Mad Max Runs

I do not like that DNF, I do not like the miles I left. I do not like that memory - Of quitting time, of stopping me. I do not like the dream replay, I'm at mile 70 every day. No bones were sticking out my leg, I cracked just like a broken egg. Two points of pride are what I've left, Along with one fat DNF. It's not Shakespeare but it's all I've got at the moment. Tell you what, had I known the level of torment that Ridgeway 86 conclusion would deliver me, I'd have mulled it over a bit longer.  I don't know that I could have physically done things any differently to be fair, but to say I'm haunted by the outcome is a bit of an understatement. It's also significantly unfortunate. But more so, I think it's just mostly about the unfinished business. So seeing as I was struggling to identify the perfect way to mark my 50th birthday next month, this is now a no-brainer. I retired at 8:47 am. So on my birthday, October 28, at 8:47 am, I will set ...

Who knew a cinder block could be so comfortable? May well have been at The Four Seasons, that. Solid underneath and a place of rest. Again. My goodness, what a journey was that Ridgeway (not)86. To my right, the path up to Waylands Smithy, tucked neatly behind a curtain of mist. Ahead, a young man and woman who'd just passed, while eyeing me curiously to determine whether I needed some kind of assistance or perhaps some kind of rubber room.  Neither, friends. Just a bed. It seems that my thousand mile stare is also hideous at maths, as it must have gone light years by then. And out there ahead, more fog swallowed up those two people walking with feet that weren't battered by miles, and effort, and hills and chalk and...and...and... There's me, so slumped over I may well have been boneless, taking one deep breath after the other to regain control of my breathing, regain some mental focus, make some decisions. I looked around again, closed my eyes and shook my head....