Running without ambition

Two friends of mine have run marathons in respectable times during the past two years. After doing so, they declared that they had no intention of running seriously again.

The pinnacle of my running was dipping into 18 minutes for a 5k. Considering my body, and the lack of fitness it has suffered recently, that was some achievement.

I have, on and off, run some. A 5k recently attempted was crawled at in 27 minutes, although I was running 10 minute mile pace after a mile or so. Still, at least I tried.

Part of my ambivalence towards my running is the suffering of some niggling injuries. I feel as if I have torn a muscle in my left foot (a burning snap late June is now slowly aching instead of feeling excruciating.) My poor experience with multiple GPs who pass through this town has yet to be overcome by a desire to see them.

There is my favourite 10k tomorrow. I am in no condition to run it, or at least run it well. But I should run tomorrow. I feel that I should like to run very slowly, and very frequently. The racing isn't over, but it isn't all that running is.

I wish for more guile.

A 5k in a terrible time

Today I ran for the first time in an age. It was horrendous. I had nothing inside me, managing a terrible time. I had nothing explosive in my legs, and virtually walked the route.

But I managed it, nevertheless.