No running on Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday. Overdid the cheeky nebbiolo on the first evenings. Naughty I know, but be reasonable — I needed something to wash down the Himalayan plates of cheese, nuts and olives. High-fat Heaven. I chomped and glugged for England, and wondered whether to blame or thank my scarlet toe.
Then yesterday came, as it always must, and it was time to act. So I sentenced myself to 3 hours gardening, and grimly dug in. I could feel the rich red nectar from Alba re-emerging through the pores on my scalp. But at the end of it, it was hard to be unhappy, though I did try. It was good to have done the work, but even better to have done it without complaint from Toe II.
It meant that this morning I could get up early, strap myself into my running shoes and get out there.
With so little running recently, I was dreading it. I got up at 6:30 but didn’t leave the house for an hour and a half. In that time I mooched around, eating a banana very slowly and checking my share prices.
I seem to have got quite keen on financial planning again recently. I go through phases. My current big thing is the High Yield Portfolio strategy. Hmm. I now have to ask myself just how interested people will be to read about the HYP. Should I take the risk? On this occasion, I’ll take a rain-check. If I get an email urging me to reveal all, I’ll do so.
It’s hard to recall feeling so unenthusiastic about a run. But as (nearly) always, once I was out in the real world, slaloming my way round clumps of smirking schoolkids, it really wasn’t so bad. After half a mile, I knew I’d be OK. Both toes kept quiet, and I was moving along at an acceptable pace. That said, it’s not so much the speed in these situations, as much as the bounce factor. The more leaden and trudge-ational I feel, the worse it is, and the more likely I’ll have to stop for a breather. The opposite is a kind of buoyancy and self-confidence. I can’t say there was no vestige of trudge this morning, but in the circumstances, I felt pretty bouncy and strong. Another one of these, plus a proper long run at the weekend, and I’ll feel good going into Week One of mara-training next week.
I’ve been having anxious moments about the Dorney 10K in nine days time. I was confidently assuming that I could have a good crack at a 10K PB, but it seems unlikely now. Perhaps more serious, I’d found the perfect pub for a spot of lunch on what will be my 50th birthday: the Palmers Arms. Local, really good food, nice beer garden and a decent pint of bitter. What more does a 50 year old bloke need? We even test-drove it a couple of weeks ago. But I now find it’s closed for a private party that day. [Profound sigh.]
It may not matter, because I’m not entirely sure that anyone else will turn up. I’d best dash off a few emails.
