Why I should have imagined that a 14-mile run along the Cleveland Way in August might be good training for the 105-mile Jordan Desert Cup, remains a mystery. Perhaps I reasoned, not unreasonably, that August = Summer = Heat
bush. Here I was spotted by Tim, ex- treasurer of the Totteridge Tossers, who spent the next three, excruciating miles telling me how he got lost during the Rhubarb Patch 10K in 1983. The sun was like a great, bronze gong, ringing in my ears. Tim
at the start. In fact, he ran the first 10 miles of the Sierre-Zinal mountain race under provisional plates, before formally ‘coming out’ as a competitor.Some might say his circumspection borders on the psychotic. I might have said so myself, six months ago
“This is WKLA, comin’ to you from the heart of downtown Santa Monica. It’s another beautiful morning here by the ocean – and this is Steely Dan.” I turned up the radio and wound down the windows of the absurd, grey 1965 Oldsmobile as it wallowed
.And then it suddenly dawned on me that next Sunday would be the first for 20 years when I wouldn’t tread the well-worn path past the blackened remains of the stolen moped; wouldn’t trip lightly across the little wooden bridge over the stinking ribbon of slime
was the perfect training for the MDS – which is really about trudging up endless down escalators of sand with half a ton of useless junk on your back. And now I’ve discovered that, in terms of running fitness, 20 minutes of boxing achieves as much as an hour
