A frustrating two miles this morning, as I didn’t get any momentum going and paused several times, hoping that the restart would pull the trigger to release limber energy to get me home — but I got home just as stiff as when I left. Frustrating. Along the way I considered dropping the Bannister Mile on Monday week, but realised that the problem isn’t that I can’t run a mile, but that my competitive streak wouldn’t consider it worthwhile if I don’t finish ahead of someone; I realised that a 3K Fun Run might be doable (the presence of ‘Fun’ presumably signifying ‘times don’t matter’) — then understood that if I run next Monday on the ‘fun’ basis, the stress resolves itself and I needn’t get so wound up about myself. Just (as the adverts say) do it.
Then Margaret and I went to the eight o’clock, in order to have a languorous breakfast in town — oh, delicious and indulgent — and home again to relieve the ladies and to tackle marking. I should do a ‘story behind my books’ entry on What Is Postmodern Biblical Criticism?, perhaps if I clear marking off my desk.
Don’t say anything about the Orioles. Maybe their mediocrity is an aggravating factor in my own disheartening athletic practices.