Boxhead

I felt like a bag of tatties last night when we ran round the town and then spanked a few 2 minute efforts into the evening. Shocking really. May not be able to show my face.  I’ve definitely regressed this last fortnight and the only real difference is a return to the world of snack and the increase in bike miles. Maybe the old carcass can’t cope with the change. I can’t remember the last time I used that word. Regressed. Like ‘Altered States.’ Saw it in the early 80’s. Enjoyed it – another Ken Russell extravaganza.  It's good. Watch it...
I donned many layers of clothes to protect my fragile frame from the freezing frigid fist that’s grabbed the tail end of Winter, even after we thought we’d got off scot-free.  Today’s run was around the town again when I managed 4 on my own before another 8 miles with the lads, all scarfs, double gloves and hats and larger than life with an accumulation of layers. Flourescent Michelin men on the road in a haze of self generated clouds of vapour and breath.
I had a race free January despite my broken promise to salvage the month late on. Have to be philosophical though; Can't be up there every season. It would be athletically myopic to drive the 3 hours to Forfar this weekend when I can’t even get going in training.  So, back to the gym, back to the drawing board to plan where we go from here. Having just finished Nile Rodgers autobiography I can be found mentally on every street corner thumbing my base and doin ‘tha thang’. Yousa, Yousa....