April 2017.

[Sweder]

Short update: little running of note due to pulled groin playing football (I know, I know), ludicrous workload and general knackerdness.

I did manage a plod on Tuesday, a quiet, gentle affair, around the old Chalk Pits/ Woodland circuit.
It was as much to clear my head of the atrocities tumbling from my bedside radio as anything else.
4.5 kilometres, slowly rinsing imagined horrors of metal shards, edged with hate, cutting down young, happy lives, from my mind.

The sun shone, defiant, bright as ever, helping the sweat roll freely, like tears, down my vest.
Running is a useful tool to help process the unimaginable. Unusually, though, there were no answers.
There are no answers to the questions asked in Manchester on Monday night.
None that I could find, not even in those blessed, peaceful hills.