Very early start


My alarm went off at six, and I tried to ignore it. It was damp outside, and my chest was still sore from the last few weeks of coughing. The mere idea of running ten kilometres just to stand around reading barcodes at the parkrun held no appeal. I rolled over and attempted to go back to sleep, then realised I couldn’t, that this would just be another minor failure that would add up to more over time. So I got out of bed, got dressed, quaffed a punnet of blueberries, put an apple in my pocket and started running.

It was only wet on the street, and not actually raining, which was a blessing of sorts. The skies were grey and there was a drizzle from time to time. There was nobody else out there; it was like running in the post-zombie apocalype, except usually there’s bright sunlight, mounds of body bags and flesh eating monsters out there. So a more relaxing run than that, I guess.

I had to stop after half an hour because my heart rate strap was slipping, which means either it’s stretched, or my ribcage has shrunk over the last three months. Then I plodded on, trying to run as slowly as I could but still arrive on time. It turned out that my expected distance came up a bit short: intending to run 10k, it was only 9.5 at the start of the race, and, anal retentive that I am, I had to run another little loop to make up the distance.

The rain started properly just as I arrived. Was this pathetic fallacy? The judgment of the gods for me not running hard enough? I just stood there and read people’s barcodes as they finished the run, and then shuffled off to Starbucks for an unsatisfying chocolate chip cookie, and then caught a taxi back to the city.

The rest of the day I was pretty tired, but this evening we had our cheese and booze night. It’s the first time in a month since we’ve done this (but then again the last time we tried I got a migraine, stomach flu and shingles, so maybe I had good reasons for being cautious). But who can say no to cheese after the run I’d had?


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