A rather sticky moment at work yesterday. My boss breezed in, stroking the gerbil that He keeps in the inside pocket of His plastic mac. As usual, He sat for an hour or two in silence, just gazing blankly out of the window. Eventually, He turned to me and said, in that absurdly high-pitched voice of His, some words that froze the blood in my veins. “I haven’t read your website recently, Old Fruit.”
Who grassed me up?
My entire life passed before my eyes (which I should mention, is more enjoyable than one is led to believe. I’d totally forgotten about that Rodney Marsh hat-trick against Blackpool in August 1969, for a start). My computer screen became a kind of whirlpool into which my entire spirit was sucked in an instant.
I heard myself croaking faintly: “That’s web-life. This is real life. S-S-S-S-Sir.” You could have heard a heard a pin drop… probably… if you’d removed a few carpet tiles… and if you were standing on some kind of miked-up drum… but anyway…
This website doesn’t exist in the real world. It exists here, when we’re in it, and it exists after the ingestion of three or four pints of Guinness. By then, reality has begun to slide away, just far enough into the kind of dream state where RunningCommentary can pretend to have some sort of meaningful relationship with the Exterior.
If He mentions this other-world existence again during office hours, well… I can see it all happen before me now. I stand up. I pull on my long overcoat. I grab the trilby stolen from Gieves and Hawkes specially for the occasion, and place it firmly on my head. I reach into my bottom drawer and pull out the silver revolver. The deed is done. Then, in a loud but calm voice: “I bid you good day, Gentlemen”. I take the lift to the top floor, where I clamber through the window and, with no hesitation, throw myself onto the pavement, hundreds of screaming feet below.
Another disappointing run this morning. I’ve been skimping on sleep all week, and today it finally caught up with me. I was still up at 6, and went out, but my heart wasn’t in it, and I fired the ejector seat after 2 miles, limping back disconsolately to record just 2.76 miles.
It doesn’t matter. Here’s to a good ‘un at the weekend. The plan is for another longish walk tomorrow, then a 7 or 8 miler on Sunday. This past fortnight has been about rehabilitation after being out of action for a few weeks. It’s been a good way to get back into it, but with the marathon in 16 weeks, and a variety of races in between, I need to start getting a bit more focussed now.
It’s great to see people adding their training notes to the forum. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I find it motivating to hear others going through the same crises and joys as me. If anyone else wants to join in, please do. If you want your own space to keep your notes, drop me a line at andy@runningcommentary.co.uk.
Here’s to a good running weekend for everyone.
