03 January 2012


Nowadays people express surprise if they see me wearing running shoes. But I'm still at the stage where my feet sometimes need mollycoddling, and my old friend Achilles will benefit from a few minutes of old-fashioned heel-banging. A spot of decadence.

Ten minimalist miles on Sunday, and a near-Murakami (albeit in the Green Shoes, but still doing what I kid myself amounts to pose running) yesterday, is pushing it. I iced Achilles while we watched Endeavour (aka Young Morse) on the TV yesterday, spotting Colin Dexter in his customary cameo role, and today it was up for another outing: and having given it that outing I have sat and iced it again this evening and it's raring to go again now. Go where tomorrow, is another matter, as I have a full day in the office in London. A lap of Regent's Park beforehand (and perhaps another at the end of the day) will get the job done.

The club run this evening was route 32: I intended to do the long route, 8.8 miles, but discretion intervened and I stuck to the medium route. By dint of crossing Dunmore Road without waiting for the green man I got ahead of a lot of faster runners (most of the club being faster than me in my present state of tune) and then watched them come past again, some kindly pausing for a chat, mostly about my footwear. But somewhere along the third mile I found I'd reeled one group of four in, and run through them: later another group of three who'd done the extension that differentiated the long from the medium came past me again, and as they were doing their own "medium plus" or "long minus" route I followed them most of the way to the finish, bust strangely ran through them at the gates of Tilsley Park. What is going on? I seem to be getting faster. Not fast, in absolute terms, yet, but faster.

Three days, three runs, all over 6 miles if not quite Murakamis.

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