The exercise-ist

Bless me father. I'm making some progress at last. I know you'd want to know.  Two sports massages banked and stretching every day peppered with gym or swimming is sorting me out. No hills yet, mind. 

I felt goodish as I lined up at the Elder Park run on Saturday. I happened to have a social in Glasgow over the weekend and with it being such a beautiful morning, I took the clockwork orange into Govan and walked to the Park with Alma from Reigate. From her accent she sounded Australian, but I didn't want to ask. As I warmed up, Chris Upson appeared from out of the early Spring foliage. I wasn't phased, however. I had to run my own race and wanted a sub 23, and was probably up to a sub22 given that there are no hills on this course. Right enough, I clocked 21 minutes and left the park smartly with a spring in my step. It was a fancy lunch from one till 5pm at Exchange Square. The meal was first class and the company entertaining. I gave myself a high-five, keeping away from the alcohol. I even elected for a mocktail at the Blue Dog as the gang took up the back of the bar. We left around 7pm and I celebrated by making a whistle stop visit to The Griffin, a pub which on another visit, I will have a proper mans pint of frothing ale. 

Making the most of the weekend, I breakfasted on Sunday on scrambled egg and tea. We mosied along the streets to Glasgow Green for the 10k. Marg was doing the 5k. It was drizzling and the organisers had taken 40 quid off us for the experience, promising a medal at the end. I bridle at the cost of some of these things.

It was cool and grey as I mashed up and around the park, clocking 21 minutes again for the first 5k. Having not done 6 miles since December I worked hard on maintaining my old mans shuffle during the second half of the event but slowed to a 23 minute second half. As I turned the final corner, the large coffee I had had at McDonalds made itself known and exited in a fashion that reminded me of the exorcist, even as I was gagging for air and trying not to let my head swivel round so much. Hopefully the blokey at the end with the camera failed to capture this caffeine projectile art installation and, by the time I got to the finish, in a touch under 45 minutes, I had got it back together and was smiling, albeit with brown teeth, watery eyes and a snotty nose. I know, I know, too much information. We didn't need the priest after all! It was back to the hotel for a shower and the train south. What a palavar.