'Whats going on Rich, they're supposed to fucking start at 9', says Steve, a man of few words. I stood there laughing at him. He was proper angry...and wet. We all were. The heavens absolutely opened just before the start of this Saturdays parkrun at Burnage. It was dramatic. The skies darkened, lightening across toward the airport and the closing rumble of thunder...as we stood there waiting for the masses and organisers to come out of the club house, drenched. Within moments, were running. Oddly liberating and free.
This morning, I took a drive down towards Matlock for the Carsington Lake 7+. That means not quite 8. 7.8 to be precise, and this messed with my mind the whole way round. 7, that's 6 and the last one. That means 3 is half way, effectively. But it's not. After 3, there's 5 still to go. Why do they call it the 7+? These are the issues that gatecrash your thoughts when the sun's beating down on a tough race. But other thoughts come through stronger still, driving you on, motivating you to give it horns. 12th.
It's been a good week for the running. New experiences which haven't so much come my way, but I've gone looking for them. There's been questions regarding what drives me to do this. I went to visit my Dad and you stand there and ask yourself who you really are. What makes you tick, presses your buttons and who really gets you? The more I run, the more I'm convinced this is more about mental strength than physical. Open spaces and clarity of thought, and insight into your hidden depths and what drives you on.
