Ah yes. A very silly thing.
I did London Duathlon. Actually, I did London half duathlon, it was 5km run, 22km cycle and then 5km run. That second 5km was the killer. Your legs are still expecting to be going round and round rather than up and down so one tends to stagger around like a drunken fool for the first 10 minutes of the second run. Still, I finished. I didn’t quite make 2 hours but I will do next time.
The Daily Post (I had forgotten about it) suggests a one word prompt of Marathon. Being keen to improve myself and stick to what the doctor says I’ve decided to do things by half again and take on a half marathon. I’m running on behalf of Motor Neurone Disease Association and so collecting sponsorship. If you do feel the urge to pass on some of your hard-earned savings to a most worthy cause I’ll put a link at the end of this email, but don’t feel obliged.
We have some issues at home with regards to all of this keeping fit. They mostly revolve around mud. The boy is now a fully fledged football coach. His mission is to put right the things that every other coach in the world gets wrong and to get his team of under 12’s to the top of the league (4th at the moment with two games in hand). When I was a lad, football coaching was basically “kick the bloody ball and run over there” but it appears to have evolved since then. There’s all sorts of kit to be carried around. Balls, cones, markers, goalposts (honestly) and when it has been wet for a few days these items tend to get, well, wet and muddy. If you’ve ever been in a soggy field with a bunch of pre-teenagers then you’ll probably be able to understand.
The big match this weekend (it was against a team who on average are four inches taller than “our” team) was cancelled due to a waterlogged pitch but this didn’t stop training. I suspect that training must have borne some similarity to Sunday at Glastonbury. Needless to say that there are a few Surrey parents still trying to find their child who now resembles a pool of mud in the back of the 4×4.
In itself, this shouldn’t be a problem. However, I (and I’m obviously the most important person) had been out for a training run in the park (Richmond Park, added incentive of being chased by angry deer) and so was also wet and muddy. Wet, muddy and tired in fact. I flung open the door of Verbal Towers expecting to be greeted by a warm glow and pristine flooring to be met with 20 football cones, 12 footballs and 22 training bibs. Each dun coloured item either dripping or steaming, depending on its exact location in the hall.
I was (as is my custom) overjoyed. The route to the stairs was blocked by 50 or so training markers, originally blue and red but now brown and browner. My solution to strip off in the hallway and scamper nimbly through the cones and up the stairs seemed like a great one until I reached the first floor and noticed the family opposite looking out of their bedroom window and into our landing with some bemusement. You really would think that the neighbours would be used to us by now.
Now off you go, read some more Marathon posts and then click on the link below and donate everything that you’ve saved from whatever new years resolutions you have made.