After last week's low mileage, I'm well and truly back on track with 46.46 miles under my belt, and, indeed, my feet. While more competitive souls took themselves to the Eastbourne Half or to the Steyning Stinger, and I eagerly await Sweder's account of the latter, I went for a 19-mile plod. Quite how much of a plod can be deduced by the fact that I reached the half marathon point in a disgraceful 2:40, something of a personal worst. Still, I had to keep going for another six miles, so my conservative pace was perhaps justified, though it makes me wonder about my marathon target.
I set off up Seaford Head. Why make it easy, after all? Then I took myself down to the mouth of the Cuckmere, the Golden Galleon and off into Friston Forest. I went as far as the hill above Jevington before turning and trying a new route, which took me, as I expected down into Litlington. On to Alfriston, then up again, to Bo Peep, and back to Seaford by way of High and Over.
It was hard work, but there were pleasures to be had. After the 17-miles point, apart from the knowledge that the dish of scrambled eggs that had haunted me throughout was now only minutes away, there was the agreeable realisation that I was now running further than I had at any point in this bout of marathon training. Could I have run another seven at the end? Yes, if I had to.
Nature notes: some sheep so white I suspected them of using bleach, and a heron.
Here's the elevation, to prove there were some hills:
Total mileage this week: 46.46
Five weeks till the Brighton marathon
Postcript, Monday evening: I've been walking like a ruptured duck all day. It's not yesterday's run, it's Saturday's swim. I had an attack of cramp at the end of my session. Also my hands hurt: I was wearing hand paddles.
