January 2008

[Sweder]

I slept through the alarm this morning having sat up half the night to watch the finest sports team in the world match their awesome test-winning streak. Some things are worth sitting up all night for. Watching Ponting marshall his troops to acheive an unlikely victory in the penultimate over of the day was certainly that.

Still spluttering and coughing I set off for a local mid-morning five, slightly concerned at how my sludge-laden lungs and under-used legs would fare. I've become far too familiar with my couch over the Christmas period, lethargy taking the baton from illness to prolong the battle against healthy living. I struggled over the muddy trails, sliding over slippery flint, tread heavy, ragged breathing filled with the rattle of intransigent phlegm. In a moving tribute to that master of the chesty cough Bob Flemming I doused the downs with more lung-butter than Fat Frank Lampard on any given Saturday. Still, the struggle was worthwhile despite the asthmatic seizure that shook me for ten minutes after the finish. I felt I'd made a return of sorts; something on which to build.