They can't touch this.
There's a duality of solace in my existence these days which consists of the binary agents called running and music. Just at the moment, as the US fleet heads north toward the Korean Peninsula for a confrontation with the would-be ultimate nuclear bad guy Kim Jong-un, this cure-all for the flooding downer that is the evening news takes on particular significance. Having survived my own nuclear winter that is the six-day working week of mixed early-morning and graveyard shifts, bending my back to the coal face whilst the boss laughs hysterically behind my back as he whips his devilish tail and sharpens his horns, the running schedule is simultaneously both the sedative and the cure for all that seems wrong and insane with the planet, at least in my admittedly limited sphere of understanding.
It is therefore doubly gratifying that I can attest to the brilliance of the endorphins and adrenaline coursing through my veins this evening as a result of this afternoon's tempo run, which kicked off in accompaniment to Bruce Springsteen's Thunder Road, and only got better from there. What began as a simple, easy log-filler to appease my tired mind and aching muscles instead yielded one of my best runs of late and was almost dangerous as I overcame a desperate urge to continue on well past the scheduled finish and add yet more kilometres to what was already a greatly inflated pace to that which had been scheduled or expected.
So no, unlike the headstrong policies of certain despot leaders scattered about the nuclear-edged world at the moment, I resisted the urge to go beyond the world of sane, sensible normality and completed an immensely satisfying, yet risk-free 13km run with a small, but valuable bonus at the end in the form of a brilliant little sprint that gave the mind and legs a brief flirtation with the endorphin-fuelled feeling of flying. It was, it must be said, an absolute-bloody-sensational way to finish a run.
Thoughts of invincibility now flash before my eyes, and even the drenching, cold-water face-slap of a post-run real-world return to reality still sees me seriously contemplating the possibility of PBs and greatly enhanced running goals. These must now be tempered still further if I am not to undo all the great work I have undertaken to date. In one sense this is what the running log spreadsheet does so well for me: I can see the reality of what I am trying to achieve and the cold-hearted numerical analysis of the accountants' computerised number-cruncher waters down the heightened enthusiasm of my runner's high to far more realistic levels. And this then leaves me with a bizarre, yet still greater feeling of satisfaction as I appreciate that even with the harsh light of data analysis upon me, I can, in all honesty, say that I am running very well and progressing even better.
And no-one, not even Trump, nor Putin nor Kim Jong-fucking-un, can take that away from me.
And should the doubts that circle us like wolves around a camp fire at night still encroach upon the positivity of otherwise undeniable optimism, there is always this: it's a bit of a darling on social media at the moment, but for worthy-enough reasons, and it's a great track to run to, or to even just lift your spirits a little, and at the moment, it's extremely topical. Enjoy:
April May be alright.
