"Each step forward has a sacred meaning of its own"   Sri Chinmoy

South Downs Way 16 - Trail Training Run - 21 March 2026 - Southease to Alfriston

Last year I set out to run from Southease to Alfriston on the South Downs Way, only to feel my calf muscle tear suddenly on a downhill stretch and have to limp and shuffle my way back to the start. That led to what I thought might be a summer of injruy and frustration, but I turned my attention to hiking instead of running for a few months and had some amazing experiences out on the trails. By the time September came around I had entered a challenge walk across the whole of Wales and my injury had heeled sufficiently for me to run 30 out of the 46 miles of that amazing route. Back at the South Downs in 2026, I set out on the exact same run, determined to get there and back without injury and lay the ghost of that disappointment.

It was a cool but clear morning when I set out from the hostel at Southease, looping over a footbridge the cross the A26 then getting straight into the steady winding climb of Itford Hill. I remembered it all too well from the previous attempt, but this time there were no cramps or tightness despite having raced a half marathon a few days before. I kept things slow, as my training programme called for at least 1 hour 40 mins of jogging before stepping up to 4 miles at marathon pace. Once I was on that ridge, on the soft and curving line of the gorgeous downs, things felt pretty easy. I resisted the temptation to speed up when a runner passed me heading the same way, and just stuck to the plan. The air was good and the sun was starting to gain some power (after a long and cold winter). The landmarks I remembered - trig point, radio mast, car park at Firle estate - all came in good time and I was enjoying the sensation of clocking up miles of gentle trail on a truly beautiful spring day.  

At Firle Beacon and Bostal Hill I was running along the ridge as dozens of hang-gliders were taking to the air, swooping and circling in the sun. I admire their courage - just imagine the first time you take off in one of those at the mercy of space and gravity? Not for me, but something I love to watch, seeing human beings gain mastery over the sky and air.

Carrying on I stopped briefly to hold a gate open for two horse riders, who broke into a gallop straight afterwards, swiftly getting up on to the ridge. Quite a sight. The downs seemed busy and very much alive with activity of all kinds - groups of hikers on challenge walks, runners with hydration packs, equestrians, families out for weekend walks, people flying model planes and drones. Soon the path divided and I found myself running alone down to the residential streets on the outskirts of Alfriston. I remembered limping down this trail a year before and was glad to put that ill-fated stretch behind me. Once past that and into the village I felt I had evaded the danger and all would be well. My route took me over the high street, down to the river Cuckmere, over on a footbridge then along the bank on a flat and soft trail. Soon I was turning up again and climbing a chalky pathway towards Windover Hill. When my watch told me I had covered 8 miles I turned on my heel and descended, having sternly told myself that was the half way mark and pushing myself beyond a 16 miler would be inviting trouble. The views here back along the ridge of the downs were incredible, as was the music of the skylarks, and the joy of the sunshine. I ran back on a slightly different route, through a field of golden flowers, on chalk tracks and by field edges, back to Alfriston where I paused to buy a cup of tea and admire the green and church. Again there were plenty of people around, enjoying the downs as I was.

After that little break on the green I began the return journey, up a long climb on to Bostal Hill where my senses were fed again by birdsong and expansive views northwards over the weald. The return was going well and I was thrilled to be close to completing my longest training run since I overcame multiple injury problems in the Autumn, but the question of doing the faster miles that my training programme demanded was eating away at me. Should I risk it? Was I unduly nervous? Was there any point having a training programme if I didn't stick to it with that self-discipline that's essential if you want to improve? In the end I just thought, what the hell, and sped up to my target pace of around 8.30 per mile. Of course on the undulating ground I couldn't stick to a pace, so once I realised it equated to 160 bpm I just ran by heart rate and tried to keep a constant effort. The first mile passed and I was feeling good, but the pace was testing. Of course I remember when that was recovery/jogging pace, years ago, but now it is race-pace effort. The second mile was challenging too, the downhills feeling as hard as the climbs as I sped up to maintain the effort level and not let the heart rate drop into the 150s. After a third mile I had done 13 miles of running, 3 miles of race-pace effort and was feeling quite spent. Should I go for broke and do the 4th? Something inside me told me to quit while I was ahead, so I slowed down to enjoy the view over the river's delightful meanders and let the sweat cool on my body then jog the last three miles. What a run. What a lovely place to run. What a great day.

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