July - Mission: Lard-loss

[Sweder]

Rather like a streaky boundary nicked past forth slip I stole a crafty four this morning.
Encouraged by a cool, sprightly breeze and the boundless enthusiasm of the hounds I crammed this unscheduled lope into an already impossible Friday. Darned glad I was too. Far from suffering the expected stiffness that usually plagues back-to-back runs I felt in fine fettle, bounding easily across Landport Bottom and into the slopes of Wicker Man Hill.

Resolved not to push on, rather to keep this short, sweet and swift, I turned my back on Blackcap and set off for home. The reason for my apparent fitness became clear as a juvenile gale greeted my descent, a blissfully cool wind that felt as if it had blown straight out of my new Husky beer fridge. It had certainly lent wings to my heels for the outward miles.

I hammered down the hard, bumpy slopes, Achilles Last Stand thundering in my ears, hounds bounding excitedly at my heels.

The slightest hint of pre-Paris form, then - a small reward for recent sweaty endeavour.
A late, drink-fuelled night beckons, but I shall feel a shade less guilty as I sup my ale tonight