Oktober

[Sweder]

Tis the season to be poorly.
A couple of years ago I missed out on the Dublin marathon (and hours of fabulous celebration in the arms of red-headed beauties sporting pints of Guinness - well, alright, hours of celebration in the arms of SP. The Guinness was real enough). Last year I blew out the Jog Shop 20 when my seasonal respiratory collapse hit mere weeks before. I always seem to pick up ailments just before 'important' races. Often its proven to be nothing more than shadowy demons messing with my head.
This time its a little more serious.

First up everyone else in my house has the lurghie.
Sore throats, grumbling stomachs and thermostatic rollercoasters abound at Chez Sweder. Yet this time (as the song so horribly put it), more than any other time, this time, I'll get it right. I'm Jog-Shop Jogging on Sunday come what may. Only sudden and irrevocable limb loss can intervene. This is my home town run, comparable with most marathons for effort and application, and I'm damn well going to run the bastard.
So, any of you poxy mucus-dwelling germs who might be listening, pack up and ship out.
The Sweder's not for turning.
Sniff.