Not Quite Dead

[Sweder]

Still getting out there, albeit sporadically. Charliecat5 dragged me out last night, OutAlongTheRive again this morning. 13.5 kms inside 24 hours, not bad for a fat sloth. In a man-bites-dog scenario, Duncan told me, gently, to lay off the burgers. This alludes to my wobbly shape and lack of fitness, though I feel a lack of O2 in the damp, clingy evening air had as much to do with my tardy performance as a recent record run feasting on bun-mounted, cheese-slathered meat.

Oh alright. I've been stuffing my face. Shoot me.
It's silly season, that time of year when I travel extensively, spend 14-hour days pacing the halls of the world's largest trade show venues, eating late (and badly), drinking too much too fast. It's an unhealthy cycle, and my midriff bears impressive testament to the poor dining choices I've made.

I've written a forward to Moyleman-runner and local journo Jack Arscott's book, Up the Downs! A tale of Sussex hill-running that features a few familiar places and faces. It's a page-turner, short, sharp, witty and enticing. God knows why he wanted me to stain it with my waffle, but there it is. I'm flattered. Available now, I believe, in local outlets, or on application to @jackarscott123

Twiathlon tomorrow morning; Twittens (12x brutal hill-sprints), followed by coffee at Ground, a jog over to Pells Pool and 6 or 12 lengths of those cool, cool waters, to be decided by OATR on the day. He, Tom Roper of this Parrish and possibly a few others. I may well be in danger from passing Japanese whalers, but I'm getting (ever so slightly) less unfit.

On, on.