Hounds And Hare Backwards

More in reverse than backwards but I'm sure you get the drift.

Having run Billy No Mates for the last couple of weeks I sought human companionship today in the form of JPM runner Andy Stubbs. I had intended asking him what the black dog reference in his blog was all about but forgot. Instead I mused over whether Nigel is a stupid name for a squirrel or not. And if it is then what constitutes a sensible name.

Alas today we say no marching bands playing pick of the pops and there were no close death experiences crossing roads. Andy did his now legendary darting through the tourists while I dutifully followed.

Eight miles covered and I don't feel too bad. Maybe running can sometimes be enjoyable after all.

Overdid It

Did a five-mile steady Westminster Bridge loop yesterday while today’s session was five-minute repeats off two minutes recovery.

Running out along The Embankment worked hard to keep the pace sub 10K. Then on the way back disaster: had to cut the fourth rep a minute short as needed to pay a visit.

Emerged a couple of stone lighter but with very tight leg muscles. Feeling guilty over the four-minute rep did a further two five-minute efforts taking the total up to six instead of the five demanded by the training schedule.

Got back to the gym absolutely cream cracker’d. Didn't fall asleep at my desk so still have a job to go back to tomorrow – should I be glad?

A Field of Some Importance

Footpaths go places - right? You join one, go along it for some distance and then leave it. You have arrived. Perhaps you are now at the junction with another path, a rural village, a famous poet's birth place. Something. Anything. But not this one:

And don't be fooled by into thinking it leads to a reservoir - because it doesn't:

My faith in Hertfordshire footpaths has been destroyed.