What next eh?

[Charliecat5]

I haven’t always been an elite trail running athlete.  It’s hard to believe, but not that many years ago I was a novice to this sport, struggling to lace my shoes, never mind sprinting up the hills.   But there was a certain character in these parts who took me under his wing, and taught me all he knew.  He forced me over hill and through valley.  Verbally berating me each time I dropped to the ground in a molten heap of spent legs, bust lungs, sweat and spittle.  Driving me beyond limits I had no idea existed.
 
How times have changed. 
 
Last night I managed to get the old git out for a proper run.  None of this Park Run nonsense, or even, dare I say, a mooch up and down the Twittens.  This was a proper run.  Knocking back the miles.  Big hills. The psychological sting of river bank running.  Chalk, knee shuddering, drops.   And, as is fitting such a run, a few jars of craft beer to finish.  It was the promise of the latter that got him out to be honest. 
 
The goat struggled. From the beginning he had an expression of pain across his face.  He huffed and puffed (particularly when we were charged £10 for two pints!).  Of course I was sympathetic.  I waited for him every now and again.  I gave him ample seconds to recover before pushing on. I chatted incessantly about this and that, to keep his mind from the pain.  But to give the bugger his due.  He did it.  He didn’t complain (much).  And he got up this morning and did a Park Run whilst I was still lounging about in bed.