“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
children like pulling the legs off flies.I’ve always hated stretching. Warming up, it seemed to me, was a waste of time. As far as I was concerned, the first 10 miles of the race was my warm-up. Result: I am barely able to touch my knees, let alone my toes
“I can’t imagine why they’ve allowed six days for 105 miles,” read Seaton’s e-mail. “It’s non-stop after all.”If this was supposed to reassure me, it didn’t. I had to remind myself that my editor’s idea of a gentle warm-up for the Trans
It was my accountant’s fault. “You have far too much money,” he said. “You need to get rid of it. For tax purposes.”“How?” said I.“Well, accountancy fees are tax-deductible. I’d be doing you a favour by doubling them.”“Thanks,” I replied, warmly
-marathon as a warm-up to a full one, because I know that when I totter over the line at the end of the half, the concept of running the same distance again, right then and there, would be enough to make me skip the big race, leave the country and live in Ecuador
