The short month ends, and without wanting to tempt fate, or to sound smug, marathon training this time around seems to be going better than I expected, and certainly better than it went for Copenhagen last year or Chicago in 2002. I just feel more “up for it” than I did the lst couple of times. It makes a big difference.… READ MORE.... …
Month: February 2005
“All my trials Lord, soon be over…” Perhaps not quite all of them, but at least my I.T. woes may be on their way out, with the arrival tomorrow of a new PC. Computer troubles are as dull as traffic anecdotes, so I’ll not go into detail. But let’s just say that I should soon be able to catch up on all sorts of mini-web projects before long – like getting the Almeria pics up and even [GASP] uploading the new site design.… READ MORE.... …
Runner’s World magazine should be renamed Déjà Vu Monthly. Or have you heard that one before? It’s just that every time I read it, or rather, flick disconsolately through it, I’m strangely certain that I’ve seen it all before. That said, I am a subscriber, though the reasons for being so have long since abandoned me. This month, no magazine turned up at all.… READ MORE.... …
Despite the procession of troubled spirits passing along the corridor beyond my door, I woke at 6 a.m. feeling refreshed and rested. I lay there for a while, listening to the radio and TV reports about today being the final day of legal fox hunting. This rather blank part of England is keen on the practice, and the local TV station paraded a long line of indignant local worthies, shaking their fist at the cruel gods.… READ MORE.... …
I don’t know exactly where I am. Somewhere near Rugby, in a haunted hotel – a gothic, Victorian manor house with shadowy corners and vaulted corridors. And restless ghouls. It was pitch black and freezing when I got out for a run at about 7:30 this evening. Padding down the drive, I kept a watch out for the ghostly coach and six horses that may be seen racing across the lawn on dark nights, being urged forward by the apparition of “One-Armed Boughton” who lived in the early 1700s.… READ MORE.... …
Some of the worst weather conditions of the winter said a cheery “Hi” when I woke this morning. I lay there for a while, listening to the rain sploshing in the gutter under the roof, and trickling down the walls. The windows trembled in their frames. At seven I got up to scoff a banana or two and a pint of orange squash.… READ MORE.... …
Plodderata, God of Plod, I beseech you. I beat my chest, I offer up my last Lucozade Sport energy gel, I pull clumps of sweaty hair from my head. Why? Why, why, why? This morning I got up early, breakfasted, pulled my warm and dry kit from the washing machine, got dressed and set off on my 16 mile long run.… READ MORE.... …
A couple of days off running, thanks to a painful and swollen toe, but I did get out for 3½ damp, twilit miles this evening. Not a great run. One of those bloated, uncoordinated efforts that feel strangely aimless. The current plan is a long run tomorrow morning, before leaving for Mecca. Just at the moment, the prospect of 16 miles doesn’t excite me.… READ MORE.... …
I seem to be in a perennial state of catch-up these days. Since the last written-up run (the Almeria Half), I’ve run 6 times. Some excellent adventures to report too. Talking of catch-up, I’m reminded of the first of two strange things that happened during my 15 mile slog up and down the canal on Saturday. Just as I arrived at the bridge that takes me down to the towpath, I noticed another runner, a plump, balding middle-aged guy just 20 or 30 yards away, heading towards the same bridge from the opposite direction.… READ MORE.... …
Three people stand on an isolated patch of Mediterranean beach, staring at the hundreds of flamingos preening themselves at the water’s edge. Behind them lie miles of mottled, lunar landscape. Over there in the far, far distance a sharp eye could just make out a line of cranes, marking the start of one of Europe’s largest and most anarchic construction sites.… READ MORE.... …