Last night I was the victim of a cycle-by bottom-slapping. That'll teach me to run through Regent's Park in the dark. To ensure my bottom stayed safe through Primrose Hill I clung to the heels of a guy in front. Impressive how quickly he speeded up when he thought he was being followed. Which he was. Fortunately, Primrose Hill is rammed at twilight so I was able to relax at the top - on my slightly tender rump - and enjoy the view. I needed a rest. I was carrying a huge rucksack stuffed with work clothes and it felt like I was on manoeuvres.
This escalation of exercise is the result of a short conversation about marathons with my neighbour. He said I've undertrained, the last six miles will kill me and I'll be lucky if I'm not running into a headwind, which will make it worse. Once I'd overcome my initial reaction - to start banging on his door in the middle of the night and running away - I decided he was probably right. So, I'm taking his advice: more miles, more hills, more often. As is so often the case, my antagonist is also my motivator. Though I'm still trying to work out where the bottom-slapper fits in.
(Stats: 5.58 miles; about one hour; about 10.45 minute/mile.)