A couple of 4 mile jogs during the week with a couple
of 6 mile jogs over the week end has been my routine now
for several years. This routine is stepped up a few
notches for those years when I enter the London Marathon
but I take the ability to run a few miles, or a few miles more,
when I choose, for granted.
Over the past few jogs though, I have felt as if I was
running on empty and have been disconcerted by having
to step down from jogging to walking. No apparent reason
though the various jogging/health manuals suggest lack of
potassium etc as the problem.
I recollect Paula Radcliffe during her Athens Marathon attempt,
flaking out. Of course she is an elite athlete whereas
I barely muster a jog in the park but thankfully we human beings
are not automatons or entirely predictable.
Some of our unpredicatabilty is of course down to making
illogical choices in life or fighting against a trend. Some
unpredictability is down to circumstances
which we cannot control, like forest fires or the behaviour
of those we love; or those we don't.
Some though is down to ill health. For those who like me
normally enjoy good health, the rare bout of illness
can provide a salutory reminder of the fragility of life
and the need to be alert to treat it with reverence and like
the very precious privilege it is.
Today's run over Wimbledon Common was glorious. Rude health
prevailed once more; the sun was rising over the Commonscape
of autumnal gold, orange, green and brown; frost made the
ground crunchy underfoot and a waist high mist swirled
around as I jogged.
One of those great to be alive moments that occur
even in London Suburbia.