December

[marathondan]

Seasons greetings, one and all.

Two outings to report since my last confession. By the Weds before Xmas, the thaw had started so I ventured out late at night. This would normally be a fartlek session, but the pavements were still too treacherous for all-out sprinting, so I set out with the intention of some sort of tempo run. As it turned out, fartlek wasn’t too far off the mark. The roads were clear, but the pavements still were icy under a slick layer of water. So I was able to progress at a fair lick on the roads, then whenever a car approached, I had to leap the black torrent of glacial melt running down the gutter, and adopt a high-knees, flat-footed trot, to ensure stability on the pavement. An unconventional interval workout, but certainly better than a big zero on the log.

Then Sunday night I took on the fabled 10 miler in the heavy costume – this time with a scarf added, to try and block up one of the last few ventilation points. At a slow plod, progress was pretty comfortable, the only negative again being a bit of a twinge on the left hip, no doubt due to my less efficient gait. And again, the head-in-a-sauna sensation was the worst part, although like most running discomforts, it comes and goes.

For the most part, the usual Radio 4 warblings kept my mind occupied and my adrenaline levels suitably low. Then with about three quarters of a mile left, I flicked over to an 80s compilation put together for New Year’s Eve. So tragically, my track du jour is Wham!’s Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.

When you’ve just trotted 9 miles, at restricted pace, with several pounds of sweat-soaked fleece wound round your head, the opening bars of a feel-good pop song are like downing half a pint of triple espresso energy gel, washed down with a bucket of Red Bull. The shackles were off and I flew home, maniacal grin fortunately covered by the ski mask. Stretching the legs was a tremendous feeling after all that shuffling, and the good news was that there was plenty left in the tank.

Rarely can a tired and lonely man, out on the streets late at night, have been so stimulated by an oral performance by George Michael.

Or maybe that’s not quite true.