April, you Fool

[Sweder]

I decided to go for an easy eight today rather than the local 10k tomorrow. It’s all well and good entering a race on the basis that you’ll take it easy; the last thing I need is to go hammer and tongs and do some damage.

The run this morning was a carbon copy of the Good Friday 12k without the mad dash home. Half a dozen London hopefuls gathered under the watchful eye of Lycra Tony. Rog arrived just before the off and we embraced, grinning like fools. As last Sunday we ran together, trading our Paris memories like two eager schoolboys swapping football cards. My legs felt pretty good, though I struggled in the muggy heat, shedding my windcheater at the turn. There was no temptation to kick for home in the last mile. Rog and I stuck out our chests and strode boldly to the finish to the mock applause of our FLM-bound comrades.

A quick visit to Mac’s café for coffee and fruitcake with Tony and a couple of the London gals. The ladies were full of questions about Paris, our stories feeding their growing excitement. As the tales came thick and fast I realised I was still on a high. Post Marathon Blues are sure to follow in the weeks ahead, but I’m hoping a few gentle plods to Blackcap and tentative plans for the Autumn will take the edge off.

Good luck to everyone running London next Sunday.
You can’t take it easy enough this week.
Eat, drink and be quietly merry, for on Sunday you dance with the Devil

See you at Mile 22.