December Doldrums

[Sweder]

Managed to haul myself up Blackcap this morning, yesterday's overindulgence worn not so much like a badge of honour, more like a flabby lifebelt. Still, it's five miles in the bank, all be they dreadfully slow, cold and uncomfortable miles. A cruel wind sliced through my ill-advised singlet and I could feel my hands and arms taking on that strange tingle as warm blood clashed with freezing skin.

Staggering across the hostile hills I pondered the challenges this time of year delivers.
The assault on one's digestion mounted by all manner of rich and indulgent intake creates problems for the runner. There's the bloating effect of cramming a month's worth of puddings and cakes into a single afternoon, then the anaesthetic qualities of the steady flow of alcohol, from morning Mimosas through the reds and whites of luncheon to the port and long drinks of an evening’s sofa-dwelling. I hope I don't upset those of a sensitive disposition when I refer to the havoc wreaked on my distraught biorhythms. No, not my world-renowned plodding cadence; it'd be hard to lose something that ingrained and sedentary. No, I speak of one's ablutions, ones movements - I’m all over the bloody place. My poor digestive tract is busier than Jose Mourinhos’ bile factory. This all has a debilitating effect on my running, and I’ll be only too pleased to return to routine dining and the joys of pre-programmed visits to the smallest room in the house, abetted by the latest gift from my brother Jim.

Following my earlier plod I dragged the family up to Kingston for the ritual feast of festive fun that is Boxing Day at Ma’s. The brothers Head made a pact some years ago that instead of spending vast sums on each other at this time of year (and ending up with something mildly charming to bury at the back of our livingroom shelves) we’d limit ourselves to gifts of a value of a tenner (or less).

This year I left it all rather late (this year???) and settled meekly for a pair of large scented candles (although they did display wonderful psychedelic patterns). Jim did far better, somehow finding the ultimate bathroom accessory – the Potty Putter, consisting of a small slice of ‘green’, a miniature golf putter, a ball, a cup and a 'Do Not Disturb!' sign, all designed to be used whilst assuming the contemplative position. Genius.