RunningCommentary

Donald Trump’s comedy barnet, part sculpture, part hibernating mammal, is rightly considered suitable for late-night viewing only, so the TV series constructed in its honour, The Apprentice, means little sleep for the tiny community of people entertained both by weighty business issues and the irresistible bitchiness of (superbly-misnamed) "reality TV". Another well-past-midnight climb up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire meant I’d got home from work feeling too tired to go out for a run this evening.… READ MORE.... …

Another leaden 3½ mile run-walk this evening, but I may have glimpsed the first rays of hope on the dark horizon. During the last mile or two, just as I was resigning myself to the usual extended, and enforced, warm-down walk, I found one or two of those… bouncy moments when I could almost kid myself I was running freely, and with self-confidence.… READ MORE.... …

If the Chinese can do it, so can I. September 5th – the Running Commentary New Year. The point where we throw off the excesses of summer and tuck into healthier fare. I’ve said something similar a hundred times. Most recent entries here record the explosion of good intentions. We know what happens next. Yes indeed, many good intentions have exploded in this space.… READ MORE.... …

The long march might just have started — yet again. No running to report, but at least this week I’ve tasted the unfamiliar raw, crunchy texture of a health drive for the first time in several months. I wrote the above 10 days ago, but a football match or two and some compulsory socialising undid the good work in no time.… READ MORE.... …

I did something pretty wicked while waiting for our Chinese takeaway yesterday evening. I read the the Daily Telegraph. A paradoxical organ. Like many things, I want to hate it; to dismiss it as part of the Other Side. But the older you get, the more blurred the lines become. A permanent miasma of indignation hovers over the barricades, and you sometimes forget which side you said you were currently on, and which direction that gun is supposed to be pointing.… READ MORE.... …

For 298,444,215 Americans and one fat old English bloke, today is Independence Day. Hang on while I dust down the old speech I like to deliver on such an occasion. [HEAVY BREATHING] But even speaking is too strenuous an activity right now so I’ll rely on that old stuck record instead. Ah, here it is. You may hear it crackling in the background now.… READ MORE.... …

It says something about the longevity of this site that we are now into our second World Cup. (2002 tournament started around here.) As tradition demands, England’s first match has been greeted with disdain, despite the victory (1-0 v Paraguay). It happens every time. And why shouldn’t it? It’s a marathon remember? Start slowly. And we always do. In 2002, we drew with Sweden in our first game.… READ MORE.... …

A marathon may be a metaphor for life, as we like to suggest, but let’s give it another dimension. Instead of any old mara, let’s make it the notoriously undulant Beachy Head. It becomes ever clearer to me that the analogy is about more than the distance and the fatigue. Factor in the topography — the ascents and descents; the stumbling climb to the peak, the uncontrollable slide into the crevasse — and the image takes on a more realistic, 3D aspect.… READ MORE.... …

It could be a long, anxious summer. No, I’m not referring to the World Cup, though no doubt the tournament will throw the usual heart-stopping moments at us. We’ll be led up the garden path of hope once more, but will end up collapsing in the fetid compost heap of failure, just short of those roses. It’s the English way. No, it was something that happened the other day.… READ MORE.... …