No-no-no-no-no . . . Yesvember

[Sweder]

Thanks to Continental Airlines having some sort of wrangle over the number of functioning toilets on their Newark-Gatwick flight (leading to a number of childish remarks about Incontinental airlines) I arrived home a good deal later than planned. Undeterred I head for the hills, albeit under the advancing, chilling cloak of dusk. Not for the first time in recent outings I suffered, my lungs having endured the smoke-fest of a number of late night Central American establishments, not to mention the more than occasional roll-up.

There's no easy way to tackle this; I have to stop, full stop. If I don't I'll return to the wheezing slave to chest infections and restricted lung capacity of a few years ago. It's actually not that difficult; stop smoking or stop running - I can't continue to do both.

A tough but enjoyable outing in fading light, winters' icy fingers chilling the sweat on my vest as I lumbered home, the twinkling lights of Newhaven dancing on the shadowy horizon. A good opportunity to test drive the latest addition to my footwear stable. I recently managed to track down some Addidas offroaders that were vaguely comparable to my beloved Climacools; Supernova trail shoes. They were lurking on the dark, musty vaults of the Jog Shop, winkled out by the great Sam Lambourne. They fit like a glove and tonight, on their maiden voyage, felt sturdy and competant as they negotiated the humps, hollows and slippery obstacles of my regular trail.

There was no epiphanal moment, no revelatory sign pointing towards or away from Cape Town next year. I'll just have to get back in the groove, take a long hard look at the schedule and commit to it. Or not. Bugger.