21st Century Schizoid Woman

This morning’s was a run of two halves.

6.15am – 6.35am: I bounded over puddles and dodged pavement cyclists, laughing as a wet branch hit me full in the face. My music was loud and electronic, there were even bongos. I dashed up the stems of the Emirates stadium like a premiership side on a winning streak.

6.35am – 6.55am: I pounded slowly across the stadium’s uneven concrete surround, swearing as the water from hidden puddles filled my trainers and slopped up the backs of my legs. My music was quiet and sad, at one point there was total silence but for the sound of breathing. Not mine. I inched home like a premiership side that knows its glory days are behind it, but just has to keep struggling on in the hope that the old formula will come good once again.