My Mum does a great Dutch pea soup. It’s thick to the point of chewy and is filled with innumerable ingredients, most of which you could never prove were in there because they’ve been cooked into a merger. It has a sneaky heat about it…Which brings me more neatly than you’d think to the 2015 Cayman Islands Half-Marathon.
I made sure to suck in my stomach, don my mask of supreme confidence and speed up a tad as I passed them…and I just about resisted shouting “I’M KICKING YOUR DAD’S BUTT!” at one of them.
But I don’t WANT an indication of my marathon fitness, Coach, because it might not be very good, and I don’t WANT to use my time in the McMillan Running Calculator because it will tell me that I’m rubbish and that I should run (more) slowly in training which will be discouraging and I don’t need that right now.
I waved to him as I slowly collapsed, hoping that I didn’t look injured, because what would I be doing just lying there. But I was also hoping that I didn’t look like I’d wussed out on a run, because that would be worse. Maybe if I just looked like a guy in very short shorts who liked to lie down in car parks resting his leg up a tree, that would be OK.
Rational people do not get up at 3.30am to go running. Not unless there is a bear that has chosen that round-numbered moment of the night to come crashing through your bedroom wall. And even then, you’d want to weigh up whether being ripped to shreds by a grizzly was really that much worse than all…