Life in a day
The price that you pay
For time that you spent
It’s such a fatal event
Take a look at your watch
There is no time to wait
Take a look deep inside
There’s no escape from this day
Saturday 19th September and Burnham-on-Sea Harriers elite squad formed A and B teams to compete in the Uphill to Wells relay. I’m not sure of the final placings but I believe our A team finished fourth. Everybody seemed happy with their runs. My experience of relay running from my previous life was County Championships, Midlands Regional Road Relays and Midlands Cross Country Championships. I believes it gives the team or group an opportunity of team bonding and comradeship above and beyond normal ‘club life’.
Anyway, as I’m now a slow old fart I was surplus to requirements. Madame Pompomadour and myself wondered up to Ian Booth’s as he kindly offered to repair Pompomadour bicycle. A nice little chat followed by a prawn sandwich and americano at Cafe Beans and a watch of some football and I was ready for my run.
I started by running down the road trying to loosen my load when I found a group of people with a cyclist who who was laying down on the ground. ‘Hi’, I said. ‘Is everything okay? I’m first aid trained’. Nothing. I quickly observed that the cyclist was in no danger, responding to stimulus, airways weren’t restricted and was breathing normally. I went on my merry way thinking the respondents were bloody rude.
I headed up to Stoddens Road and onto Crooked Lane. I remembered a segment that Matt Powell had used for a speed session and turned off towards that. Crossing a couple of fields, one of which had a number of curious cows, and a railway crossing. I followed the path to Brent Knoll, along a road and back onto a footpath.
After a couple of fields I reached a gate with another field. Two ladies and a dog were waiting there. They were waiting because several young bullocks were by the gate. Jeez, I thought. I’ve heard so many stories about runners and cows and I had already dodged one bullet this evening. I thought this is a moment. Talking sweetly to the young bulls, I gently opened the gate. The youngs bulls despersed like I was some kind of Moses parting the Red Sea. I must be some kind of bullocks whisperer or talker of bullocks. The two ladies and dog followed safely. I continued my run along Crooked Lane and Brent Broad and onto to the beach and home. Here I invented the acronym, GRUB Grass, Road, Urban, Beach.
After a lovely soapy bath, I ventured out to purchase some beers to relax away my evening. Here I was met by people not observing the ‘guidelines’ of wearing masks and no more than 3 allowed in the shop at any time. I pointed this out to one individual and he responded with ‘my bad’. My bad. What the fucking hell is that about? I attempted to explain about a pandemic and R rates but the asshole suffered with a a severe lack of understanding. Sorry, but it’s like pissing in the wind. Maybe every asshole should die and we start again. No predudice.
Tomorrow is a new day.