you like a cloud. You can’t eat, you can’t drink, you can’t do anything at all because at the back of your mind you’re aware that you’ve got to go running. Until you do, you’re effectively paralysed. And of course – as everybody knows – running itself

sit with a steaming mug of Pink Grapefruit, Mandarin and Lime Infusion – and a blinding hangover. That’s right, four days into this draconian diet and I feel as if I spent last night drinking absinthe and heroin cocktails. My head is gripped

a skinful of Barsted’s Old Flyfumbler at the Bedford’s Revenge.”The fact is, when the going gets tough, the tough go drinking. I was vacillating between these two contradictory positions when my running suddenly and unaccountably began to pick up. I

match or even a bloody barbecue without it getting rained off, how come, when you’re really up against it, you can’t find a single cubic centimetre of water to drink?By the time morning began to filter through the birch trees and the wolves had retreated

-up race. And so I’m utterly paralysed by the prospect, drinking heavily and just occasionally managing a feeble set of 10 reverse crunches in the gym. Seaton’s e-mail was like God clearing his throat. “Game’s up – do the work or your bleached bones

members of his audience pretended to make notes. In fact, they were trying to write their own epitaphs. Almost all of the attendees of this singularly depressing meeting were on soft drinks. Which seemed to me a terrific waste, since the Yorkshire Grey

as fast as today’s sorry bunch.“Ah! Good morrow, Mister Blackford!” At least Norman managed a semblance of cheery bonhomie. Harry just grunted at the dog, and Big Ron barely raised a grimace.“You’re slow today,” I replied as I tagged on to their flank

Chinese woman with a 12ft fishing rod – and past Ken, who was hanging out and drinking with a bunch of his psychotic veteran friends. They jeered at us good-naturedly as we ambled by, well within the speed limit. It was now getting seriously warm

given me greater pleasure – except perhaps being stuck in a lift for 24 hours with a drinks trolley and Shania Twain. But sadly, the dog is dead.”It couldn’t have been worse if I’d struck him in the face. He slumped in his chair and whispered hoarsely

been achieved with recourse only to unconventional training techniques. The drinking of cider, for instance. I clocked my PB for the Three Bridges Race (along the Thames embankments) while suffering a hangover of Olympian proportions. I’ve occasionally