May 2009

[Sweder]

A monumental effort was needed to prize my aching bones out of bed, the alarm intruding at a desperately late 07:55. Had this not been marked as a memorial run for Chris I'd've missed it, such was my desire for my duvet and general weariness after a long week capped by an appalling drive home last night from the West Midlands.

A minute's silence was dutifully observed by another impressively large ParkRun crowd. Many of us wore purple ribbons and/ or attire. I knew before the off I was unlikely to pay further hommage with a rapid time. Soon after the hooter Simon P jogged easily alongside, bidding me a cheery good morrow before bouncing off up the slope. I felt old and tired today, my constant midriff companion taking a particularly heavy toll. Still I slogged on, boosted by marshalling Cam's encouraging words ('come on Ash, move your arse!'), finally finding a rhythm of sorts on the last lap to stagger home in 23:25 (Garmin time).

I'm off to Glasgee next week for work, not back until Sunday night. Any thoughts of missing Saturday's 5K were dispelled by the news that Glasgow has it's own Parkrun. I only need arrive at the start at 09:00 to take part, being automatically registered in the national PR database.
As Dick Dastardly might have put it, drat . . . double-drat.

Coffee and chat followed, pleasure after the pain. Ladyrunner, Cam, Gary & Mike B set of to plod stages 17 and 18 of the South Downs relay course. I was due to run with Cam on stage 17 today but luckily another more competant runner was located closer to the middle of the barrel, saving Cam a painfully slow slog and me a tough outing. Gillybean and MSilv kept me company at the cafe, later Stevio, Simon, Neil, Jason & Fi, mulling over the madness of Jasons' explosive FLM bloggage. I suggested Fi might like to add her view but sense she's still feeling a tad raw after what was a difficult day for her. Stevio threatened a report so hopefully there'll be more to read soon.

You never know, we might get one on Boston before the Summer's out . . .