A Very Quiet Weekend

Saturday dawned, cloudy and grey. I lazed in bed for a good couple of hours, will-I-won’t-I-ing. Eventually I scraped myself into my running shoes and lurched around the streets for 20 minutes like a zombie. The furthest I moved for the rest of the day was from the sofa to the kettle. I watched The Princess Bride, Harry Potter (5, I am way behind), and read the paper from cover to cover.

Sunday dawned, cloudy and grey. Mr N was planning an 8 mile tour of the Crouch – part of his “easy week”. I felt good, but how good? Not 8 miles good. I turned down his running chat for a solo amble with the latest This American Life podcast. In the end I ran about 7 miles, (with a minor walking break towards the end). The sun came out, the legs were steady and I even made it out of the house again that afternoon.

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It’s hard to read about the New York marathon, or races of any kind, when you feel too tired to train properly, or you’re unfit or injured. Even on a good day, stories that should be inspirational can feel like accusations – you will never do this.

Seriously, though, running a marathon in just over two hours must involve witchcraft. It’s as fictional as Harry Potter, as much of a fairy tale as The Princess Bride. Not so many laughs, though, I shouldn’t think.