railway trains and giant rodents. The few waking hours available to elite runners are devoted entirely to training. It’s the track, then the gym, then a carton of some unspeakable complex carbohydrate with the taste and consistency of estuary mud
I strongly recommend Man v Horse. Youll enjoy every moment the long sweeps along remote forestry tracks between stands of dark and silent pine; the soaring leaps across sucking bogs; the exhilarating scrambles down steep, broken ground
shoulder ligament and a nasty cut above the right eyebrow. So now, if youll be good enough to pass me the ibuprofen and the absinthe, Ive got a track session to run.
down Santa Monica Boulevard towards the ocean. Strangely, I seemed to have become the star of a continuous Beach Boys video.A light, warm breeze played in my hair as I pulled over and slipped on my running shoes. I set off along the Tarmac track
and Abbot already enquire, “Pint of cider, Andy?” as I stagger into the pub at 6.50, still shaking from the lunatic race up the A1 on the Ducati.Life in Litlington is like an endless edition of the Archers. Nothing wrong in that. I remember doing
one lissome human greyhound. “You’re better off keeping it down to 80, plus a couple of hard track sessions.” I smiled wanly and limped off to the bar. As it happens, I beat that particular smug man by a good two hours. It turned out that the Gauntlet
