Too busy or too drunk to write anything this week.
I’m not often moved to go into work on a Sunday, and it’s not often that I’m sitting at my office desk at a quarter to midnight, but I’ve had both experiences this week.
“Too drunk” is an exaggeration, but there’s something pleasing about the phrase. As it happens, I did absorb my full weekly allowance of ale last Saturday, but it was for medicinal purposes only. I had a psychological ailment that needed emergency beer therapy. I’d just seen my team outplay Reading, but still go down to a 2-1 defeat. To make matters incalculably worse, our tormentors are the local side. The village pubs are infested with their supporters, many of whom will feel the need to remind me of the result over the coming long, cheerless weeks and months. A couple of hours of deep beer treatment in Shepherds Bush was the only way of preparing for the ordeal ahead of me.
The day had got off to a grand start too, with a reasonably buoyant 5 miles which first took me down a quiet, previously unexplored, lane alongside the lake, then back along the canal. I was positively vibrating with goodwill after that one, if only for 4 hours or so.
There followed 4 barren days. Work, work, work, work, with no run to be found. Then this morning I was up and out by about 7, plodding round my usual circuit.
I needed it. This run was the pin that popped the balloon of 4 stressful days. Even with so little running recently, I felt pretty strong in my legs. I just didn’t have quite enough puff to sustain the effort, and had to walk for a minute or so after a couple of miles.
Received my Brighton 10K number yesterday. The race is 10 days away. No chance of a PB, but it will be good to feel that desperate misery once again.
