The Gods of running slothdom smiled upon me today.
Resigned to joining the Jog Shop Joggers I awoke before 7, scarfed some toast & honey and a cup of instant coffee – add water; makes its own sauce!* - and waited for the fear to rise.
Three mediocre slogs to Blackcap – well, two; the middle one fell victim to extreme lethargy – er, that is, temperatures – had somehow convinced me I could hang out with the big boys once more. This morning I received a welcome boost, a gift from the gods – wind and rain! How wonderful – a full-scale bluster danced across the hills as I shuffled out to my truck just after 8.30. Light rain lashed the parched ground, weeks of oily residue bubbling up onto the surface of the road.
A small band of adventurers gathered atop the marina – two Pauls, Chris, Steve, Gary and one bloated Sweder. I got my excuses in early, swallowing hard before enquiring of today’s route. The Famous Residences – classic path (that means concrete climb rather than ploughed farmer’s field) a shade over 17 k’s. OK, I can do this.
And I did. It was tough at times, the climbs were brutal, none less so than the hamstring-busting windmill climb two miles from home. But I ran it all, trailing the peloton by a couple of minutes. At times, alone, adrift of the main group, I pondered the earlier exchange with Andy and MLCMan regarding poetry and how Under Milk Wood can be heavy going. Huh, I thought. If you think that’s heavy try some Ted Hughes. Or better still, Vogon. Vogon poetry is, depending on which series you view as definitive, either the second or third most horrible poetry in the universe. Personally I don’t mind it in its written form; I think most damage is done in its recital.
Oh freddled gruntbuggly,
Thy micturations are to me
As plurdled gabbleblotchits
On a lurgid bee.
Groop, I implore thee, my foonting turlingdromes
And hooptiously drangle me
with crinkly bindlewurdles,
Or I will rend thee in the gobberwarts with my blurglecruncheon
See if I don't.
I finished, exhilarated by the bracing weather and the buzz from the steady effort required to get round. A stretching session followed, then coffee, egg and beans on toast at Mac’s and a soggy ride home, during which I reflected that if pushed I could have squeezed a couple more miles in.
Which is handy, as next Sunday we’re doing a 15 miler.
Including the Snake.
Bring it on.
[SIZE="1"]* Frank Zappa, Joe's Garage[/SIZE]
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
