March Or Die

[Sweder]

One of those grubby little 40-minute filler runs tonight, post-work, pre-trip to Upton Park to watch West Ham United take on Spurs in one of the last matches at that iconic old ground. West Ham move to Stratford, to the Olympic Stadium, in the summer. They will rattle around inside that colosseum like a fart in a colander. So be it.

Last time I stood inside the Boleyn ground I watched Georgie Best score in a 2-1 win. Tonight the Hammers triumphed, the ladies echoing their male counterparts' 1-0 victory over their natural foe, a Katie Bottom penalty providing the Iron Maidens a glorious sunset into which to ride off.

No such backdrop for my run, sadly. Iron rainclouds meshed low across gloomy skies, heralding the arrival of a day of rain tomorrow. Unwanted, what with the Moyleman but five sleeps away. The trails are still tacky. Any amount of water will return them to porridge, though the forecast is better from Thursday on.

I chugged slowly, still tired after three consecutive running days, fairly certain that my body favours the every-other-day routine. After a couple of kilometres climbing the flinty slopes towards Blackcap I loosened up a touch, hitting a nice pace on the run home. I paused to snap the shot that Dan admired last week, only this time the purple hues were more smudged charcoal.