Running.
Remember that?
It’s not been a great summer, in more ways than one. Inexplicable. It started off in handsome fashion, with a perfectly reasonable spell of pre-marathon-training-training. In the weeks leading up to the end of June, I was slapping those streets around three times a week, building up a decent head of steam for the 18 weeks of focused, planned, disciplined plodding that would edge me ever-closer to my marathon PB in Dublin at the end of October.
The culmination of the preparation was perfect. The first week of the 18 ended on my birthday, with a very florid-faced 10K PB at Dorney in the company of Sweder, Moyleman and Nigel, all of this parish. Race over, we retired for a few hours of civilised rehydration at the Watermans Arms in Eton. Or at least I did, along with a collection of others non-drivers.
What a splendid launching pad for an athletic summer. That was the idea, but it hasn’t happened. Not even any decent excuses. There was one Monday when I woke with a nasty pain in my left knee which persisted for a few days. And a spot man-flu came visiting on another week, but nothing too bad.
I simply haven’t felt like it. I haven’t fancied it. No better reason than that.
Motivation is the key to this game, but sometimes I feel it draining out of me — at roughly the same rate as West Berks Brewery’s excellent hoppy bitter, Good Old Boy is being poured in at the other end.
It’s always been an obstacle for me, but I really thought that this year I had it cracked. I hadn’t.
But if one of the worst things about this cliff-edge pursuit is the knowledge that the good intentions you rely on can crumble quite unexpectedly and throw you onto the rocks far below, then one of the very best (having experienced this a number of times) is the knowledge that it’s not so hard to clamber back up again.
I’ll drag out this tortured metaphor a little longer by reporting that I’m still reclining down here, peering upwards, trying to fashion a strategy from nothing but a fear of total humiliation — which is actually a pretty good raw material, it has to be said.
Its damage-limitation time. On my calendar are these races:
Windsor Half Marathon — Sept 30
Dublin Marathon — Oct 29
Brighton 10K — Nov 20 (?)
Almeria Half Marathon — end of Jan 08
Boston Marathon — April 08
One month to a half marathon, two months to the fully monty. I’ve got some chance of making it to Windsor, much more so than making it to the Dublin finish. But let’s see. To make things more complicated, there are two weeks of exotic holiday to squeeze in somewhere. (More of that soon.) I’ve said all along that Boston is the big target, but I don’t want to slip too easily into assumptions about wimping out of Dublin. The stats are grim though: 10 runs in July and a grand total of… 3 in August. Same old story: too much beer and ice cream.
The good news is that I’ve moved the site over here to a TypePad blog. Various good reasons for it, mentioned elsewhere, but one of them is to shame myself into getting out there again.
When I don’t run, I don’t write. When I don’t run I don’t feel quite as positive. Running makes things more effortless, and creates an appetite and an enthusiasm that gets things done. It’s the silver bullet, and that’s why it’s time to get going again.
I’m waddling around with 12 pounds of lard hanging off my torso that wasn’t there just 2 or 3 weeks ago. It’s time to shake it off. Tomorrow, I’m outta here.
First day of the month. A good day to start recreating yourself.
