Sometimes it's just not your day

Approaching the end of the year, Matt and I managed to find a date for one last long run. It was 26th November, and the route was the Vanguard Way. This runs from Croydon, in south London to Newhaven on the south coast.

Our plan was to drive to Croydon, where we would leave the car, and take the train to Newhaven. We would then run the 64 or so miles back. An early start meant that we left Newhaven station and began our run at a quarter past seven in the morning.

It had been a week of heavy showers, but as we made our way through the industrial back waters of New Haven the sun began to rise, breaking through the thin clouds and glinting on the surface of Mill Creek. Sandpipers stalked along the muddy banks probing for worms, snails and shrimps. Thick mud squelched beneath our feet as we ran along the narrow path, overgrown with nettles.

It wasn't long before we emerged onto the path at Marine Parade, the location of Newhaven and Seaford Sailing Club. We passed through Seaford and the colourful beach huts at the foot of Seaford Head. 

Time to walk up the hill. It was a short, steep hike which rewarded our efforts with a stunning view of the Seven Sisters white cliffs as they undulated towards Eastbourne. It was sad to see so many signs paying tribute to an obviously much loved chap called Cliff Edge.

For the first six miles we had been heading in an easterly direction. At the bottom of Seaford Head we turned north towards London. We followed the Cuckmere River through Cuckmere Haven. Dozens of Canada Geese were grouped together on the grassland. We could hear them honking to one another as the sun broke through again. It was very mild for late November. I was already regretting wearing three layers and was soon down to a t-shirt.

Another steep climb awaited us as we began to cross the South Downs, for a time following the South Downs Way. We were now in Friston Forest, the floor a carpet of red, gold and yellow leaves. A flight of steps brought us back down again before another climb through a field of turnips. Here the ground was waterlogged and the mud sucked our feet deep into the puddles. The water soaked our feet and splashed up our legs. It was the first sign that this wasn't going to be an easy run. We were forced to walk as every step forward resulted in a slide backwards.

Passing a cottage, the friendly sign on the gate warned us that not shutting it would result in a 40 shilling fine. Over to our left was the 93x65 foot Litlington White Horse, a chalk figure on Hindover Hill cut by three men on a single night in 1924.

Just before the village of Alfriston the Cuckmere River had flooded the surrounding fields covering the Vanguard Way route and forcing us onto a Dyke. We squelched past a bemused looking heron, and watched awe struck at the graceful flight of a Berwick Swan coming in to land on the water.

We entered Alfriston and took the opportunity to buy some more water from the local store. On our way out of the village I had a close run in with a bollard which nearly smacked me in a place with a very similar name. Thankfully my cat like reflexes left me with just a bruised hand and a reminder to keep alert.

Our pace was glacial. We would still manage to come in under 15 hours, but it was proving difficult to run except on the road sections. We hoped conditions would improve and were glad it wasn't raining. 

Unfortunately the next mile took us across more fields of turnips. Thousands of purple and white root vegetables surrounded by soaking wet leaves, laid on a bed of waterlogged mud. A thin line which used to be a path of sorts cutting through the middle. Cold water soaked us from the knees down. I stopped, picked a turnip and added it to the already weighty backpack I was wearing. I don't know why. I think I just felt the need to get something positive from a demoralising section. I named my new friend Dick Turnip and he would provide a delicious meal later that evening.

Dick Turnip

The next location was Berwick. Here we crossed the busy A27 and plunged into yet another swampy field. Again walking. We began to discuss our options. Neither of us were enjoying ourselves. The company was great, being outside and having a day to explore new places was lovely. However, it wasn't runnable and it was taking ages. Ahead of us more slow miles, then darkness and then rain.

Finally a stretch we could run. We followed a horse and rider along the long straight Chalvington Lane. Despite the firmer terrain and flat surface we both felt heavy legged and kept stopping to walk. Neither of us were feeling it.

Our spirits were lifted when we came across Happy Days Cafe. Matt will often say "Happy days" when things are going well on a run, and so we had to stop in for a Coke and a Mars bar. It helped. There was even a full sized model of Elvis and a flock of black chickens, but no Fonzy. We decided to press on and review our progress once we had managed to get to half way.

Our heightened moral took an almost immediate nose dive when we crossed the road and found the Vanguard Way path had become a river. Ankle deep water and sucking sod once again left us crawling along at snails pace. We left the café at 18 miles and it felt like hours had passed before we reached mile 20. We were determined to reach marathon distance, but it had become the hardest run either of us could remember in terms of the will to keep going. It was a test, a challenge and was becoming a tough learning experience.

One ray of light was the appearance of yet another turnip field. It was again muddy, wet and uneven, but among the vegetables were dozens of sunflowers - in November. Another one was seeing a Merlin alight from a tree and glide across the nearby field. Also a field full of bright yellow rape seed oil, again in November!

By this point we had pretty much decided we would not be finishing the run. Not even making it to half way. Neither of us wanted to do another mile let alone another forty of which twenty would be in the dark and wet. Sometimes you just have to call it a day and that's ok.

After a stop to do some internet research, we managed to find that a Croydon bound train passed through Buxted a few miles to the north-west. This would result in a total of 28 miles. Not too shabby if you ignore the seven hours time to do it.

Once we had made the decision we were able to relax and really enjoy the last few miles. The train arrived just ten minutes after us, and we were both relieved and happy to be heading back.

Running is a funny thing. It isn't always about achievement, distance, speed or even finishing. Sometimes it's just about giving something a go and admitting when it isn't your day.