Well, that was a tough one
The weather was OK. Mild, wet, April weather. The former rains.
The birds were giving it all they had to encourage me.
The town hall had repaired the verges of Deep Street, my vine-side running track, and they had even put up a little marker "17K", ready for the Bordeaux Marathon this evening.
I had my route planned out. My basic 2K up to the Pape Clément traffic lights and back, augmented by circuits of Fisherman's Street and Monteil Square, each circuit adding another kilometre.
And the desire was certainly there. I had been looking forward to this run since coming home on Wednesday. Early meetings on Thursday and Friday had prevented me running, so the desire had been growing.
And I like to think that in my own way, to the limit of my capacity, I, too, took all that was in my possession and devoted it, consecrated it, ladled it out in great dollops.
But the result was poor. I ran slowly and laboriously. My time was not good.
But what of it! I got out there and ran again.
And Monday might be better!
The birds were giving it all they had to encourage me.
The town hall had repaired the verges of Deep Street, my vine-side running track, and they had even put up a little marker "17K", ready for the Bordeaux Marathon this evening.
I had my route planned out. My basic 2K up to the Pape Clément traffic lights and back, augmented by circuits of Fisherman's Street and Monteil Square, each circuit adding another kilometre.
And the desire was certainly there. I had been looking forward to this run since coming home on Wednesday. Early meetings on Thursday and Friday had prevented me running, so the desire had been growing.
And I like to think that in my own way, to the limit of my capacity, I, too, took all that was in my possession and devoted it, consecrated it, ladled it out in great dollops.
But the result was poor. I ran slowly and laboriously. My time was not good.
But what of it! I got out there and ran again.
And Monday might be better!
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