9 miles before breakfast. The first morning run I’ve managed without early retirement through injury or profound misery. It was still tough going. Like all crack-of-dawn runs there was something raw and bleak and high-resolution monochrome about it. Creaking out of bed in the cold half-light, pulling on shivering synthetics and finding yourself on the streets. Deeply unnatural. How you long for the warmth of the womb.… READ MORE.... …