Doing the necessary

Long slow runs are unavoidable if you want to race a marathon. If you're not concerned about racing and simply want to travel 26.2 miles on foot, don't bother with them. 26.2 miles isn't that far and tarmac makes it really easy, even on a hilly course like Snowdonia. You'll get round if you want to badly enough, then tell everyone you've done a marathon. If there's anyone left by the time you finish that is.

So, long slow runs are unavoidable. It's unfortunate, because they're really, really boring, or at least they are if you do them on your own in uninteresting places. I was really pleased then when I got a text from Helen from the club suggesting an early start on Sunday for the club's morning run. We agreed to meet up at 7 am at the White Barn in Cuddington, then join the rest for the regular Sunday run.

That's the regular Sunday run for them mind, not me. I'd never been before. Too busy being away, out in the hills, racing somewhere, or just occasionally, sleeping. I'd set the alarm on a few occasions on a Saturday evening but then hastily turned it off again in the morning and gone back to sleep again.

This time though I had to make the date. Paula had kindly volunteered to get up early and give me a lift to the start, which would save the problem of picking up my abandoned bike afterwards, so up we got and out I went with a couple of bottles on a belt and a green banana for breakfast. I'd been running the previous evening, four pleasant miles in the sunshine with Paula on her bike, and felt fit and well enough (with my new toes) to run the uphills hard and provide a subject for Paula to practice photographing a moving target.

It was a lovely morning, and even the 7 familiar miles of the Whitegate Way flew past as we ran easily in the early sunshine. If I can't have scenery then company makes things much more bearable. Nicky came bouncing towards us as we got close to Knights Grange, looking as if she had endless energy and enthusiasm (she has actually.) She said she was knackered. I wish I looked half as easily graceful and athletic when I'm knackered. Instead, I look like a stumbling wreck of a stumbling wreck. I avoid the duplication when I'm fresh.

We met up with the others at Knights Grange, and set off. Graham avoided the hex of the short-footers by taking the long way round on the road, and soon afterwards collided with a parked car in Whitegate. The sun disappeared and it began to rain. The miles were getting longer as we splashed through Pettypool and on towards Cuddington. They stretched themselves out even further as we turned for home again, and some time after the two hour mark I was well and truly shuffling. The others were kind enough to wait for me once, but a mile or so from Knights Grange I had to admit defeat - this was my first double-figure miles run for months, and my body was objecting.

I wanted to have a good sit down and half a dozen bacon sandwiches, but instead, just on the off-chance, I tried the usual tactic of slowing down a little bit first, just to see if it felt like I'd stopped trying. It didn't. On the other hand, I didn't fancy the walk so I slowed down some more, took the first stile across the golf course (no shorter, but psychologically conforting), and eventually finished the run 19.6 miles and 2hrs 38 minutes after I'd started. Helen was still going, adding an extra few minutes. I didn't covet them.

Given the state I'd got myself into, it was a good job Tom was good enough to offer me a lift home. We both sat on sheets of bubble-wrap to avoid the more offensive parts of us coming into contact with difficult-to-clean upholstery. I gratefully shuffled into the house, to more bananas, a warm bath, and half-an-hour's lie down on the bed before I bothered to put any clothes on.

That's when I remembered I was doing the Old County Tops in less than two weeks' time.