Yesterday’s adventure was tough … the shock tactic has worked and my glutes have definitely been reawakened (today they are well and truly making me aware that they worked hard!!)
But what an adventure. I wish I had been quicker which would’ve provided more reassurance for race day but then again does pace matter where you are reccying a route? When your hip is in need of a little extra care? when the views are so beautiful it would be an insult not to stop to admire. If I admire now I can charge through this landscape on race day taking mental rather than photographic notes.
Listening to the sea, the sound of Mother Nature breathing … inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale … long deep breaths.
I saw two buzzards flying through the woodlands as I bimbled through the undulating rooted paths, such big birds of prey so elegantly filtering through the trees whilst I clumsily stumble run on legs that were already grumbling about the first sharp coastal climbs. I spoke to groups of hikers along the way, sharing banter, exchanging stories, particularly as I headed back towards them on my way back to Westward Ho, having passed them earlier on my way out. Up high on the exposed fields I was battered by wind and drizzle, but Westward Ho treated me with blue skies at the start and finish. The sunset over the sea with the moon shining overhead with 2k to go were cosmic. Chasing the daylight. I had packed my headtorch but I had no intention of using it unless I really had to, I was intent on making it back to the car before the sun fully set. I almost didn’t because the landscape, the sea, the sunset were all so distracting, lulling me into a false sense of security, no sense of urgency as the beautiful views magically mesmerised me. The moon’s appearance reassuring me that I would not be left in the dark should I linger.
I missed the company of my running buddy, Rosie, who would’ve pulled me along faster, although I would’ve held her back … those last hills back to Westward Ho were more numerous than I remembered when we ran them in the dark together on New Year’s Day. Companions really do distract from the up hill slog.
This really was a leveller … every 2.5 miles felt a very long way in terms of time and distance. Where on the road it would fly past on the coastal path the ups and downs along technical paths were unrelenting. When I say ups and downs I mean uneven step steps for giants and rough stone ankle twisting trails. No flat here! But I did it! And I did it solo without driving myself bonkers … wonder if that will be the outcome on race day after more than four times the distance? The hills will only make me stronger. 28 kilometres of the route memorised in my little legs … from the haunted house at Westward Ho to back again … and I almost made it to Clovelly!
Moor Miles 