The first run was a work thing. Which sounds great, that I get to run around for work. And it is great, and I am grateful.... but it is work.
No matter how good the day, or the running, a line is drawn underneath that says "This is work, and you must run this way, and that way, you must stop and start, go backwards and forwards, take notes and pictures and carry many things". It's not like leaving your pens on the desk to disappear for a couple of hours.
The best bit about what I do is "running, jumping and climbing trees" (as Eddie Izzard would say) in lots of different places. The sharp edge of the sword is that these things are my hobbies, my passion, my release; and when you put work and play next to each other, play doesn't taste as good for a while.
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| The Mansfield Office |
Today's worky run was to make sure a race route linked up, to think about where all the fun stuff can be placed, and consider how to waymark, and marshal it. For Janathon's sake, I resolved to run as much as possible, and tapped away at the start/stop button on my watch, to record my dashings, in between note-takings, and head-scratchings.
After a few hours spent on foot at various speeds, a clean shirt, a cup of tea, and I was ready for the journey home. Friday night, rush hour, heading towards the M25. Perfect.
When I used to do this on a regular basis, I would change into running gear at the office, and start driving. I'd then let the traffic decide where and when I would get my Friday night run. Tonight, I made good progress as far south as Northampton, when the brake lights ahead suggested I look for something nearby.
Five minutes later, I was parked in Blisworth village, within fifty yards of a bridge over the Grand Union Canal, and trying to muster some enthusiasm to go for another run, within just a few hours of the last.
Getting out of a warm car when it's minus one outside, and your legs still feel jangly and detached is not an easy task. Today's "work-running" had drained me, and I wanted to be home with my wife. Still, that traffic was going to keep me on the road til past nine anyway, and if I just got another six miles, I'll have cracked four hundred miles in four weeks. It still felt lousy.
I set off along the towpath, heading south. I should have gone the other way. Blisworth Tunnel doesn't have a towpath, so walkers are sent over the top, to get instantly lost among useless bridleway signs. I never found the other end. Instead I ran over deep hoof pockets in a wide loop, guided by the glow of Northampton, to return to my start point.
A stone's throw from the car, I checked my watch, and I was still a mile and a half short. Turning back onto the towpath, north this time, I decided to run a mile out, then back, to clear my target. In the time it took to run that mile, I'd already convinced myself that I would do a bit more, and tacked another mile onto the end, doubling up to eight and a half by the time I took my shoes off, and a million percent happier for it.
After a few hours spent on foot at various speeds, a clean shirt, a cup of tea, and I was ready for the journey home. Friday night, rush hour, heading towards the M25. Perfect.
When I used to do this on a regular basis, I would change into running gear at the office, and start driving. I'd then let the traffic decide where and when I would get my Friday night run. Tonight, I made good progress as far south as Northampton, when the brake lights ahead suggested I look for something nearby.
Five minutes later, I was parked in Blisworth village, within fifty yards of a bridge over the Grand Union Canal, and trying to muster some enthusiasm to go for another run, within just a few hours of the last.
Getting out of a warm car when it's minus one outside, and your legs still feel jangly and detached is not an easy task. Today's "work-running" had drained me, and I wanted to be home with my wife. Still, that traffic was going to keep me on the road til past nine anyway, and if I just got another six miles, I'll have cracked four hundred miles in four weeks. It still felt lousy.
I set off along the towpath, heading south. I should have gone the other way. Blisworth Tunnel doesn't have a towpath, so walkers are sent over the top, to get instantly lost among useless bridleway signs. I never found the other end. Instead I ran over deep hoof pockets in a wide loop, guided by the glow of Northampton, to return to my start point.
A stone's throw from the car, I checked my watch, and I was still a mile and a half short. Turning back onto the towpath, north this time, I decided to run a mile out, then back, to clear my target. In the time it took to run that mile, I'd already convinced myself that I would do a bit more, and tacked another mile onto the end, doubling up to eight and a half by the time I took my shoes off, and a million percent happier for it.
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"Tacking a bit onto the end" has become a Janathon theme. If I were to add all those bits up, it might add up to a marathon. However, all of those extra bits together weren't as much of a struggle as leaving the car this evening for just six miles. I must remember this.
Summary:
Today: 16.2 miles, 2:26 hrs, 2055 cals
January: 403.4 miles, 58:23 hrs, 54517 cals
Despite feeling sometimes like you don't want to do it, you always do and I find that really inspiring. 400 miles in 4 weeks is just awesome!
ReplyDelete@maggiee - I can assure you, if it hadn't been Janathon I'd probably have stopped at a pub to read the paper!
ReplyDelete