January

[Sweder]

Jadis lay in wait for me this morning, her cruel hand evident in the piercing ice-wind sweeping off the hills to cut through my jacket and leggings. Winter has arrived, belated, without apology, Blackcaps’ trails adorned with frozen mud pools and the livid scars of freshly cut hoof-prints. Churned mud lay under a frosted crust to reduce slippage yet retain the welcome yield of the earth beneath; a perfect January blend.

I crunched my way westward below skies crowded with bustling cloud, occasional sunlight cutting through to light up patches of downland. Within ten minutes I’d warmed through, hot blood pumping through lazy legs. Despite a tough Sunday run I felt pretty good, a 'thumbs up' to my policy of total rest on Mondays. The hounds bounded through the gorse, ducking under or leaping over fences, their search for quarry as endless as their tongue-lolling, tail-wagging enthusiasm.

Planet Rock thawed my ears with a fine soundtrack, the pick being a quite wonderful Stevie Ray Vaughan cover of Hendrix’s Little Wing. I galloped up Wicker Man Hill and was halfway down the far side when I realised how, well, easy this all felt. Not to say I’ve speeded up – this outing was no more than an average session, but it seems to hurt a good deal less. Of course the wind was a shadow of last week’s storm force, barely thirty mph at best. I’d like to think persistence is a factor, too. Weight wise I’m hovering over the 90 kilo mark (actually dipped below at the weekend, cause for a minor celebratory jig around the kitchen). Still much heavier than I’d like I’m now as light (or ‘less heavy’ as at any time since I started running in 2003. Dietary control and my dogged refusal to bow to the elements might just be paying off.

Home in around 49 minutes – a relaxed pace – this appalling aside from Alice Cooper ringing in my ears;

When you need to go to the bathroom you’re Russian.
When you get there European.
Don’t give up the day job Alice.