I fixed the dishwasher today...which is odd, since it wasn't broken, until I interfered with it. The word 'interfere' obviously not a word I chose, along with messing about, poking my nose in and so on. I was investigating... and the part just came off in my hand, anyway. Had a similar issue with the washing machine a few weeks back. The symptoms were smells that weren't quite as fresh as they should be. With ploughing running gear through it day in day out, it seemed to be getting worse.
Some manly intervention revealed a number of safety pins and a fair value of spare change lodged in its many orifices. On the vague subject of sporting apparel, Pete was telling a tale the other day about how he got on the back of Sunday cycling team pack while out on his bike, got up amongst them and then nailed a few of them to the next traffic lights. The nub of his story was one of taking a significant scalp. 'Yeah, got on the back of a bunch of Team XYZ riders, showed them who boss, felt great'. 
While not wanting to deny him of this psychological victory, I was more keen to discuss what they were wearing. How did he know they were a team of roadies...because they were all wearing their club kit. This is what cyclists do, clearly. I imagine some late Saturday night call around...'hi mate, meet you at such a place at such a time...wear your kit'. So they do. Perhaps they don't even say it, they just do it, the unspoken rule. 
Now, when we've been out running, I suggest to Pete, 'and so some bloke overtakes you, me, Steve and James, that's just some bloke overtaking a bunch of other blokes'. Not much of a story now is it. But really, if we were dressed in our club vests on a Sunday morning and ran in single file, would we look like a crack team of runners intimidating the social runners, or attracting attention and having have-a-go heroes snapping at our heels, overtaking and... 
...fist pumping at the traffic lights shouting 'got em'. Of course not. And that's because I don't call James, Steve and Pete on a Saturday evening making arrangements for a Sunday morning run and adding at the end 'shall we all wear matching tops?' Because the answer I'd get would be something like 'fuck off, we'd look like total knob heads', which to be fair, we would. But somehow cyclists get away with it...and look kind of cool. Cyclists who ride nose to tail are in 'formation'.
But for runners this is 'single file', a term that was barked at you at school, and now probably just because the pavement is a bit narrow. Cyclists stop mid route at coffee shops for fuel. Runners who stop for breaks are losers. Why is that? Good run with James this morning. Unlike cyclist, to be fair, we spent longer at coffee, than running. Much talk about the Wilmslow Half, both talking ourselves out of it, then trying big ourselves up...as the second round of pastries arrived. And as ever...what to wear!
