A few significant moments in the past 24 hours.
Yesterday I sloped off early for an evening round with SP and Cap'n Tom at Seaford Head. The course is nice and hilly, offering a physical as well as a sporting challenge. The golf was of (ahem) modest standard yet SP and I were tied after eighteen holes. It seems it doesn't matter how crap you are at a sport, so long as your playing partners are of an equal crapness you can still enjoy a darned good contest. SP won by virtue of a better back nine but I didn't have long to sulk. Within a minute Capn' Tom appeared with three foaming pints of Harvey's Best. We sat on the bench outside the clubhouse watching the gulls wheel over the cliff tops as the golden ale slid down three parched throats. SP launched himself into a standing position and uttered those dreaded words.
'Who's for another?'
It took less than a second for me to politely decline.
This is great progress; if I can resist a second pint when the first has all but evaporated after a hot sweaty round of golf I'm well on the road to blocking out those dreadful Sirens.
After another restless night of tickly coughs and vociferous birdlife I set off for this mornings' BHTT 5K. A slurp of coffee and a hurridly scoffed banana constituted breakfast. This seems to be a winning combination as for the second week in a row I clocked a PB, this time 22:22. In five attempts I've reduced my 5K time by 01:29. It won't last (quiet Eeyore) but for now I'm chuffed. No spaced-out weirdness this time, just a good honest gritted-teeth arm-pumping thrash, hanging on for grim death around the last lap. I think I'm starting to enjoy these
When I got home I harnessed the hounds and took them for a hot slog up to Blackcap. A nice easy five miler after a sweaty flog around the park was just the ticket. Easy breathing, legs nice and relaxed, my TOM 2007 technical shirt the perfect antidote to a very warm day. I chugged home at a gentle pace, reflecting on a good start to the day. The rest of the day could be a good deal less comfortable. It's that time of year when my lovely daughter press-gangs a parent into taking to the dance floor for her Dance School Funday Parent and Child competition. I drew the short straw; an afternoon whizzing around the living room to loud, hi-speed techno-music beckons.
During the apres-flog cafe session I mentioned my annoying cough to Jill, Marion and Julie before, right on queue, offering the perfect demonstration. Marion remarked it sounded like asthma - she's a fellow sufferer. The penny dropped with a loud clang. I was diagnosed with asthma about fifteen years ago. The condition was assessed to be mild, I was prescribed ventalin and given two inhalers; a brown one for once-a-day use and a blue one for when I got a bit wheezy. As time went by my symptoms dried up and I abandoned the inhalers, never giving the condition a second thought. Since starting running five years ago I've felt relatively fit in the lung department, attributing the occasional lapse to the after-effects of ten years smoking between forty and sixty tabs a day.
One aspect of having mild asthmma is one becomes sensitive to changes in the air. With the sudden onrush of what appears to be summer the air around Sussex is suddenly full of pollen and grass-heads. This has coincided with my alveoli tightening up like a Scotsman hanging onto a fiver. Ding ding! Hello? Anyone there?
Perhaps it's time to nip down the Docs and see about an inhaler.
If I had a brain I'd be dangerous.
