I ran a mere 2.75 miles today; I'm slowly building fitness up again after the bronchitic interlude. On Thursday morning I ran 3.75 miles; measure this against the programme I should have run six miles on Wednesday and seven on Thursday.
There is another reason for taking it easy. After running on Thursday morning, I visited the dentist, where my last remaining upper teeth were removed, one more of my lower ones, and dentures fitted. I hesitate to admit this in public—wearers of false teeth were objects of ridicule and easy meat for lazy comedians in my youth. Not an issue of the Beano or Dandy appeared without a false-teeth joke. I too laughed at Hoffnung's Oxford Union speech: 'the teeth on the top are fine, but the ones one my bottom hurt terribly"*. Moreover, I fear that the dewy-eyed maidens among my readers, once they know the truth about my dentition, will no longer swoon with unrequited longing over these posts and their author, but turn to other, faster, younger, male runner-bloggers with a full set of thirty-two.
Still, when all's said and done, I run with my feet, not my teeth. Dentures take some getting used to, and I was worried that they might impede my running. For the past two days, I have over-salivated like anything, and as for eating…So I am pleased to have proved that I can run with them. They didn't fall out. It isn't comfortable, but running isn't about comfort. Now to build up some distance.
* From the section of letters he claimed to have been sent while working at the DHSS (Department of Health and Social Security for younger readers). My favourite still is, "I have been in bed with the doctor for a week and it doesn't seem to be doing me much good".
