Thanks to a Morris Dancing-related injury to my knee (no, don't ask) things have been kind of tough recently. Training has been really restricted and as a result, so has motivation, mojo, whatever you want to call it.
I struggled round the Cloud 9 race with Mike, who was excited at the prospect of a fell race as he doesnt get out much. I avoided the downhills, and lost so many places, not that I had many to lose as we were near the rear of the field anyway - but I finished in reasonable form and so declared myself ready for the Grizzly Cub run. All that we needed was some reasonable weather!!
A whole week of inactivity followed, then a long trip down to Devon where we met up with Dave & Gail. Several pub meals and beers later, it was Sunday morning. The weather was closing in, it was barely above freezing and the waves were lashing the beach. Ah, yes, the beach. Of which we shall talk more in a little while.
I set off comfortably at a trot with Dave and we soon swept up Mick; then we turned off the road and onto the beach. Agh. I made a few early tactical errors, and soon Mick and Dave were a long way in front of me, a state of affairs I had to work hard to put right.
Soon, we were climbing towards Beer. I knew this would be hard work, not even a nice downhill slope in between the climbs brought much relief, but at least it was on the road. Once we moved off the road and onto the headland though, it became slightly more slippery underfoot and I was rather tentative about where I was putting my feet in case I slipped.
We put in a few indistinguishable miles on the headland and then began the long downhill to Branscombe. I was very slow going down the lane and halfway down decided I wasnt enjoying it much so I stopped for a pee. At this point Dave was catching me up and as I shambled down the steep hill to the beach (told you I would mention it) he apparently caught me up.
Something in the back of my mind said 'there's going to be some water in this route' and as I got further and further down, this voice got louder. Then we were on to the shingle beach. My inner monologue went into overdrive "no, no, no this isn't right ah, no...no...agh!!" I sized up the stream and hoped I could keep my feet - it looked deep and brown. And, overall, cold. Bloody cold.
The water went over my knees and I couldn't feel my feet. And then a quick pass round some tape and, yes, we went back into the water. Damn you, Axe Valley Runners (even though you are my 2nd claim club).
Allegedly, Dave was right behind me at this point. The next stretch, about 3/4 miles worth of beach plodding, soon sorted that out. It was agonising!!
Once off the horror of the beach there was a cliff to climb up, which was a bit muddy but nothing more - and then we were back on our way to Beer, the steps, the caravan site, all of which was going well. I was looking forward to the gentle run-in, when the marshalls sent up back up the road we had run down at the start. An unwelcome diversion. But it was still a nice run in, despite my hitting a wall (literally) with my arm as we turned into the field where the bandstand was. It was great to see the crowds at the bottom again and a lovely trot to the finish, to banana, hand shake from Town Crier, tee-shirt and something warm to wrap up in. (minor niggle here - we only do a small version of the Grizzly - we don't deserve the proper t-shirt !!)
Dave came in about 8 minutes later which was pretty good. Mick appeared sometime afterwards, having pulled his hamstring. See, I told you it was cold. Picture somewhere when I can download it.
