Head In the Clouds.
The lawns remain unmowed, the laundry windows unpainted; and yes, it must be said I've ashamedly not changed the washers in the laundry taps, as promised. A whole gaggle of unfinished items on the 'honey do' list read like a litany of woe as running once more dominates my life and occupies all of my free time ... if not actually in the business of running, then with the plotting, scheming and reading about running.
OK, well if I'm to tell the truth, it's nowhere near that bad. The jobs about the house do get done, our marriage is not on the rocks and is in fact probably all the better for my being a runner again. The truth is that whilst my mind may be fully focussed and rigidly engaged on the business of running, the lift of energy and enthusiasm has been nothing but a huge positive for life in general, domestic duties included. Sometimes I wonder if I don't subconsciously sabotage my own running routine in order to better appreciate these days of early enthusiasm when the routine does eventually kick back into life again. Well, maybe not. More likely it's just wishful thinking, with the truth lying more among the detritus of failed discipline and general slobbery, with booze and fatty foods all too often being the catalyst for decline.
Whatever the truth of the matter, I'm back again, with four solid weeks of athletic pursuit in the bank and everything looking rosy and in trim. If I was a yacht in a race, I may be at the back of the fleet, but the old salts sitting on the shore would like the cut of my jib and be telling each other of their admiration for the extra line of caulking skillfully rammed home between the teak planks of my deck, and the yacht's obviously skillful master.
This, of course, is all so much fanciful imagination on my part. I am not worthy to tie the laces of a good runner's shoes, let alone take the wheel of any kind of nautical craft, but the feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction is still there, to be sure. Whether warranted or not, it is gratefully received as the endorphins and adrenaline buzz of this running life once more course through my veins and give me an air of insufferable smugness. Rather like a reformed smoker, I suspect, I extol the virtues of my healthier lifestyle to all and sundry and get quietly but firmly removed from the Christmas card lists of all who, with eyes rolling, listen to me babble on about it.
I'm not sure exactly why, but somehow this time, my return to fitness and regular running is a little different to most. The sense of having 'dodged a bullet' is a little stronger just now, perhaps through being just a little older and therefore a little closer the inevitable cessation of athleticism, I suppose. But never mind all that, I've another run to complete, and I'm itching to tell you all about it. In detail. Er, just as soon as I've done the sodding thing. I'll get back to you about it, just as soon as it's done.
And that's a promise. Or a threat, depending on your perspective...
Forward March
