I didn’t run again in Germany. I didn’t really run today either, despite my GPS watch reporting a 12 miler. It’s getting slightly worrying.
For the second weekend in a row I’ve set out on my long run in very strong heat. On both occasions I’ve managed 4 steady miles before having to stop for a breather. From then on, it’s been stop-start all the way. Yesterday’s ‘run’ turned into a walk after about 7 miles, dotted with brief bursts of lethargic jogging.
I’m blaming the heat, but I’m sure my preparation could be better. I’ve always had a thing about not carrying fluid with me. On this particular route I can drink from the water tap on the canal tow-path after 4.5 miles, but from then on there’s nothing. It’s not the reason I ground to a halt, but it made the situation worse. Since returning from the run I’ve been gluggling orange squash voraciously, without feeling bloated and wanting to pee – a sure sign of severe dehydration. Perhaps I should start using that ‘Camelbak’-type hydration system I bought a while back.
News: Ted Heath expired today, and the internet is already brimming with nostalgia about the 3-day week of the early 70s. I remember it well. In particular, I recall a whole bunch of school friends descending on my house one wintry night to watch Monty Python’s Flying Circus (first time round of course) because our street had electricity that evening, while they didn’t.
Oh happy days!
