Further?

One of my nieces suggests I join her in a half marathon. Ah, if only . . . My weekly 40 kms could in theory qualify me for 21-km fitness, but I’m sure my ankles would crash well before the race ended. Why threaten the annual target, with its known or sensed virtues, for a different adventure altogether?

(VisualHunt photo)

 

 

 

 

Fess up

Wasting time on something important is still wasting time. After 9 days of maundering around the business of online “platforming,” this morning I was meant to spring up on time and get back to Reactor. No didn’t happen.

Big year quietude

Having missed the mandatory Friday 10-kmer, all panicky, Saturday saw a catch-up run. Yesterday was the mandatory Saturday 10-kmer – all went well – so now I’m up to date. I even caught up on gym yesterday. And this is the unexpected aspect: a great calmness suddenly sat on my shoulders.

 

Today is the mandatory 10-kmer. Will my left foot and hip be kind to me?

Panic begone

A lesson hard won – a Big Year activity just can’t be dropped. The whole point is the daily discipline and surely something good will come of it (that’s something to debate at another time).  So I donned my new green joggers and the instant I raced down the hill, all that tension dissipated: “I am back on track.” By the way, perhaps because of all that unsettling worry, I ran as fast as I have in weeks, a 10-km pace of 6:00/km. And I saw a Cormorant drying its wings.

Panic

Panic. Just before the middle of the Jogging Big Year, yesterday I failed myself. Until now, on every day not spent on a plane or out hiking, I’ve kept up the discipline – jog 10 kms on M/W/F/S, gym the other three days, stretching every day. Absorbed, busy, pressured, call it what you will, yesterday I did none of these. Burgers, wine, biscuits for dinner . . . why not fail spectacularly. I woke up this morning panicky. What to do?