Happily Ever After
Life in The Rural Retreat with a beautiful wife, three cats, garden wildlife, a camera, a computer – and increasing amounts about running
Earlier posts can be found on Adventures of a Lone Bass Player, where this blog began life. Recent entries can be found here.
What Next?
by Russell Turner - 17:22 on 29 April 2018
Summer must be around the corner. Today the sun shone – perfect biking (or gardening) weather – but, after two late gig nights and a run yesterday morning, all I could cope with was a day spent lazing around the cottage. Matchgirl, who followed two hours of running yesterday with another three-and-a-half today, refrained from comment.
I did spend some time trying to answer the question “What next?” after London and came up with few answers. It’s not that there aren’t more than a plethora of marathons, half marathons and 10ks on the Scottish and UK running calendars; what there are few of are ones that don’t clash with City Limits gigs, from which I derive much of my income, or with the absence of Matchgirl on business, which would leave me in a cat quandary.
For a while I even considered the Loch Ness Marathon at the end of September, despite a gig the night before. The gig will be a midnight finish, and not far from home, so getting to Inverness next day for 9am for a 10am start would be doable, I reasoned. Then I read further and discovered that runners are expected to assemble at 7.15am at the latest for the 10am start. So that’s a non-starter.
The Aviemore half marathon in October is logistically possible, unless another gig comes up the night before (unless it’s in Aviemore with accommodation thrown in), but Matchgirl reminded me of her experience in the event: narrow, rocky tracks and being held up by ambling slower competitors. Chances are that I’d be among the amblers but rocks and mud hold little appeal.
Aviemore is the same day as the Yorkshire Marathon, which is much more interesting: it starts in York, where I used to live, and on the way to its furthest point passes through Sand Hutton, where I used to visit my great granny. There’d even be the chance of a Yorkshire-based family support squad to cheer me on. But, again, logistics are against it. Maybe next year.
Which leaves as my only athletic target next year’s London Marathon, already reserved in the City Limits diary in case lightning strikes twice and I’m a winner in next week’s ballot. Shame I won’t know until October. But I felt lucky, for no good reason, when I entered last May, and I feel lucky again. Time will tell.
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