It seems like more than nine weeks ago that I was lining up in Hopkinton, pointing my innocent knees in the direction of a distant Boston. In a way, it is more than that, because to try measuring the gap using time alone is misleading and simplistic. I shouldn’t be surprised. I warned myself against it enough times — the danger of allowing the momentum to drain away too quickly.… READ MORE.... …
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Note: This entry was created over several weeks. The great bulk was written while in the USA, but I wasn’t happy with it, so I left it to congeal on my local drive. On May 17, I padded it out, and have retained the perspective of this date for the post, even though I have tried to soften its sharper edges since then.… READ MORE.... …
Mid-Atlantic, heading west, I should be throbbing with excitement and dread about Monday’s marathon, and with relief and joy at the thought of three weeks off work, and all the pleasures in store. Below the surface somewhere, I probably am. But just for the moment, I continue to be shocked and saddened and confused by yesterday’s news, conveyed by Ash (Sweder), that Chris Moyle died on Wednesday night.… READ MORE.... …
I need to keep this brief. I have a 3 week trip to the US to plan, and am running out of time to bag the perfect Vegas deal and research car hire and book the Boston pre-race pasta meal and find out how long it takes to drive from San Diego to Tijuana and whether the Alcatraz trip goes on a Sunday, and deal with a thousand other miscellaneous impulses, 900 of which will stay on the cutting room floor.… READ MORE.... …
Late on a Wednesday, like most nights, I’d normally be knee-deep in the BBC. Well OK, the corporation’s output would be reaching a higher intellectual water-mark than that, but let’s not get too literal. Tonight however, I must stay away from Five Live, partly because I can’t bear the egregiously phlegmy tones of that Lovejoy bloke at the best of times; but tonight he will be insufferable.… READ MORE.... …
20 miles today. An awkward tick in a big box. I managed to make most of the errors that I like to warn novice marathoners against: going out too fast, doing too much the day before, not getting enough sleep. Maybe it was good to be reminded of these mistakes again now — just in time to ensure I avoid them on marathon day in 14 days.… READ MORE.... …
All races are events, but some are Events. The Reading Half belongs in the capitalised category, where accountants and marketing teams often seem to nudge out running people. And yet I manage to approve of Reading, partly because they seem to have the balance between sport and business just about right, but mainly because it’s my local big race, so a spot of greasy chauvinism is always going to blur the lens of objectivity.… READ MORE.... …
Can my luck hold out for another 25 days? In my universe, it’s a bigger question than Is there a god? (no); or Which came first, the chicken or the egg? (the chicken); or Will the Rowdies win the quintuple? (no). At 6:30 on Tuesday morning I was in the gym for 90 minutes of sweat production. This wasn’t enough to satisfy my new-found craving, so I returned in the evening to top up with another 60.… READ MORE.... …
Up at 06:45 for a 7.2 miler along the canal and back through the lanes. After weeks of running through the farm, and grumbling to myself about the hazard of the wild canine, I realised last night, on looking at an Ordnance Survey map, that it isn’t actually a right of way. So the scowls I occasionally see on the faces of man and beast alike as I trot through, are more justified than I imagined.… READ MORE.... …
I’m not quite sure how, but perhaps — just perhaps — Boston really has been dragged from the jaws of failure. I set off yesterday morning, knowing that the following few hours would reveal all. Strangely, it all felt beyond my control. I knew I had to try hard, and stay focused. But I could do that and still fail if my calf or general fitness let me down.… READ MORE.... …