parkrun

I'm not a parkrun tourist. I've done a handful of different ones over the years, but I've never gone chasing a tally the way some people do. Still, Sandy and I had talked for ages about doing an "iconic" parkrun abroad, the kind of plan that comes up over a pint and then goes nowhere for two years. When we finally sat down and decided, I think I got the better of him. I pushed hard for Mura di Lucca, five kilometres around the old city walls of Lucca in Tuscany, and he didn't put up much of a fight.

A few weeks back at Troon I'd restarted parkrun after a short time off and came home with my best result in a while. Troon's one of the flattest courses you'll find, which makes it a good test. Not bad for getting back into it, and it showed the pace was still there. The following week at Dean Castle was rougher, a reminder that one good run means nothing without consistency. This morning I came back to Troon with a specific target: break 31 minutes for the first time this year.

Four weeks off. A vomiting bug took the first, a cold that may or may not have been covid took the other three. I didn't test, sometimes it's just easier not to know.

Storm Dave was supposed to arrive this morning. I had checked the forecast twice, and was quietly delighted about it. Not because I wanted the storm, exactly, but because a named storm feels like a legitimate reason not to go to parkrun.

I spent most of Friday night quietly hoping Dean Castle parkrun would be cancelled.

I arrived at Eglinton Parkrun at 9:05am this morning. I know. I barely recognised myself.

Another Saturday, another late departure. It was my first visit to Cuningar Loop, and I made it with fifteen minutes to spare. I arrived at 9:15, just enough time to find a parking spot and do absolutely no warm-up whatsoever.