Great Run - Great Food

Chris is a kind of blokey bloke. Not necessarily a 'double hard bastard' kind of bloke, but more of a 'bloody nice bloke', bloke. In essence, nothing is a bother, no fuss is ever made, never a drama or scene. It's not that Pete, James and I are high maintenance prima-donna types, but while we were nervously questioning each other at the Macc Forest carpark at 7.00 this morning, about 'how many layers' this or 'gloves yes or no' that, Chris stood patiently waiting for us in shorts and a t shirt. 

It was 3 degrees out, and we were once again heading for our annual Christmas Eve Shuttlingsloe Sunrise run. And as we know, it's been blustery recently. Obviously this level of casualness to dress code demands a severe berating. I think he took it well, and of course before too long, we were all puffing, unzipping, removing and storing all kinds of excessive body layering. Pete, though had a curious additional clunking going on about his person. Curious! There is no one around. It's great, perfect  almost.

My awesome head torch was catching the vaporised exhalations of James's man-flu as I ran through his foggy cloud trying to hold my breath, and Chris was walking at pace disturbingly similar to our running as we entered the woods on the Forest 5 route. Once again we were treated to the Christmas Tree, the honesty box that teases and tests our resilience at tempting to steal sweets from the children...or the dog walker we stumbled upon in the pitch blackness! I take a peak and look round...

Eventually, we crested the summit and not a chance of anything resembling a sunrise worth a watch. I broke out the cake and Pete revealed that the source of his clanking was indeed a well primed hip flask. Nice. So there we go, another Christmas Eve run out. Yet somehow I got enrolled into an impromptu RunClub speed session tonight, it being a Tuesday 'n' all. Not the usual 60+, just about 6 of us choosing an alternative early evening. There was something very special about the experience. It's a unique scenario to this time of year.

The roads are empty, hardly a soul around, except us. Sure, everyone else is inside being Christmassy, but we were outside looking in. All very festively voyeuristic. I've been eating for England, despite considering 'moderation' at best, but suffering eaters-regrets at worst. Double run efforts is possibly the only way I can deal with all this food, for it seems easier for  me to run up a dirty great hill than simply resist the food that's offered under my nose. I'm no longer feeding my runs, but my runs are burning my feed. Chris laughs at this. 'It's Christmas, Rich. Enjoy it'.