December 2008

[Sweder]

Slightly better today. A rare midday outing this, though even a full morning to mooch about didn't seem quite long enough to delay the inevitable. There are motivational issues here; something lurks in the dusty corners of my psyche, something willful and mischievous, a doleful sprite feeding me negative thoughts.
It's too cold, you're not fit, still got some of that lurghie knocking about . . .
I've not struggled this badly to get out the door for ages. Self-doubt seems to have waited for the inevitable lull, a combination of travel, work and illness dropping my guard, apathy landing a couple of hefty, cowardly blows to my burgeoning solar plexus.

And yet . . . it wasn't too bad out there. Oh there was plenty of freezing fog, and I still hadn't found my running gloves, last seen in use on the frosted fairways of Dewlands Manor last Friday. SP probably smoked them later that evening but I'd best not go there else tales of my own indiscretions be revealed. Quid pro quo, Clarice. A gentle, ice-chilled breeze cruised in from the west to raise goose-bumps on exposed, bright pink flesh. Where as last week, on my solitary sojourn into the hills, I’d enjoyed vistas and downscapes to warm the cockles, today the mist drew an ugly veil across the view. I stole a snap of the gate leading back off Mount Harry (published below), a stark contrast to the shot taken last week at the same spot.

Having reached Black Cap in reasonable time I took a breather, steam rising from my heaving shoulders as I leaned, hunched and breathless, against the miniature obelisk at the summit. Then off again, legs working hard, lungs harder still as I struck out for home. It was hard work but I was moving well and the pace seemed fair. In fact it proved to be the third consecutive sub-43 minute run at this distance; consistency from a broken schedule. Perhaps that’s the answer; less is, in fact, more. Less runs, more quality. It could catch on, especially around these parts, just at the moment.