The least startling newsflash of the year so far came late morning, with the announcement of a general election on May 5th.
The thought of four weeks in which no baby is safe from the rasping upper lip of some grinning, matey candidate fills most people with dismay – but I’m delighted. An election is like the World Cup or the Olympics to me. A quadrennial treat, rich in drama. The jousting may be verbal rather than athletic, but the competitive element is there for us all to marvel at.
This evening I teamed up with the local running club again to do a perky 4.8 miles. How different it is to have daylight on these runs. I’ve spent half a winter dodging wheelie bins that lunge at me in the darkness on these jaunts. I half suspected that Tilehurst must be a land of perpetual night.
But no. This evening I saw a green, parkland hill. More than that, I ran across it. In the light. Then we headed down and down, arriving eventually at the River Thames, along which we ran for a mile or so, perhaps more.
I enter my three week marathon taper in reasonable working order. No strains or pulls or mysterious infections yet. My main concern is a marked loss of energy. I seem to have been suffering from a slow puncture over the last few weeks. I remember some of these outings with the Tilehurst gang a couple of months ago when I felt strong and really up for a brisk run. Now I’m panting and struggling to keep up.
But I don’t even have the energy to worry about it.
The excitement about the race hasn’t yet started. This doesn’t worry me. It will happen, and anyway, it would be more draining to be feeling hyper at this stage. The Runner’s World forum has become hysterical about the impending London Marathon. People are squealing and fainting all over the shop. Too emotional too soon. Their doctors should be prescribing the political pages of The Times for the next couple of weeks. That would keep the blood pressure down.
