Running slow teaches you how to run slow.
I read this in the Glover book recently. He may not be great with adverbs, but some of his sentences are like cattle-prods. The sentiment was in my head as I set off on my standard ’round the block’ run yesterday morning. So I tried to run quickly. And by my modest standards, I did. It wouldn’t sound speedy to most runners, but apart from races, this was the fastest pace I’ve run for more than 16 months.
More good news on the weight front too, which is probably related to the quicker pace. Six weeks into the new regime, and I’m averaging a loss of just over 1½ pounds a week. Not a dramatic plunge, and that’s how I want it. Just steady decrements, amounting to ten pounds. The only changes I’ve made have been to cut out alcohol and chocolate.
Yet more joy to come in the afternoon, as my team defeats the league leaders in a hard-fought match at Loftus Road.
Not a bad day’s work.
This morning I woke up and decided I couldn’t be bothered running. Then I got up, pulled back the curtains, saw the brilliant sunshine – and knew I had to get out there. As I left the house I saw a fox dart across the garden. First one I’ve seen this close to the house.
It was cold. The first properly cold day of the season. The usual 3½ miles. I’d normally head off down the canal for a slightly longer run but I wasn’t sure if the path would have reopened after last week’s train disaster. So I kept away.
I’d already resolved not to try for another fast one. The after-effects of yesterday’s extra speed were lingering in my legs. More important, I was out running just 5 minutes after getting out of bed, and with cold muscles, straining too hard is a gilt-edged invitation to injury. So I just jogged round the lanes and through the deer park in the sunshine, grinning at everyone I met.
As I turned the final corner and headed for home I found myself running past the church and the annual Remembrance Sunday parade. Ironically, I’d forgotten. Rather self-consciously, I did something a bit old-fashioned. I took my cap off as I went past the line of old soldiers and their families, receiving a few grateful nods in response.
I’d been startled by it all. One minute I was bowling along, carefree, enjoying the sense of liberation you get from one of those beautiful, sunlit wintry mornings. The next, I was tugged back into sombre line. I felt almost guilty for a moment. But then the Charles Sorley verse came back to me, and felt somehow exonerated. We run because we like it,
Through the broad bright land.
He wouldn’t have minded.
