Another new experience. Crikey, life keeps churning ’em out, doesn’t it? Up at 05:45 for a pre-work run. I did my normal 3.67 miler. It’s supposed to be 3, but I’m trying to slightly edge up the distance this time around. A glorious morning. The air is fresh and cool, and the only traffic on the small local lanes is made of rabbit. I wondered later if this early aerobic hit had sent me into a fit of temporary delirium. Why? Because on the 0740 to Paddington, I swear that a balding, barefoot middle-aged man walked down the train wearing nothing but a peach coloured bathrobe, and carrying a matching towel. I turned round and gaped at this extraordinary vision … …
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I had the strange experience of receiving a phone call from New Delhi on my mobile while travelling home on the train this evening. It was a chap called Rajesh from Air India, pleasantly telling me I had 15 minutes to give him my passport number to ensure that our flights to Chicago could be kept at the ludicrously low price of £250. It made for a tense final few minutes of the journey I can tell you, and a race back home once the train pulled into the village. But I just made it. He gave me a London number to call, but I’m certain this was diverted to India. His accent gave him away. When I thanked him … …
Trotted along to the local gym this evening for my induction session. Yes I know, but it’s there on my list. There. My list of Things To Do Differently Second Time Round. Use the gym. I don’t like these furtive adult playgrounds much. They’re surreal and disturbing. How do you reconcile the superficial intimacy, the laying-bare, with the lack of communication? Apart from the Hits of the Eighties CDs, the only sounds are the rhythmical groans and crashes; you are rarely disturbed by the music of conversation. Here we find a worrying sub-culture of silent, bug-eyed obsessives; dripping elitists, sweating off their stresses and spare-tyres, inching towards Adonis status with a wild eye. And I may have opted to become … …
An action-packed day. I was up early to see Senegal surprisingly dump Sweden out of the World Cup, before pulling on my wellies and getting into the garden where I spent the rest of the morning marching up and down the lawn pursuing our ancient petrol mower. It has a mind of its own, which in many ways is an admirable quality in a piece of gardening equipment. We spent a long time trying to find a house with a large garden, and eventually we did, but keeping the grass short is like painting the Forth Road Bridge. By the time you get to the end it’s time to start at the beginning again. Actually, I enjoy it, though disposing … …
Denmark Schmenmark. A comfortable 3-0 win and a match against (probably) Brazil on Friday morning. A great relief to get to the quarter finals. I can now regard the World Cup as a triumph for England. The fear is getting knocked out early on. I watched the second half from the saddle of an exercise bike. It’s a tedious way of training but it slips by with a World Cup match to follow. I did 40 minutes. Tedious yes, but a good form of cross-training. The sweat was splashing off me, and I was beetroot-red by the end. Always satisfying. A quick shower, clean clothes, a lovely feeling. Tomorrow sees the first long run of the campaign. Only 6 miles … …
I’m up for this marathon. More so than for London. I’m shocked by these levels of enthusiasm and excitement. Unnerving. But it’s early days, and perhaps fatigue and boredom and injury are lurking just around that corner up ahead. There are major differences between this campaign and the last one. The mindset, the entire psychology has changed. Last time, I was preoccupied by fear and doubt, and intoxicated by a sense of wonder; the enormity of the undertaking. I’ve finished with them now, and today these obsessions belong to others: those next in line. Those who watched the race on TV in April and said “Right, next year I really am going to do it. If that fat bloke can … …
Going off to work at 6am should really have been more miserable than this. I suppose the prospect of an epoch-defining trouncing of Nigeria in the World Cup must have helped, but I think some of this energy must have come from last night’s run. The match failed to live up to expectations. We struggled to a goalless draw but at least we are through. Even better is that the Argentinians are on their way back to, I suspect, an unseasonably frosty Buenos Aires. Oh how we chortled at the thought. Another simple 3 miler this evening. Despite stating that I’d leave the canal for long Sunday runs, that’s where I found myself this evening. It proved irresistible after my … …
The great thing about the Hal Higdon marathon training universe is that Monday is a rest day. And the training programme starts on a Monday so yes, the very first day of training, when you’re all geared up and ready to roll… is a day of rest. OK, so for the other 17 weeks of the programme it makes sense, because Sunday is the big weekly effort. But on the first day?! So last night I did half an hour on the exercise bike instead, and began to think about all the things I was going to do right this time round. Now let’s see: stretching… sorting out the shoe problem before it gets too late… regular massages… cross-training, including … …
10! 9! 8! Hey what’s going on here? Where am I? As the countdown continues, my sweaty fingers tug at the seatbelt and I can feel my voice trembling. “Hey, let me out, someone… please, Oh my God, someone help me… HELP ME…! 7! 6! 5! For God’s sake, I didn’t mean it. I DIDN’T MEAN IT!! 4! 3! I can no longer hear myself shout above the noise of the screaming engines. It’s too late. 2! 1! Liftoff! We have liftoff! Shock and fear suck me into numbed silence, as through the tiny porthole I see the Earth and all I hold familiar and valuable receding into the distance. Is that a flying saucer hovering on the other side … …
We beat the Argies, and despite a weekend of national celebration, in which I played a full part, I managed a final, preliminary run today. This time it really bucketed down. The tracksuit top was almost superfluous – it took just a few minutes to reach saturation point. Today I explored another new little lane that we were told about last night during a get-together with our new neighbours. It was a good night. I’d still been slightly drunk from a crazy Friday evening, largely spent carousing in a post-match frenzy in a bar near Euston Square, but I might just have carried off the pretence that I was a reasonable neighbour. Hope so, as they all seem nice people … …