Crikey. A further sign of getting old — watching Steve Davis play Stephen Hendry in the UK Snooker Championships. Looking at Hendry’s cratered visage, I don’t think I could ever call him “fresh-faced”, but when I last saw them head-to-head, they could at least reach back to their teens without using a rest. No more. Now I see two rugged, middle-aged guys strutting their stuff. Steve “Interesting” Davis turns out to be shockingly… interesting. No surprise to learn that he also plays pool professionally, but it seems he’s also a top poker player. And very keen on chess too, having been President of the British Chess Federation, no less. Spoke with Antonio this evening, and was disappointed to learn that … …
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Two runs in three days that have yanked me out of my comfort zone. On Sunday afternoon I started with 3.6 miles. The greasy granite sky I found myself moving towards was the output of the Hemel Hempstead fire, but it might just as well have been a grim augury. I reached the gym, spent 40 disconsolate minutes bobbing up and down like a drowning man on various pieces of machinery, then set off to jog back home. It was a mistake. By now it was dark and very cold – well below freezing. I was tired, and found it hard to crank up the energy needed to carry on. A couple of miles on, and bizarrely, I seemed … …
It was the gloaming, when a man cannot make out if the nebulous figure he glimpses in the shadows is angel or demon, when the face of evening is stained by red clouds and wounded by lights. –Homero Aridjis, 1492: The Life and Times of Juan Cabezon of Castile Fantastic plod through a Berkshire twilight. The sunset was sensational, in the way that winter sunsets can be. Down here, all is subdued and frozen and hollow. But up there? A man could almost believe in heaven. The running is holding up surprisingly well in the face of the usual onslaught — inactivity and too much beer and chocolate. I’m not exactly feeling strong and wiry and confident, but nor am … …
I’ve had my number through for the notoriously tough Cliveden 6 mile cross-country on December 28th, and was feeling pretty good about this as I know that the race is now full. But then I read a message from the race director on the Runners World messageboard, in which he consoles those who missed the boat. “Remember”, he said, “That people who don’t get a place are the lucky ones”. I see. Running drips with ambivalence — don’t we just love to hate it? And races are a distilled nugget of running. We really love to really hate races. Which is why the race director’s remark first made me grimace, then made me smile. Apparently I’m glad to be reminded … …
Zurich Marathon, April 9, 2006. I’ve entered the race and bought air tickets — just like I did for the never-attempted Loch Ness Marathon. This time, things will be different. This time, things will be different. I need them to be different from Hamburg too, even though that was one race that I did actually turn up for. Zurich has a strict 5 hour cut-off. Anyone failing to reach the finish line in that time is dragged from the course, pelted with over-ripe Gruyere, and flung into the icy Zürichsee. Even worse, you don’t get a medal or a teeshirt, despite 4 months of deprivation and self-flagellation. This could be just the incentive I need. A few weeks ago, … …
How typical. After getting round the Brighton 10K as comfortably as I could have hoped, I then spend 9 days focussing on nothing but work and pie consumption. Tomorrow the news will be better.… …
I’ve taken part in 34 races now, managing to write reports on all of them apart from the Brighton 10K in 2003. For some reason I never identified, that one slipped past. My second Brighton 10K happened yesterday, and I think I might have to keep quiet about that one too. I just can’t think of too much to say about the race. It starts on Madeira Drive and bounces along the front for 6.21 miles without much happening apart from a couple of turns. Unenjoyable? No, far from it. To run by the sea is always a pleasure for someone living in landlocked Berkshire. It went OK. The target was modest – to finish the 6 miles without stopping. … …
Im shocked. I’ve been sexually assaulted. Plodding along the village high street this evening in sub-zero conditions, I glanced up at the moonlit church, ready for 40 minutes of contemplative exercise. As I did so, I came across a group of 4 or 5 teenage girls, aged about 13 or 14 years old, walking towards me. As I went past them, one of them suddenly said “Ere, fancy a shag then?”, and lunged at me. Before I knew what was happening, she grabbed my testicles, then shrieked. I shrieked too. It was a profoundly startling experience, and instinct made me sprint off into the distance at a fair old rate. Let’s hope my good fortune holds out for the Brighton … …
Another ungainly, breathy gallop round the lanes this afternoon beneath a canopy of strong winter sunshine. A fantastic day for running. Just over four miles. It was just tough enough to know for sure that I will struggle on Sunday in Brighton. But if I can plod 4 miles and survive, I can plod 6 and survive. Forgive me father for I have sinned. It is 5 months since my last confession. The Dorney Dash in July seems like a very long time ago. … …
Worked from home today, and able to feast on a rare treat — a midweek run in the daylight. Got out at lunchtime for the standard 3.5 miles round the block. It’s getting easier. Then I tempted fate by doing some more race planning. Definites (insofar as I’ve entered them) are the Brighton 10K this Sunday and the Cliveden post-Christmas 6 miler. Then the robust possibility of the Woodcote/Goring 10k in early January. It’s local, and we should support our local races. Almeria at the end of January is looking more likely now. A few of us flew to Southern Spain in January this year to meet up with RC forumite Antonio, and run his home town half marathon. The … …