A running week

Friday cold wind howling, rest day

Saturday, just feel tired, cold wind howling, wimp the run

Sunday, still tired, cold wind howling, not normally a running day

Monday, I understand that my recovery from Comrades is not yet complete, though my legs are getting perky. Wind cold still howling.

Tuesday, no wind and a perfect light, lusty 8 km, filled with numbers of running. A maths complicated to symbolise but easy to do: 4 with overlays of 4 and 2 deliver 8, 20, 1 like this : 4 days no running, no moon, empty streets; 4 days wind chill, warm bed, fuller dreams; 2 days bouncy legs, glinty eyes, itchy feet. Morning coffee always rich. This a.m.’s 8k stirred up my running residue, polished it in the moon. Then 20 min to delight in its starlit glitter; puffing it up again with sips of coffee. 1 perfect run, you see.

Wednesday, habit recovery day after a run, an indulgence and rememberance day.

Thursday: Yes! Rain on roof. Rummage for technical gear. Not wimping this one. Like a surfer into storm-big waves. Fetch in the last of the kids toys and visitors’ walking shoes Run, winter is come. And gone. Sweat-wet isn’t rain-soak. Even Venus looked through a gap in the clouds. Yet nicely, back at the gate, thumb hesitated over the remote. Maybe another 8k loop? Yes! Not really.

And still there’s Friday to come

 

 

Summer breeze

Stepped into a bit of a southeaster  this morning – woke the  sweat, jasmine of summer, inner-city urine supper; reminded me of of how all the steps in the way I run now and will run in 11 days. Didn’t much notice the run. Too short to quick. My moon-shadow pointed to Venus, led the way; I let the endorphins play. Was that the last 8k, the run before the challenge? No … no … nope, want these sips while the sparkle still bubbles. Gotta feel I’m doing something.

Another run …

… another thousand thoughts. With each step a cascade of well-being. What to write, what to say? Just this then: had coffee with Venus and co today, the moon was rather late. And from time to time I pushed my plop-flop running to a plap-flap; by the end it was the lightest plip-flip 94kg can do, feeling this perfect. Really. I had a nice run you see.

rain gone

Moon clear, Venus bright, they’re back in cappuccino range. Air crisp after all the rain. Body sluggish after all the rest. 10steps: can’t breathe; 1k: body kinda in gear; 2ks a giggle pops out; 3ks phew, I should have got brakes for my new shoes – 12 years old again, free in frosty ‘Maritzburg. And … there it is, the early bird’s quick call “tree-troo-tree” at five-to-six, an hour before sunrise.