5.30 am – 3.6 mile weekender.
Birdsong. The fizzle and sizzle of soft rain simmering on overhead wires. An incessant veil of mizzle dims a streetlight. A cat slinks across the road – pauses – and then struts away into the darkness. Somewhere, out there in the predawn blackness, the thrum of a car. I’m not alone.
I break into a gentle jog. My fingertips gently grip the cuffs of my jacket. My sleeves swoosh against my torso and set the tempo for my legs. Nice and easy. Tomorrow’s a rest day. Keep it sweet.
The wet road glistens and shimmers under the street lights. My legs feel tired. Not stiff or sore, just tired from the week’s work. The week has flown by and the blog has helped - massively. The encouragement has motivated me in the mornings, when I could so easily have yielded to the scratcher’s temptation of comfort and warmth over the pain and coldness of the dark streets. And now, as blebs of rain stream down my jowls, I realise that something’s missing…
I've read many of the other blogs and noticed how many runners link up in the mornings and work together at clocking up the miles. Whereas, I’m alone and suffering.
The little fella in my head tells me to stop gabbing and moaning. ‘Sure, why don’t you start your own little jogging group,’ he says. ‘You know, one where you meet up in the morning and get the job done together. Committing to others makes it difficult to quit when the going gets tough.’
‘Tis a fair point he proffers, I think. And so, I decide to start a group – a very special group – of runners. These runners – with all their faults, foibles, and follies - will be introduced next week, as I ratchet the miles.
Join me on my journey to winning the 2013 Cork marathon in sub 2.23 - aided by the mysterious running guru. And now, to add a bit of spice, you can expect conflict and drama on the recession ravaged streets of Tralee, as my group of gifted and troubled runners hit the roads with me.
RHR 58 | 