December

[Sweder]

Well, you can't tear up the record books every time you go out.
Or, to put it another way, that was a pretty lack-lustre effort. 5 chilly, hilly miles to Blackcap and back. Not really a recovery run - it's been 2 days since my long run - but it kinda felt like one, all stiff-legged and sluggish. By the time I'd thought of invoking Dan's rule about mixing things up I'd hit the final ascent on the outward stretch, my mind as muddled as the slush-snow cocktail coating the hills.

I can't blame Yuletide festivities for my sloth. Southern trains conspired with Jadis, Narnian conditions reducing transport options into London to sideshow freakery. That put the kaibosh on a fabulous tear-up in Islington last night where Totally Tidy Tours hosted their annual all-night debauch, and tonight on my cherished appearance at the very last (and, tonight, public) broadcast of Richard Bacon's 5Live late-night show. The thought of getting stranded in the wee small hours in the middle of a sub-zero London, to use the vernacular, left me cold.

No, it's just one of those (hopefully) temporary dips in form that plague us all. It wasn't even dreadfully slow, just lacked any kind of bounce or spark. Chugging home, the picturebook town of Lewes languishing in the snow-speckled Ouse valley, steam-train clouds billowing along the coast edged with smudged purple bruises, a faint crescent moon hung high in the cold blue sky overhead, I sighed wearily as I dodged the hundredth half-melted mud puddle. This really was a most beautiful day. I'm truly grateful for the chance to get out in it, whatever my running condition.