Like every true-born Englishman, I love dogs, though I have to admit that, when it comes to some of the larger breeds, I can’t eat a whole one. I’m running again, after six weeks of abstinence, and today took myself up Seaford Head across the golf course. This is a favourite spot for dog walkers, and it was not long before a huge beast, its fangs dripping with slobber and gore from its last victim, began to pursue me, growling hideously the while. Its owners called it back half-heartedly, but made no attempt to speak to me. At least they did not blame me for provoking their hound by running in the style of its prey.
As for the running, it hurts a little, but it is such a pleasure to be out. I avoid road-running if I can, and even the well-known paths over Seaford head are a joy, with blackthorn flowering beside some of them. I have now undertaken three runs. I intend to build slowly—a 5K, perhaps a ParkRun in six weeks, a 10k six weeks after that, and, who knows, maybe a half marathon six weeks after that. Might a marathon be thinkable after that? I don’t know, though my GP, examining my knees, remarked that they had marathons in them. So there are, but are there any more?
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