In my quest to become the slowest runner in London, I walked half of today's run. So, not really a run then. A walk.
Things started badly when I turned the first corner and found the pavements blocked. O'Connor's waste disposal on one side and spiralcellars.com ('the quickest, cheapest and easiest way of building a wine cellar') on the other.
Spying a two-inch gap between man, van and fence I continued onwards, only to meet a dog on an extendable lead. Keen that I should not pass, it did a few laps of my feet until we were joined at the ankles. I was trying my best not to fall over and squash it when its owner finally arrived. At this point, I pondered the filmic quality of the moment. Many a romantic movie had brought its protagonists together with a similarly improbable meeting proving a catalyst for their happy-ever-after. Clearly my 'hero' hadn't seen any of those films. Or, if he had, he certainly wasn't a fan. Instead of the adoring gaze that would signal our impending love affair, he gave a weary sigh and bent down to unwrap the lead. His grumbling disposition suggesting that he felt I made a habit of tangling leads around my legs in order to trap unsuspecting men. It's certainly a thought.
And so I continued. But the little momentum I had, had departed with the dachshund. At two and a half miles, I'd had enough and stopped to walk. At the 'speed' I was running, this didn't necessitate much of a gear change. I completed the 'run' at a pottering pace, stopping to bask in the sunshine on Primrose Hill. And finally, pausing to appreciate the man eating a pasty in a white van, playing 'My Life' by Billy Joel so loud that anyone with a north London postcode could share in his enjoyment.
(Stats: 4.18 miles; 58 minutes; 13.52 minute/mile.)