I hope a hot half-marathon will make up for my lack of application to Juneathon so far. It was, fortunately, a little cooler than Saturday, the previous day, and when we assembled at the start on the front, Seaford Head was invisible in mist.
For this, the seventh time I have entered this race, I was under-prepared. Training had been sporadic, mostly limited to weekends, and over shorter distances than I would have liked. And it was probably a mistake to follow the red wine at dinner the night before with other, more potent, liquors. However, two runs in Rome the previous week gave me something of a base. I was also cheered by the unexpected presence of a Swedish friend at the start, who had come to support her brother; visiting for the weekend from Gothenburg, he had decided on the spur of the moment to run a half-marathon.
After the start on the front, the race set off to Bishopstone village. I had the opportunity to marvel at my fellow runners' varying ideas of appropriate race clothing for a hot June day. One young man wore a waterproof top and covered his head with a wooly hat, apparel better suited to a chilly January run. At the first hill I resolved that I was going to walk up each hill. In fitter, faster days I have run up the inclines, but this year I was conscious of my limitations. The longest hill comes early on, a mile or more of hard climbing along the Greenway to the tops of the downs east of Bo Peep. It's a long time since I ventured up here, something I must rectify. When I lived nearer the path from Seaford to Bo Peep, this area was the starting point for most of my training runs.
Then we ran a mile or so along the top of the downs, before the descent into Alfriston, and the road crossing, ably marshalled by the doyens of Seaford running, Bill and Glynis Young. The race then headed seawards along the banks of the Cuckmere on dry rutted paths, and over many a stile. This section can be tedious but I was lucky enough to fall in with a couple who had come all the way from Leicester to take part, and their company helped the time go. Before I knew it I was at the Golden Galleon. Here the last ascent took us up Seaford Head and then along the cliffs before plunging down to the final stretch along the front. I had nothing left for a sprint finish, and hobbled over the line in 2:33.02.
This represents a poor time, my worst for the distance, and I felt distinctly weak afterwards. Nevertheless, I finished, and can come back for another attempt another year, when commitments may make training more possible. The views are splendid, the marshals cheery and helpful and the photographers from Sussex Sport Photography now know me by name.
