Ah yes, running.
Isn’t that the one where you take most of your clothes off and put one
foot in front of the other for a while? At a slightly faster rate than
if you were wandering down to the pub? Mmmm, it’s all coming back to me
now….
It’s been a while. Long enough.
I have this experience once or twice every year. It always happens
after a marathon, and usually at some other point. Post-race inertia.
More than that: eating and drinking too much, which just further
concentrates and makes more delicious this lazy brew.
I’m not beating myself up about it. It’s part of the ritual. We’re
allowed to take things easy for a while after a big race. Indeed, it’s
our duty to eat bacon and egg sandwiches in mid-morning, an hour or two
after toast and cereal, and an hour or two before a pie and crisps
lunch. Midweek trips to the pub; the rediscovery of pizza and takeaway
curries. There is much to be said for the Jade Goody diet. On the other
hand, the odd thing is that I’m not sure I actually enjoy behaving like
this. Sometimes I do it simply because… because I can. It’s a way of
waving two fingers at the vanishing ghost of my pre-marathon self.
But all bad things must come to an end. I’m the new captain of this
liner, and have just walked onto the bridge to look at ways of turning
around this monster. Today seems a bit hasty to spin the wheel. Monday
would be a better day to nominate as the first day of the rest of my
life. This weekend is the end of the football season for my team.
Meeting up with a couple of mates to go to the match in Reading on
Sunday, followed by a trip to the
town’s annual beer festival. And then, on Monday, a bank
holiday. I’m likely to wake with a double hangover, one from this most
miserable of football seasons for QPR fans, and the other from the
Beerex.
But at some point during the day I’ll pull on my shorts and go for a
toddle round the block, heading perhaps for the Marlow 5 the following
Sunday, or the Woodley 10K the one after that.
The easy life is over-rated.
