What a disastrous running week it’s been. Nothing since Saturday. Five useless days. Why? [Shrugs languidly. Gazes through the window at the snow. But is that expression wistfulness, or indifference?] I don’t know why. Sometimes it happens. Last time the weather was this atrocious, early in the month, I delighted in stripping off and plunging into the frozen world. This time it’s less appealing.… READ MORE.... …
Month: January 2003
Twelve miles along the canal today, and it was tough. Perhaps it was last night’s bottle of Southern French Viognier (£4.99 from the Co-Op, good stuff). Or was it those two fried egg sandwiches I had for breakfast? It was a pleasant enough day. Patchy sun, and fairly warm. There were a few swans about, and a heron on the weir.… READ MORE.... …
Despite a few pints after work last night, and the odd glass of rustic French merlot while knocking up our chow mein, I didn’t feel too bad today, and decided to chalk up another four miles before it got dark. It felt like a struggle, so I was shocked when I returned home to discover that I’d managed four miles in less than 41 minutes.… READ MORE.... …
Another strangely blank run this lunchtime. Yesterday’s disturbing trend is continuing. What else isn’t happening? What’s not going on around here? Six miles today. Six miles. I felt tired and heavy. I’ve lost weight this week, but this was a different kind of heaviness. It was a lack of enthusiasm; no interest. It was a spiritual ponderousness. Why? It struck me after a couple of these long, lethargic miles that I’d had no liquid for 15 hours, apart from a cup of coffee.… READ MORE.... …
A pedestrian, three mile plod before work. I waved expectantly to the postman. He didn’t wave back. Apart from that, nothing else didn’t happen.… READ MORE.... …
The rain falls down on last year’s man…. It poured all morning. At one o’clock I got up from my chair and went running for five miles in the most hostile conditions I’ve yet encountered on a run. It took, I suppose, a minute or two for the torrent to penetrate my jacket, and to seep through my hat. From that point on I felt completely liberated by the pain of it.… READ MORE.... …
What goes up must come down, they say. This is certainly true of the runner’s self esteem. It’s been a truly dreadful week. I’m writing it off and starting again. Tuesday’s rapid three miles was a good start, but it stuttered from then on. I missed my 5 miler on Wednesday, for no very good reason, and struggled to a sweaty, flabby, panting 3 miles early on Thursday.… READ MORE.... …
Yesterday I had some hot cross buns and cereal for breakfast. Lunch was a french stick with a lump of paté the size of a house brick. Supper began with a couple of beers while I fried up a panful of liver and onions and bacon, which we ate with thick gravy, mashed potatoes and sprouts. I polished off a bottle of Cape Pinotage, then a tub of ice cream and a wedge of stilton, with a bar of chocolate as a nightcap.… READ MORE.... …
It must be a sign of my age. My wife goes off to work, and what do I do? Slip out to the pub? Invite my mistress round? Fill a frying pan with lard and sizzling pig parts? Get my dusty Fender Stratocaster out of the loft? No, I dress up like a schoolboy and run around the countryside for ten miles.… READ MORE.... …
At last. Back to the plodding, pedestrian 3 miler round the village at seven this morning. No soaring, inspirational highs. No love-ins with Mother Nature. Just three long, grey miles with nothing but dull pains in my knees and a sore calf muscle to keep me amused. What a relief.… READ MORE.... …
And yet better. Today at lunchtime, I peered through the venetian blinds at the office and saw a blizzard, and a couple of inches of snow on the ground. What a prospect. Did it matter that I’d left my tracksuit top at home? And that I had no leggings? Yes, it mattered a lot. It made it even more memorable. I made for the front door of the building, leaving a trail of incredulous stares in my wake.… READ MORE.... …