Stupid O'Clock

L gets up at stupid o'clock to get the 6.28 train down to London, Harley Street no less. The train was a mere snip at £131. You could have booked multiple flights around Europe on a no-frills airline for that sort of money.

The dogs escort her to the door but don't seem too bothered about going out for a walk, well at least not until its light and come back to bed. I can’t afford to be up much later though, as I'm the one on duty with them and if I want to bike into work, I’ll need to get a move on.

L texts to remind me that she always gives the dogs two biscuits after their morning walk. So I give them two biscuits as requested, one each. I’m trying to keep Doggo in trim for next weekend’s Crufts qualifier but I assume that’s what she meant anyway.

I enjoy a blustery cycle in and play a bit of ‘after you’ poker with a driver emerging from a side street. I prefer to let cars in wherever possible, as I like these four wheeled things in front of me where I can see what they’re up to, rather than them skulking behind like a petulant teenager.

In the end he forces me to go on ahead and then reaches the lights just as they turn to red. He pulls up at the cyclist's stop line, naturally. I pull up behind him at the car stop line, so I have to move forward when he winds his window down to whinge at me for making him miss the lights. I correct him, pointing out that if he hadn’t been so indecisive we’d have both made it. As he comes to a standstill in the next queue, I overtake him and give him a cheery wave as I pass. I'm sure I can feel his icy glare on my back.

Later, on my home, I see in the distance what appears to be a young mother holding her son’s hand and helping him across the road on his BMX bike. Bless. When I get closer I can see that they’re both actually teenagers of around the same age. His diddy bike though makes him seem half her height. Well it amused me.

No squash tonight, my opponent’s (sometimes) beloved Leeds United are in action in the League Cup against the mighty Liverpool... reserves. I’m only jealous. Cup matches... oh yes I remember them, very vaguely.

The Better Offer

In typical fashion my holiday started with a running race and then ended with one as well. The night before we headed 'south' I ran Erewash Valley Running club’s four mile race, known simple as 'The Run' and all for a mug. That’s the kind you drink out of. This years was a stylish black, last years was white, next year... who knows.

I was going to bike to work and then bike straight to the race as I did last year but in the end didn’t. It was a tough call because when I got up it looked like nice cycling weather but ten minutes after I’d decided against the idea, it decided to rain. You see, I only have to think about cycling to get the heavens to open. Suddenly I’m glad I’m in the car. At work they think it’s because I’m taking the race seriously. Well... I always take these things seriously. It’s got nothing to do with the fact that protégée is in the race too and I’m two-nil down in our head-to-head’s, nothing at all.

It actually bucketed it down all day and L opts out of spectating. To be fair, she wanted to go for a longer training run and standing at the race wet through, although sexy, wouldn’t be a wise thing to do. Instead she says she’ll wait for me at home in a hot bath with a glass of wine in her hand. I start hoping my father doesn’t show up either, as although a post-race pint with him appeals, L’s is by far the better offer. Further rainfall makes sure it turns out to be a spectator-less run and in many ways it’s a surprise it doesn’t turn out to be a runner-less one too. We’re a hardy bunch us runners. Would I have taken a win in a reduced field? Of course.

Protégée actually cycles to the race from home, less than a mile, but nonetheless an irrational sort of thing to do (even by my high standards) and he got what he deserved for it, a soaking. Pre-race everyone is huddled together in the registration tent, which is very cosy at close quarters, as the rain beats down outside. Funnily enough it actually stops in time for the race, stayed dry throughout and then reverted to buckets again afterwards.

So as we all lined up on the start line, in the relative dry, the talk was of the improved conditions and of ‘quick drying sports bras’ and that's just from the women. Probably just trying to distract the men from their carefully thought out race plans. Race wise it went well, I started slow but I didn’t have any choice because I got boxed in when they fired the starting gun before anyone was ready. When I was finally out of my box, so to speak, the lead nutters had already gone and there seemed little point in chasing them. I settled in and ran my own race. Well actually I ran the race of a guy from the organising club, shadowing him and letting him drag me round. Occasionally I got ahead of him and tried to return the favour by pacing him for a bit but he was, well, basically better than me. So I couldn't. We were together until the last few metres when I thought it would be unjust to not let him cross the line ahead of me, so I was about to chivalrously let him go in ahead of me across the line when he lengthened his stride and left me for dead anyway. Oh well.

It was only four miles but it was a very pleasing time, eleven seconds better than last year and 3.53 per km, rather good for me. Protégée was a minute back, so I’m kind of smug about that but he had only been back from Egypt for a week, where he contracted Egyptian Flu and had hardly trained. Unlucky mate but no matter I'll take the victory.

As regards the second run, we actually came back from holiday deliberately so that both of us, L and I, could do last Friday’s Jagermeister 10k at Nottingham University. Yep, that’s how far around the bend we are.

It was a disappointing run for me but I did make a few tactical errors. Firstly because I was off work we had a huge pasta lunch, rather than the sandwich I would normally have had a work. This made me feel full and well, ill. If that was preventable, the second error was unavoidable and that was the week long debauchery of good food and far too much beer down in Somerset. Nope there’s no way I could have prevented that sort of indulgence. This was balanced by a few training runs whilst we were down there, three four-milers at L’s pace. Not that there’s anything wrong with L’s pace you understand, in fact it’s ideal holiday pace but it’s just not my usual 10k pace.

The race started well enough, in fact I was up on last year’s time after 3k but I effectively died somewhere around the 4k point. They'll be a roadside memorial there soon I'm sure. A girl I usually beat, who was lying second in the women’s race, was dragging me around, that’s how bad it was.

Then at half way I had a bit of a sponge problem. They had diddy people, under-10s that is, handing out sponges. As it was hot everyone was going for one and as I reached desperately for mine the diddy person let go before I got hold of it, so I had to stop, go back, scrabble on the floor a bit before I finally retrieved it, which cost me ten seconds or so, by which point girlie was long gone.

I could have skipped the sponge I suppose but I was already starting to hallucinate and was sure I was about to be overtaken by the Exmoor Stag, which is actually the beer we were drinking gallons of on holiday. 5.2% it was, very moorish and deadly, even two days after my last fix so it seems.

I finish just the wrong side of 42 minutes, which is slow for me but under the circumstances, ok I suppose.

The usual post-race festivities had been moved from the usual Stick and Pitcher Pub because they didn’t want four hundred sweaty runners disrupting the wedding that’s been booked there and we’re at the University Employees Sports And Social Club instead. It’s ok but the one beer that's on looks like it will soon be drunk dry so we opt for the Johnsons Arms instead, which means we miss out on the dishing out of spot prizes but I only got a glorified face cloth, or was it a towel, last time. So perhaps no loss.

Today, Saturday, is the traditional holiday spoiler when Derby lose the first game of the football season but this year, for the first time in seven years I think, they actually win. Hurrah. I think we confused Peterborough by going into our game with six midfielders and no strikers, all ours are injured already! Whatever, it seemed to work.