Well, May turned out to be a thoroughly damp squib, and I don't just mean the ugly capitulation in Rome by the listless Rowdies.
I recorded an erratic effort; a Glasgow ParkRun, a couple of local hillside flogs and a brace of outings on the Genovese concrete. The last of these on Thursday was the most pleasing, taking me on a meander around the coast to the Fiera and onto the shadowed, cobbled streets of the old town. As ever I chose a pre-breakfast outing to avoid the cruel sun, mid-morning temperatures nudging the high 20's. The cool breeze and long shadows provided welcome cool in which to plod. Times/ pace remain modest at best but I consol myself that I'm at least getting out there.
Yesterday's home-based hilltop hop was taken close to midday with the sun at it's zenith. Once again a downland zephyr cooled my jets, allowing me to chug along without melting into the earth as surely and completely as a snowman on a Carribbean beach. I'd like to think June will offer more opportunities to run but history shows this to be unlikely. Sun-drenched grass was made for swinging sticks and I intend to do so at every turn so as to keep up with SP and Captain Tom in the MGS Summer Matchplay.
I'm at peace with my running. I have no immediate goal other than to pull on the runners from time to time, to keep the legs ticking over and, if possible, arrest the gentle expansion of my already formidable girth. Summer is never a good time for me on the trails but I'm determined to face the heat demons, if only so as to enjoy the occasional guilt-free pint of Harvey's on those balmy Sussex evenings.
Physically I'm carrying any number of niggles and pains. The nerve in my right shoulder remains pinched, restricting my golf swing and all but ruling out a return to badminton any time soon. My right knee continues to threaten uproar, my right foot reminds me to tread carefully. I'm toying with the idea of some serious gait analysis and subsequent adoption of a new running style. Some might say to do so one must have a style to begin with. It's a fair point; my tilted lope and heavy heeled tread can hardly claim to have been deliberately honed. Yet the Quasimodo Shuffle defines me amongst my kin and might, I'd like to think, be sorely missed from the winter skyline on these windswept downland hills.
[SIZE="1"]Glasgow ParkRun; Genoa Port; Genoa Street Circuit[/SIZE]
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
