Chapter 33 - Poetry in Motion

A Freudian kip?

This week, I have been mostly tapering.  An aching back and a sharp niggle in the calf have effectively stopped me running – but have not stopped me eating.  Still – it’s given me chance to catch up on the theory (I'm re-reading all our  marathon books) and to try to pick up some style tips from the many people who lap me as I bimble round parkrun on Saturdays.  Certain people stand out – week in, week out….

Gwil floats irritatingly six inches above the ground, and never bothers to put his feet down.  This is clearly cheating. 

Tom runs as if he’s made of compressed rubber – all power and elasticity, and short, dynamic steps.  This is also cheating, and anyway my legs are too long to move that quickly.  It’s against the laws of physics.

Roy and Bernie are poetry in motion – a joy to watch.  I haven’t worked out if this is cheating or not, because I am so jealous.

Ellie has a fantastically high back-lift, with heels that reach approximately head height with every step.  This is probably not cheating, but it’s not normal either.

Helen is a ninja runner – perfectly silent (and probably deadly).  Not only do her feet make no sound, she apparently doesn’t breathe either.  Cheating.

George runs like the sprinter he is – powerful shoulders and a brilliant finish.  This isn’t cheating if you’re doing a 5k, but I can’t see it getting me far in the marathon.

Dave runs like an express train – arms like pistons and steam coming out the top of his head.  This is definitely NOT cheating, but there’s no point me trying to do it, as I just don’t have the drive.

All round me, at my pace, are my kind of runners.  We may not have the prettiest styles, but we push each other when required to, and when the occasion calls for it, we run and gossip at the same time.  This does terrible things to our form and our times, but sometimes you just have to give in to it.  Just like I’m giving in to chocolate and the lure of the sofa.