sunday. Keep this pace up for another 11.65 miles and I can bring the Brighton Marathon in within spitting distance of my goal.