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?
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.
Okay, the Jogging Big Year is back on track. But the Writing Big Year is lurching. Back to Bar Ristretto and reorient and recalibrate and go!
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?
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.