I'd say things are looking a little better, in general terms. My house is almost done and there is talk of future things! I have few eggs and only one basket...everything matters now. If running is my life's barometer, then I again would say I'm in a better place, no injuries, a focus to recover and improve, to test myself and generally to enthuse and enjoy what I do. It's time to put some energy in to life. I know this sounds a little heavy and melodramatic...but it's how I see it.
My Sunday run was like this. It wanted for nothing, perhaps except for speed and distance, criteria one may think are essential components of a run, along with time. But good company, a heady aftermath of gin and wine and an early start added a fresh layer of engagement. It was a run with the Good Dr on Sunday. Matt was keen to join, though the agenda was really sausage orientated, super steady and quite short. Sharon, around whom this run was focused, is a bit of a wheezer.
She has a knack of bursting up any hill, exploding half way up and having a bit of a walk to an extraordinary soundtrack of laboured breathing. Today, the air was cold and the wheezing started once the car door was open. It's just how it is, but the Dr took quite an interest, asking what inhaler she uses, which Surgery she's registered with and so on. Listening in, I was getting anxious myself. Maybe it's a bit like being in your car sat with a mechanic mate who says "does your engine always sound like this?"
Matt is a great runner, but we carried foggy heads after an evening discussing matters of the heart...and wine. We soon made it to the top and talk turned to the cold. It was face numbingly cold. Words were hard to form and any conversation became indecipherable mumblings. Back at the car park, the buttie man tempted us with his fine dinning offerings. Sausage baps and hot coffee. We could have picked a longer route, been in better shape, ran harder...but on this particular Sunday morning...it was just the job.
