This morning I went for a run. A very short run but a run nonetheless. The thing about going for a run in the mountains is, well, there’s mountains. It’s not like in London where my running consisted of making a beeline for the river and then running as far as possible along it. The thing about going for a run next to the Thames is, well, it’s flat.
A quick remark about my running ‘career’ perhaps. I didn’t really do exercise. A bit of cycling here and there, and some rollerblading, but nothing serious and certainly never any running. Then, in 2004, I saw the London Marathon on TV. That was it, I was going to run a marathon (there were fat people running the marathon! And old people! If they could do it so could I!). Trainers and sports bra purchased and I was off. For about 5 and a half minutes. With Alpine Papa cycling next to me for ‘encouragement’ I made it back to the flat but I was not in good shape. And I certainly hadn’t had fun. I wasn’t convinced.