Month: April 2004

Quote of the day: “When it’s brown it’s cooked, when it’s black it’s fooked”. This gem appeared on a TV programme about a failing Yorkshire restaurant this evening, and I feel duty-bound to pass the wisdom on to all chefs in need of a guiding rule. Back to business. Yesterday’s entry wasn’t intended to be so gloomy, but I’ve had enough encouraging messages today to tell me that it must have come across like that.… READ MORE.... …

I had too much to dream last night. Here I am, marooned in a motel on a gargantuan business park in remotest Dartford. It feels like the First Preliminary Qualifying Round of the War of the Worlds has just finished. Plucky underdog Earth has been trounced by the much-fancied planet XXor6on-D92. As a particularly fine specimen of earthling, I’ve been warehoused in some inter-galactic, prisoner-of-war holding camp, waiting to be shipped off for re-programming and redeployment to the crimson salt mines of BigDave, a remote moon of XXor6on-D92.… READ MORE.... …

Things are getting worse. I set out on my 20 mile run yesterday morning, but decided to stop after less than a mile after an ache appeared in my right calf. It wasn’t a pull, just the start of a pain that I guessed would get worse. Instead of my long run, I pottered in the garden before going to the pub to get drunk and watch Arsenal beat Tottenham to take the Premiership.… READ MORE.... …

Less than four weeks to go to Copenhagen, and at last – the start of some good old dry-mouthed terror to report. Saturday’s droopy 18 miler seemed like a gloomy portent, and marshalling at the London marathon on Sunday was another – at times. If I shut one eye it was a joyful experience. If I opened it and shut the other… well, it was like peering from the shadows at my own funeral.… READ MORE.... …

So you thought that running a marathon was tough, huh? Well try applauding for 5 hours. I now know the origin of the expression "clapped out". Marshalling at the London Marathon turns out to be formidable cross-training. Our group assembled, and split again, in Trafalgar Square after a brief, matey breakfast. Those with a haunted look vanished into Charing Cross station to join the queue for the train to Blackheath.… READ MORE.... …

Another long, painful run today. 18 miles. My preparation was better than it had been for my 16 miles on Monday, and I suspect this explains why I got to about 10 miles this time before exhaustion dragged me to a stop. From that point on, I was alternating a mile or so of plodding with a couple of minutes of walking.… READ MORE.... …

Quote of the day, from an article in The Guardian newspaper about Sunday’s London marathon: One of the plodders on Sunday will be Michael Ward, a 46-year-old antique dealer from Bromley, Kent. Ward is unusual in that he has done absolutely no training for the event. "I haven’t even tried on a pair of shorts yet," he says. "I just haven’t had any time to train.… READ MORE.... …

It’s been a deflating week so far. Bank holiday Monday: I went out for a languid 16 miler but just ground to a painful halt after about 7 miles, overwhelmed by fatigue and a sense of foreboding about the way my training is fizzling out. Got home to find that some kids had set fire to the trees at the bottom of my garden.… READ MORE.... …

I did sixteen miles Or should I say They did for me.… READ MORE.... …

A quiet, non-running day. I’ve pushed my long run back to tomorrow to allow a bit more recovery time after Friday’s race. Not that I feel I need any more. Nothing aches except my stomach straining against my belt as it tries to cope with today’s onslaught of easter eggs. I feel grimly unhealthy, but nothing that a 16 mile run tomorrow won’t cure.… READ MORE.... …