Sweet Days of Summer

The jasmine’s in bloom in my garden, so according to Seals and Croft summer is here. It’s just the beginning of June, but the sun was warm enough at 6.30 this morning to raise a Meditteranean scent in the breeze from the suburban gardens of Muswell Hill. If I closed my eyes I could be in Menorca, I thought, bumping down a narrow lane towards a turquoise bay.

If I closed my eyes I could be run over by a bus, or step in dogshit. I kept them open and tried occasionally to glance at the budding blue sky with its wispy clouds, whilst keeping track of where it was safe to put my feet. I only passed one other runner today. She looked as tired as I felt, and her eyes didn’t even flicker in the direction of my face as she pounded by.

I used to hate running in the early mornings. On the rare occasions I did get out before breakfast, I would feel so sick or exhausted I would be incapable of going at anything other than one speed: painfully slow. I’m not sure when the transformation took place, but now I could almost say that I enjoy running in the morning. I don’t enjoy the getting up and getting out of the house part, but once I’m out, beyond the first five minutes of wheezing and creaking, it’s almost as good as any other run.