Down in Andalucia, the brave people of Running Commentary ran a hot half marathon at Almeria. Here it was damned cold, but in their honour I tried for the same distance, including quite a lot of forest running in Friston forest, while we're still allowed to.
It was cold when they went for the run. It was the sort of cold that would stop you thinking about the thing with the women. It was cold. The shepherd gave them the wine, the wine kept in goat skin. They drank it. It was good. Before the war, it had been different. Now they could do nothing. Somedays, the gypsy woman brought the aguardiente . That was good, and when they had drunk it they talked about the dead man, and about the thing with the women. Then they slept, waking no better.
I bet Hemingway never kept weekly totals, but here they are:
Total running miles this week: 33.2
Ten weeks till the Brighton marathon
