On the face of it, today’s Juneathon entry of a piddly 1.2 miles run seems like a bit of a cheat. It comprised less than 10 minutes of actual real exercise. And it certainly didn’t warrant the late supper reward of a pasty lathered in a quart of brown sauce, a bottle of beer and a small bag of chocolate buttons. Don’t judge. How do you get through Question Time?
So that’s the fairly strong case for the prosecution. However, I believe the arguments for the defence are equally compelling. At the most basic level, you can’t get away from the fact that 1.2 miles is 1.2 miles more than nothing. And without the added impetus of Juneathon, I would have run 0 miles tonight. Not only that, but after a long day’s work, immediately followed by a two-hour Welsh class, I would have gone to the pub and had several beers. And possibly a curry. Instead, I flagged a taxi home (ok I had one pint first), laced up my trainers and at 10.20pm I ran back out of the front door.
Most Welsh learners will, at some point, hear the encouraging words from their teacher dyfal donc a dyr dy garreg which translates, roughly, as persistent tapping will break the stone. So, my 1.2 miles might not be earth shattering, but it is another tap against a mighty stone. 6 days consecutive running, 24 more to go.
And on that note, nos da.