Marvellous!

And that, I’m afraid, will be the limit of positive expression this week.

A chilly (yep, in late June. Thanks, wind and cloud. Longest day indeed. If you turn the lights on early. In fact, having to have the dining room lights on to read the paper as I eat at 6.20am is a bit of a joke but I’m sure the utility companies are rubbing their collective hands with glee) mountainbike ride yesterday where I forgot to start  the Garmin for a fair portion of the ride was fun and fast since only two of us were out, but a badly nosedived landing off one of only about three jumps doesn’t bode well for Morzine in a month. Must get more air time before departure.

And awaking today to the howling wind made me pretty sure I wouldn’t be running. I’ve given up with the weather.

But my mood became lower and lower as the afternoon wore on (despite cleaning the house, hoovering and washing the floors, changing the bed and hoovering the walls. Yep, hoovering the walls. It’s an 18th century former bakery and corbels in from 1.5b wall thickness to 1b halfway up the walls upstairs – a lovely, soft curve. Which collects dust. I usually forget to hoover it, today I was feeling thorough) and by 5.30 I decided that the only hope was a jog.

So I set off for 3 miles around the lanes and, by 2 miles, decided it was a good job I was only out for another 1. Not a happy boy at all.

Only 40 miles targeted for the end of the month and I don’t know if I can be arsed to do many more than about 20. Hopefully I’ll have a good trip to London tomorrow evening – work have decided they couldn’t be bothered to sort cover for my (1 month ago) booked day off and are presuming I’ll be there on Monday.  As I feel at the moment, they might be unlucky.

We’ll see.

A return to happy blogging before the end of Juneathon? Hmm, let me think about that…

Neighbourhood Watch?

Neighbourhood couldn’t give a shit, more like.

My outing today was planned as the same 6 mile jog I executed last week but with added intervals.

Not looking forward to these over shorter runs, I was apprehensive to commit to  what distance/spread I should aim for, and a sporadic start included isolated sprints of a couple of tenths of a mile followed by recoveries. A sustained push for half a mile up to 1.5 miles allowed me to recover on a flat section, the  next down being filthy and on the narrowest of lanes around Acrise.

At two miles, the run changed. Several sheep were on the road. My approach made them scatter, three trying to get through the broken fence back into the field (behind the hedge; I wasn’t about to try to help them), two simply ran in circles making funny noises before butting the fence next to the gate in a attempt to get home. So I stopped, forgot to pause the Garmin (always useful to see some 10 minute miles when trying to assess if you’re getting faster!), did my best open the gate and herd the sheep through, successfully repatriating two before more became visible from the road behind me. So I decided I’d jog back to the farm I’d passed and ask if they owned, or even knew who owned, the sheep.

The place on the left greeted my enquiry with a gruff “I couldn’t care less. They’re not mine”. Upon enquiry about whether they might be the place opposite, the response “Couldn’t care. I think he’s just shot one of my doves, the bastard!” encouraged me to jog away.

The place opposite was no better. Knocking the open door (complete with keys hanging in the lock, including the key to the new VW Golf that was sat in the drive attached. Trusting folk, these gruff farmers), no response except for being greeted by the friendly Collie lead me to look around the back where the owner came and, upon my enquiry about whether the sheep were theirs or who I might contact to alert them to the wandering nature of the beasts, again a response of “they’re not ours. Don’t think I’ve got the number of the owner. They don’t live close”.

I thought isolated rural folk might at least take an interest in looking out for each other. Obviously not. The fact that the bloke who was accused of shooting the dove sighted his gun on me as I jogged past the clearing he was shooting in before pulling the trigger to make a clearly audible firing pin strike (I presume in order to prevent me taking a further interest in their activities), makes me glad that my preconceptions of the cunts who live around Hawkinge are truer than I care to accept.

Upon return to Paddlesworth and upon seeing two people tending their verge, my similar enquiry about knowing who’s sheep they might be (by now I was a mile from the beasts, but thought I’d try one last time), I finally got a positive reaction and the lady picked up her phone to at least see if she had the number. She didn’t, but started calling a man who did.

Paddlesworth – the village sign states “Highest Church, lowest steeple, poorest parish, fewest people”. And over 75% of them are oxygen thieves.

So an optimistic outing turned into a farce of a run. 5.5 miles, maybe, but again of poor quality and with my opinion of the human race lowered to disappointingly low standards. I hated everyone before. I hate them because they’re willfully nasty as well as everything else, now.

Juneathon 2013. Not going well.

Nothing exciting to report

Does gardening count as Juneathon?

I know weights being thrown around the conservatory was the Juneathon “activity” but, donning the Garmin earlier in the evening to push the lawnmower around the back lawn (I did the front yesterday evening), I was either pleased (because it’s a mile) or upset (because it’s a mile) that it was 1.03 miles later that I was finished. That’s with the mower on mulch, not collect, to avoid repeated trips to the grass/compost heap as well as cutting it the shortest possible way. At 34 minutes per mile, it’s hardly fast (the fiddly bits around the veg. plot and apple/cherry tree slowed it considerably), but it does encourage me that I really must get a wider mower to allow more time for edges, borders and veg. plot maintenance.

Still, it was a nice stroll, got me warm, the evening was pleasant and as a warm up to weights it couldn’t be beaten. Roll on July.

Short sleeves. At last.

Yep, after being too tired last night to go for a jog, there was no way I was passing up the chance for a jog in the sun tonight.

So a short sleeved top was given an airing around the hills above Folkestone and just over 5 miles of down then along then up then down then up then a long way down then a long, steep way up with a fly in my eye for variety and another along and an up and a down later, I was warm and back at the car ready for a drive home.

Millions of cyclists (including Shaun, one of the boys I’m off to France with in July); too many cars (had to jump into the hedges three times); just the right amount of summer. Can we keep thi for a while, please? No? Ah, well, best enjoy it while it’s here, then.

Cross…or just a little angry?

After a monumentally hot (with the emphasis on the mental) Thai meal last night (the right sort of hot, though. Marvelously well spiced and full of flavour but enough to make me hurt) a couple of pints lead to a conversation about running out of chalk monuments to map out. When an obvious answer was offered. The war memorial at Lenham. About half a mile from where I lived for 2 years, which I must have cycled past about 200 times. How I forgot it I’ve no idea, but it gave a destination today.

Frustratingly, despite checking the Garmin was within 15ft as I started, as well as hovering over the corners for a count of 4, the image wouldn’t be recognisable were it not for the background. But it’s a shape, it’s another chalk outline, so it makes 3 weekends out of 3 to me.

Doesn’t bode too well for my plans for the final weekend, though…we’ll have to see how that turns out!

Weights have also been thrown around the conservatory, so a not unsuccessful day after all.

 

Two into one is going…

The spelling challenge of a blog in a keyboard with no letters continues…

Despite the late hour I got finished last night, a reasonably early start today allowed purchase of the last few bits to get my old hardtail mountainbike on the road as well as the bits to glaze the sashes in the new windows I’ve been making forever so, once food shopping was done, JogBlog’s rat-bike (£40 three years ago to get her to the station with no chance of anyone wanting to nick it while it is locjed up) was serviced and new brakes fitted (well, I say new. They were new 13.5 years ago, did two years service on the old mountainbike and have moved house twice with me, but they’re 28.5 times better than the brakes I removed) before my hardtail was buile up and tested.

And lo! The bike is still the best ever. Marvellous how old technology can make you feel so good.

Then one of the sashes had the glass fitted, it’s still to be finished (as are the other 13…) but it’s a start.

The I decided it was time to run, And set out for an hour on the Greensand Way towards Great Chart. Again the Garmion played up at the beginningm registering the first mile as well over 9 minutes in duration as well as beinf a looooong way around the field it’s usually at the beginning of, but since time was the target I wasn’t bithered, just plodding on regardless.

A vile, windy outing on lovely trails was book-ended by the wind making the most horrible, sawing, moaning, howling type noise through the power-lines around Knight’s Park and encouraged me that  a shower and rest was due.

But an hour outing is always good when it’s over.

As is reading this blog. But Juneathon is now half way through. And it looks like I’ve got to step up the mileage to achieve 100 (as well as finding time to upload my stats to Running Free), so tomorrow might well result in a slow 5 miler to help the cause. Unless the sashes get the better of me and the run gets shortened…

And the next blog will be on a keyboard I can use.

Two into one will go.

Right..the challenge. Blogging on Jogblog’s computer (saves start-up time) means there are no letters on her keyboard. I can’t touch type but am getting the hang of layouts of typewriters and that. So as a challenge, I’m not going to correct spellings etc. The words will be as I type them, hopefully you’ll get the meaning.

Yesterday first. A mile around site earlier in the day meant the mountainbike outing didn’t have to be interspersed with a jog, which was nice, and meant the inevitable mechanical (a croken chain device hanger on Tubbson2wheels bike resulted in a nice few minute rest as we bidged it together rather than a jog up the road.

The outing was superb – a brief lull in the wind combunes with a touch of sun made for smiling bikers, even if the last three miles (out of 20) were up the bastard hills from Folkestone to the shittest place on the planet Hawkinge, resulting in a sweaty Shaun for the drive home.

Blog two coming up next…

Long sleeves

Are still the order of the day. In mid June. Unbelievable.

After work today I went for a proper run and everything. My roundabout 6 miles loop from Hawkinge through many country lanes, up many hills, down an equal quantity, along a road which is to be closed on Monday for a day (I know this because the sign that read “Unknown Road” was posted at either junction from which it will be shut. The house on it might get post even less frequently than mine, which would be incredible.), up to the top of Etchinghill and back to Hawkinge.

The route included passing 5 cars, 4 push-bikes, two pedestrians with dogs, a mobility scooter with no-one in it and a field of cows with calves which I had to pause at to scratch the nose of one of the young Fresians which looked (and turned out to be) surprisingly friendly. The run contained no worries about muscles hurting, no wonder if I’d make it back, but lots of enthusiastic bouncy type running, the like of which only happens about three times a year. The only downside was the wind (on top of the hills it was particularly bad) and the muddy, wet roads which still haven’t dried from the winter (the four foot banks either side of the lanes don’t let evaporation get a chance with the showers).

If all runs were as pleasurable, everyone would do it. It was supposed to be an interval session but I was enjoying the outing too much to push. Intervals can wait for when I hate myself even more than now.

But if the weather doesn’t pick up, there’ll soon be one less idiot doing it when I retire. Come on, summer. You’ve fucked around enough now, two years sulking is enough for anyone. Just give us a lot less wind, a touch of sunshine and temperatures which dictate short sleeved tops and perspiration. Or have you forgotten how? Yep, that’ll be it. Ah, well. Roll on Autumn.

Weights

Busy day at work, home to strim the garden then weights being thrown around the conservatory.

Thankfully the forecast is drier tomorrow so 6 miles might be almost enjoyable.

We’ll see.

Powerful Pierre

Or “What a time for my Garmin to throw a fit”. Or “Will it ever be warm enough for short sleeves again?”

Nothing, nothing, nothing and then three titles come along all at once.

If anyone else in the universe had the pleasure of listening to the superb Southend-On-Sea based pirate radio station “Premier 88.6” back in the early 2000’s, they might well have heard the best dance music ever relayed onto the airwaves. Tony Roberts was the man who coined the phrase I’ve chosen for the title and fitting it was, too.

Tonight, Matthew, I ran 5 miles. Down to the motorway roundabout from work, along the trail at the side of the motorway and under the road to a truck stop for a bit of Tubbson2wheels £10 note waving fun before heading back up the hills to the car for a sweat-fuelled drive home.

Only the Garmin decided to not get a signal. Then when it did, it recorded the first half mile as 0.2. At 16 min/mile pace. And when I reset it (on the run, admittedly) it recorded my donwhill pace as 8.35/mile.

Hopefully the middle bit was accurate enough (the loop out and back to the well known and many times measured 2 mile turnaround point), or I might not have done 5 miles at all. The best bit of the outing was my strength on the uphills. They’re steep. And I felt great up them. Almost great enough to desire short sleeves for a minute. But not quite – once back on the ridge of hill that runs along towards site, the breeze had my sleeves rolled back down before the next uphill made me warm enough to be happy.

Did I say happy? What I meant to say was less morose than usual, these days.

Roll on the day I sit in a chairlift and enjoy watching the cows below.