Father’s Day Run – Juneathon 16/30

weirToday’s run means I’ve officially been out running more in June 2013 than any other month in the last two years. That’s my 15th run in 16 days, and as I’m normally lucky to get in three runs a week I’m quite chuffed with that. Although the average distance I’m currently running is probably only around 4 miles, it shows what is possible when you put your mind to something.

It was nice to celebrate this small achievement on Father’s Day. The birth of my daughter just over two years ago was a pretty big kick up the backside in terms of addressing my fitness. Those who suggested that it was just an excuse to have some time away from a screaming baby should not be believed. Well, ok. The odd half hour in the open air to get my head straight did come in handy from time to time.

It was the third run in the rain in a row (trying saying that with a mouthful of gobstoppers), and although my heart went out to all those waiting around for the cricket to start at Sophia Gardens, it was actually near perfect for running. Very little wind and just enough drizzle to keep you cool. It was tough getting going. My calf muscles were still fairly tight, my back was sore and every step for the first twenty minutes was grim. But, then, as so often happens on the longer runs I eased into an easier rhythm, everything loosened up and by the time I was into the home straight an hour later I felt like I was flying. Odd to think that if I would have stopped after 3-4 miles I would be looking back on that as a horrible run, but having done 8, it felt great.

The weir near Llandaff rowing club always looks better in the rain I think, so I stopped to take a quick snap, above.

One downer on today’s run… the turn in the weather has finally done for my earphones, so off hunting online now for a decent pair.


Today’s vital statistics

Run: 8 miles in 1hr7mins

Spotted: that rarest of things, an almost deserted Taff Trail on a Sunday afternoon; three bustling dog-walkers, dressed ready for a monsoon, let alone a summer shower; a dad and son hammering a tennis ball back and forth in the rain – neither seemed happy to be there, a promise fulfilled; a taxi dropping someone off at the cemetery, a moment of melancholy reminding me that this is a doomed race against mortality.

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