March 2010

[Sweder]

Like buses these March runs. Don't see one for ages then three come along in quick succession.

Mindful of a raft of chores that need to be completed before the return of the memsahib I gazed whistfully out of the paint-speckled bathroom window across enticing, sun-drenched hills. I'd hoped to join the Jog Shop Joggers on one of their pre-Brighton Marathon long runs but I simply didn't have three hours plus to spare. That, and my lungs - and legs - needed a gentler test to confirm a return to fitness.

I harnessed the hounds and set off for a local plod, heading west across the downland spine towards Ditchling Beacon. A cold, harsh breeze cut headlong into us, keeping my pace honest and preventing the sun, indecently warm on my vest-clad back, from broiling me in my own sweat. How wonderful to be out running in vest and shorts; spring is in the air! The tacky downland rose to meet my heavy tread as I proceeded to crop-spray the hedgerows. These chesty colds linger longer than unwanted house-guests.

An honest, workman-like trudge covering ten miles in a smidgeon over ninety minutes. My legs felt a little heavy towards the end, understandable after a three-week lay-off. As usual my lungs behaved impeccably until I chugged to a halt, whereupon they attempted to empty themselves of imaginary ectoplasm through a series of chest-wracking coughs.

The dogs wagged, tongues lolling, clearly happy to be back on the trails with their two-legged leader. They've had a rum time of it lately, restricted to waddling around the local shrubberies with an assortment of reluctant family members. They'll sleep for the rest of the day, dreaming of chasing rabbits or peeing on other dogs' faeces, only stirring to remind me when dinner-time draws near. For me it's a quick stretch and a late breakfast before facing a Rubick's Cube of televised sport, bathroom painting and the unbridled joy of ferrying post-decorating household detritus to the municipal dump.

Spring is in the air alright.