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The smelliness of the long-distance runner

Tonight I left on time, having battered my way through everything I wanted to achieve, met my wife and some friends who’d flown a few thousand miles to be here for the weekend, washed a shouty baby, then got changed into my running gear and headed to the track.

Something awful has happened to the shoes I ran the Sundown in. They have an acrid, vinegary stench to them, so powerful that to begin with, I couldn’t believe it was them. Had the race been so stressful that it had upset the hormonal balance of my feet and made them stink? Was this what perspired 100 Plus becomes? I hung them out the window for a while, but that made no odds, the odour persisted, so I wore them to the track, hoping that extra sweat might rinse out the bad stuff.

It was a fairly hard session, as it always is: 5×1200 on 7 minutes. I started off at my 5k pace and managed that for the first three, then fell to bits on the last two. Even taking off my shirt for the last 1200 didn’t help; the heat, the humidity and the exhaustion were too much.

4:53.2
4:58.1
5:07.2
5:13.6
5:16.5

Still, it felt good to be back out on the track, better than staying home on the sofa and eating ice cream. I have a full day meeting tomorrow, plus some urgent work to thrash out before I even leave the house, so I’m glad I’ve started the week with some exercise. I just hope these feet of mine behave themselves.

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