March 2010

[Sweder]

... I've just got back from my first run in over a fortnight.
There was a time - always is during these dark, depressing periods of brutal lung disfunction - when I wondered if I'd ever get out there again. I've been miserable. Fractious, distracted ... a nightmare to live with.

Funny thing is on Monday I started eating for England. Anything and everything edible that fell into my path was devoured with indecent haste. I took this as a sign that I was either pregnant or, preferably, ready to run again. Five fabulous sun-drenched miles through the hills later I'm barking like a rabid dog, bathed in honest run-sweat and happy as Larry. The legs feel OK; they could have carried on for a few miles more I'm sure. That wonderful moment when the painful exertion of dragging one's reluctant carcass up and down hills gives way to the pure thrill of running came upon me as I chugged up the west face of Wicker Man Hill. The jagged flint pressed into the soles of my old red Mizunos (I treated myself to an outing in these old favorites) to remind me how much I love the feel of rugged ground beneath my feet. Over the last mile or so my chest was horribly tight but, luckily, still functioning. Back at home the appetite is, four slices of toast smothered in blueberry jam notwithstanding, alarmingly healthy.

For some company on the run I plugged into Alice Cooper - the first time this year I've run with Planet Rock - and wasn't disappointed. Track du jour was Ted Nugent's Stranglehold. I'm no great fan of the brash Motor City Madman but I defy anyone not to fall instantly in love with that filthy, dirty belly-slither of a bass-line. Wonderful stuff to run to.