November

[Sweder]

TUBBY BIRTHDAY BRIT BOILS BONES ON MOUNTAIN TRAIL

That headline, and others like it, flashed through my head at around 8:30 this morning. I decided to get up to the Table Mountain Trail and treat myself to a 7k sojourn along it's dusty red route. Even at 7:30 this morning the sun was high and working overtime to heat the prehistoric terrain. Lizards basked on baking rocks; nothing stirred.

Except this waddling, sweating slump of a man, dragging his bones, one year older today, up and down one of the most violently undulating running paths I have ever encountered. These guys don't do 'flat'. I like a hill - as Nigel will tell you - but this was sheer bloody madness.

After around 20 minutes of heart-pounding, lung-bursting effort I paused for thought. This isn't right. I can't pop my clogs on this African hillside, alone, lizard-bait. What would the wife say? (apart from 'pass the Bollinger' and 'Trebles and Life Assurance Policies all round').

I took a walk break, jogged some more, another walk break and so this continued until, reconciled with the facts laid starkly before me I turned tail and plodded back towards the car. In fairness I probably covered close to 4 miles, but equally I ran perhaps half of that.

Tomorrow is another day, and if I can raise my sorry arse by 6:30 I'll fair a good deal better on Wednesdays' track - the trail to Signal Hill. There's still the prospect of a couple of meetings and a rendezvous with some more splendid Merlot to come, but I'm sure I'll be there.
Probably.