I’m dreaming of a cold can of Coke.
For some reason, I’m canoeing down a river, but the Coke keeps appearing, inviting me. I wake, only to wonder if I’d been drinking sponges last night. It’s too early on a Sunday after a late night to get out of bed, so I take a sip of water from a glass nearby. It barely makes a difference, but no matter; moments later I’m back asleep.
My eyes open with a start and I glance at my clock. The afternoon is now approaching, and with lots to do today I drag myself out of bed with a pang of regret it isn’t an hour or two sooner. If I want that 10K record, I’d better do it before the snow comes…
The fridge offers no cans, but a fresh bottle provides me with my favourite hangover remedy. I feed my cats, faff around sorting a few other things and change for the run. Damn – lunch. When should I have it? I shouldn’t run on an empty stomach, but neither can I run just after eating, and it’ll be dark by the time I’m ready if I do. The toaster provides the answer – two slices washed down with some Lucozade. Putting on three layers everywhere, I go through my stretching routine and I’m ready. I open the back door for a quick temperature check and although part of my brain begins to formulate a question on why I am about to do this, my feet are in control. I step out the front door.
It’s ****ing freezing! A fourth layer wouldn’t have hurt. That nice snug top with the high collar would have kept out a bit of this wind. Should I go back and get it? Sod it, I’ll be fine. I’ll just walk a bit quicker in the warm up, and when I get going I’ll be warmer. Yes, that’s right. Hot and sweaty. Not cold at all. I begin to jog, but remember to take a friend’s advice of warming up by going for a while first before starting the stopwatch. With little extra weight, plenty of fluids, a nice warm up and my favourite course, I’ve given myself a good chance for this record.
I’m getting a bit of deja vu here. I’m running well, but feel a bit out of breath. Legs are a bit achy, but aerobically I’m not as comfortable as I used to be. Could be the bitter cold. I pass people all wrapped up in coats, hats and scarves. Even their dogs look more clothed than I do. Perhaps my short shorts weren’t such a good idea. I look down at my legs and almost get blinded as the lowering sun reflects on their extreme whiteness. Is any blood getting down there or are they really that white??? I make a mental note to book somewhere sunny in order to get at least a degree of colour in them. I stride on through the wind and check to see when 3.1 miles – my turning point for 10K – is coming up. A tad early, but at a convenient point, I make the turn. The record doesn’t feel on, but this is where I slowed down the other day, so I might be able to pick up a bit of time.
I want to stop. I’ve got two miles to go and the sun is no longer keeping me company or warm. I pass more people who must be thinking I’m a lunatic. I’m beginning to agree with them. I long for tracksuit bottoms, gloves, hat, soup, the indoors. I’m slow up the hills again, but dig deep in my ascents to keep the time down. Here comes the big one, preceded by a long downhill. However, before I get to the peak before this, my thighs refuse my request for extra speed. They’ve had enough. They never complained throughout my marathon training, but today they’re colder than they’ve been in a long time and are obviously a bit aggrieved at not having a nice Sunday rest. Let some other body part do a bit more work , they say. I plod on to the crest and free fall down, not as fast as I’d like, but soon I’m at the bottom facing the steep incline. Head down and weaving slightly side to side, I recall how awful this hill used to be on my bike as a kid. The times where the speed you’d just gained evaporated about half way up, leaving you praying you had enough in you to reach the top. No wheels today, though. Determined, I make it.
What’s going on? I’m running fast now, like a man on a mission. Well, I suppose I am – maybe the record is on. No point in giving in when you don’t know, so I’ll give it a go. My legs seem to have sensed home, and have cottoned on to the fact that the faster they go, the sooner they’ll be in the warmth. I haven’t a clue where all this energy is coming from or where it’s been hiding for five miles, but I welcome it and let it take over me. The worst over, I sprint down the hill, round the back of the houses, up a bit, sweeping down round the corner, under the underpass and keep going. Normally, I’d finish by now, but I just need a few yards more to make the 10K, and then some just to ensure it doesn’t get rounded down. Just before my front door, I stop the clock and my legs. Stumbling into the house, I glance at the time: I may have just done it!
I’m showered, warm, and forgiven by my body. I excitedly watch the computer as the website refreshes with my new data. Here it comes…get in!! A minute under my 5K time but more importantly two minutes off my 10K!! 53:15 – I know I can do much better, but given a hangover and freezing conditions that’s not at all bad. Delighted, I shower and change and get ready to watch the big match.
Fernandooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!! After what looked like another flipping draw and handing a title on a plate to Utd, I scream in delight as Torres’ neat header hits the back of the net. With Lampard unluckily sent to the dressing room (shame, that) it’s nice to finally see us dominate and score. Oh and what’s this – a mistake by Cole and here he comes again! 2-0! Thank you and goodnight Chelsea.
As the promised snow drifts in, sprinkling the garden in the twilight with a powdered layer of white, I smile. February could be a great month…