Dress disposably…
This invaluable piece of advice appeared while I was searching for information on the Boston Marathon. I call it “searching” but you don’t have to look too hard. Boston is massive. We don’t normally associate running races with tradition, but Boston has it oozing from every orifice.
Much more of this over the next few months, I’m afraid.
I mentioned a few weeks ago (see April 9), a strange experience I had, waking in the middle of the night to hear a voice coming through the radio, telling me what my running plans were to be for the coming year. Someone mailed me yesterday, asking me what that was all about.
First, this is what I heard: Listen
I’ve mentioned Pheddipidations a few times. It’s a weekly podcast from a Boston runner, Steve Walker. I like it, and can see why it’s attracted quite a following. A few weeks ago I downloaded a couple of episodes onto an SD memory card. I stuck the card in my digital radio and started listening to it as I drifted off to sleep. I don’t know what it was — M pottering around somewhere, or perhaps hearing the words “running commentary”, but I woke up at this very moment, and lay there, profoundly disorientated about who was saying this stuff to me. Quite weird.
Tonight a fairly relaxing 4.62 miles with the club. It nearly didn’t happen. I arrived at our meeting place and parked up. It’s almost superfluous to mention that at that very moment, there was a dramatic cloudburst. It’s equally unnecessary to add that I hadn’t brought a rain jacket with me. I opened the car door and poked my head out. Uugh, this was nasty, cold, weighty rain. I slammed the door shut, deciding to return home, find a jacket and run locally. Tragically, before I could escape, the running group emerged from the sports centre, and I was spotted. “Hurry up, or you’ll get left behind!”
Damn. There was no possibility of wimping out now. Everyone but me and one other, wore jackets and leggings. For those first ten minutes, there was no option but to keep my head down and plough onwards, and listen to someone saying “I’m so glad I wore my jacket this evening…”
But then the tap was turned off again, and within minutes my comrades were tying their jackets round their waists, and tutting about the inconvenience. Hah! Serves them right for not dressing disposably.
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I like these club jaunts. It’s good to run in a group. The distances are just a bit further than my usual. The surfaces are different — a mixture of pavement, trail, gravel and grass. Perhaps best of all is the topology. Hills always figure in these runs. Probably not comparable to the heady downs of East Sussex or the mountains of Ponferrada or the Yorkshire tops or the steep streets of Edinburgh, or the other RC community habitats. But for someone whose local landscape is pancakal, the gentle slopes of Tilehurst represent a vigorous workout. Not much fun while it’s happening, but it seems worthwhile afterwards.
The good news is that I’m starting to feel positively fit and strong. I’ve not felt this good for well over a year.
It was my third running day in a row, so tomorrow I rest.
Last night, a pleasant 3½ miler to get me out of the house, after a day working from home. I listened to a podrunner podcast. A neat idea. Some dude called DJ Steveboy (I’d wager he didn’t acquire that name at the font) puts together a weekly extravaganza of electronic music that keeps the same rhythm going for an hour. Aimed at runners and spinners.
But it got kinda boring after a while, and my spirit began to shrivel. So I switched back to my unaccompanied Cornish language folk music, and the less precise cadence of my own footsteps.
Things are pretty good at the moment.
