2006 - August

[Sweder]

I'm off to have a glass of wine and a deep think.

Deep Thought . . . two million years to create a super-computer and all you get is 'forty-two'.

No words of solace here my friend; the answer's waiting 'out there' along the canal, on the rain-soaked streets, in the leafy lanes.
Or perhaps its not.

After my first Marathon I took a six month sabatical from running. I finally took up arms against corpulence after Christmas 2003 to start my second FLM campaign. It was tough; almost too tough. I figured it would be easier; I'd risen from the sofa twelve months before, shackled to SP in his mad quest to run the 26.2. But it was tougher, much, much tougher. As a virgin you have no concept of the pain and struggle you must endure to get up to respectable mileage. A year on I was only too painfully aware of the price to be paid. Still I did it, through gritted teeth and many dissappointingly slow journeys around local streets, running at night to avoid public shame.

Only this year and last have I continued running through the year, at times simply to keep my hand - or feet - in. I think there's real value in a trial separation, banishing the obsession. The trouble is it comes back, and its pissed off, makes unreasonable demands.
What if it doesn't come back?
What's the worst that can happen?
Maybe you're cured - perhaps you looked the Sweeper Driver in the eye back in Zurich and saw right through him and his ilk, made some faustian pact right there and then, wheeled and dealed for that clean break. Think of all those hours you'll save, those cold winter nights you can stay snuggled up in front of the fire, supping good wine or foaming ale, reading about the poor lost souls battling the elements in pursuit of negligable glories.

You have, after all, one helluva mountain to climb. Yessiree Bob.
All you have to do is start. Start and suffer. Suffer, suffer, suffer.
Until that wonderful day when it feels just a tiny bit easier.

By the way, registration opens on Friday