I guess it’s time for normal life to resume.
Wednesday night at Loftus Road was one of the most exciting experiences I can remember in a football stadium. And believe me, there have been a few. Constant, huge noise. Unbearable tension. All three home sides of the ground were in foment for ninety minutes. The goal, on 84 minutes, was the signal for bizarre scenes of uncontrollable joy. When the final whistle went we felt as though we’d won the European Champions League rather than just won through to the play-off final at the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff on Sunday week.
Much of yesterday was written off trying to get tickets for the Cardiff game, but eventually I succeeded. I think. I won’t fully believe it till they pop through the letterbox.
One nice aspect of Wednesday evening came while having a pint before the game. There was a tap on my shoulder, and standing there was some bloke grinning at me and holding out his hand. I’d no idea who he was until he introduced himself as Nik, a guy I’ve corresponded on and off for quite a while about running. Nik had read the stuff I wrote about the London Marathon 2002, and had started running as a result. We’d never met until Wednesday night. If you’re reading this, Nik, thanks for saying hello, and keep the running going.
In around 12 hours time, I’m scheduled to be running the Woodley 10K. At the moment I don’t feel well prepared. I got drunk last night and didn’t get to bed till 5am. This evening I’ve eaten a huge home-made curry to try and salve the hangover.
The intention is only to complete the race at normal training pace. This means that I’m not going for a PB. On the off-chance that the course is not too unkind, and I just happen to feel in the mood, I may give it a go, but I’m not entering it with a fast time (by my standards) in mind. A “fast” 10K for me would be anything under an hour.
