And they’re off…
A 4.62 mile outing with the local running club this evening gets the invisible schedule underway. A strangely gentle affair. A couple of runners were coming back from injury, so we ran slowly to ensure their smooth transition from one sort of pain to another.
The pace gave me a rare chance to enjoy the run, instead of being yanked from my comfort zone and cudgelled to the ground. The medicinal benefit is normally a good enough reason to turn up, with the sociable bits sprinkled on top like small flakes of chocolate. But I don’t enjoy these runs till I’ve finished them, and am back in my car, separated from the world by steamed-up windows. Tonight was different. It was like a warm-up run: some mild jogging interspersed with the odd minute of walking, before we finally stepped up the pace for the final mile.
And of course it is a warm-up run. I’m aiming to do at least 500 miles between now and the finish line in Dublin’s Merrion Square, and tonight I crossed off around 0.9% of that target. My real destination is Boyleston Street and Boston, next April, but first things first. I can’t allow myself to get too carried away by the thought of Boston. If I focus my attention on the far hurdle, I know what’s likely to happen when the closer ones arrive.
Good news this evening that Sweder will be able to make it to Dorney for my celebratory 10K on Saturday. I don’t yet know if this occasion will be a restrained luncheon and early departure, or if it will be just the rim of a deep black hole: the start of a collapse into a profoundly lost weekend.
I’d happily settle for either.
The good news is that my weekend long run (albeit a mere six miles for this first one), will be safely tucked up in bed by the time the festivities start.
