After a bit of post-race rumination I realise I need to manage my expectations. E2NB felt terrible and now I'm thinking I'll be lucky to do a sub 4 marathon. So my mind flips on to the next thing. We've got the 7 hills to run in June so I need to get some hills in my legs before that. I was thinking about that when Peter came through and announced that he was going to do the Goatfell Hill Race next weekend. "Hmmm, maybe I could use it as a training run." (The hill running Gods will probably strike me down for my cheek.) I had a look at the entry system and saw that 199 of the 200 places had been taken. That settled it. Surely fate wanted me to take the last place. That may well be where I come in the race.
Having already got myself into trouble I thought I might as well seal the deal by ordering a new pair of Mudclaws I can't afford on-line. My old ones are cracking down the side and the nubbins are all smooth.
A good morning's work, I'm sure you'll agree. So I got changed into my running kit and went to vote. The funny old bloke at the desk asked if I was cycling, running or swimming which made me explode with a big guffaw. (Sssh, people voting.) Then I went a run up Arthur's Seat to see if I'm any good as a hill runner. It turns out I'm not. My legs felt spindly and weak. I ran all the way up. But it was only Arthur's Seat. Oh heck. It was nice at the top anyway. I stood around boastfully in my shorts with my hands on my hips as the normal people snuggled deeper into their fur-lined parkas. It was warm when the sun came out and the gorse smelled nice.
I've been taking a week off work this week so I'm away to do some chores. Today I plan to rationalise my drawers. Ooh err Matron.
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