December

[Sweder]

They come along every now and then, these 'difficult' runs.
Nothing special about the route, my standard 5 hilly, chilly miles, but not one of my better days on the plod. It all seemed to take a great deal of effort. When you run well you run easy, you don't have to think about each step, each breath. This was like a Maths exam you know you haven't crammed for.

It started when the bloke from Comet rang at 8 this morning. Chez Sweder in darkness, curtains drawn, harmonised snoring wafting from the chimney.
'I've come to fix the washing machine. I'm outside your house.'
More a threat than an announcement.

I just couldn't whip up enthusiasm for a run after that, but out I went.
I huffed and puffed across the hills, two day-old snow crunching pleasingly under my heavy stride. The Downs shone, draped in winters' finery, but it was lost on me, my listless gaze locked on the frozen mud a few yards ahead. Cheery greetings from families enjoying winter walks to the Cap lightened my mood. The last mile felt a little easier, and as home hove into view I actually felt like going on.

Hopefully this is my crap run done and dusted; Saturday promises a rendezvous with an old scaly friend . . .