March Madness

[Sweder]

It's Tuesday, so it must be Blackcap.
It may sound tedious, this unerring commitment to the three day week, but it's a plan, and that's more than I've had before and I'm sticking with it.

Large helpings of 'mizzle' shrouded the hills this morning. I loped off with the hounds, 5Live beaming a phone-in on the protocols of consent between drunken couples, a very tricky subject, via crystal clear DAB. I fancied an easy run with plenty of sweat and that's what I got. I wore a couple of layers including a sweatshirt, my age-old grey Nike with the broken neck zipper, the same top I used to coach the Kingston Kestrels in. Mrs S would joyfully cremate the ‘mangy old thing’ – I think she means the sweatshirt - given half a chance. To me it’s Linus’s blanket, ultimately comfortable, filled with happy memories. I smile every time I pull it on.

The sheep have returned (from who knows where), but the dogs feigned disinterest, sticking to the pathways and hedgerows, ears cocked, muscles primed for hot rabbit action. Four horsemen crested the hills to our left, heading slowly west and away from us. The breeze (it would be pushing it to call it a wind) swept up from the south-east, nudging me gently towards the Cap. This is my preferred setting, a nice gentle south-easterly. A little encouragement over the first few warm-up miles, just enough resistance on the homeward leg to make things interesting as I hit my straps.

Running strongly over the last mile I noticed my breathing – or rather, I didn't. Usually at this point I'm rasping like a n overworked woodsaw, but so far nothing. I was pretty sure I was still drawing breath, the clods of mud spraying off my Sauconys suggesting life in the oldest dog yet, but the breaths came shallow and easy and I took great heart from that.

Good intensive stretching and freshly brewed coffee topped off a cracking start to the day.
I’m looking forward to an early ten on Thursday. Or so the plan says