three legged dog

He was lame as a three legged dog screamed as he came through the fog

If you are the Light give me a light buddy
(leonard cohen)

wherever we run this morning we find the wind is already there. we run through the woods in luminous single file. the wind is there. we regroup on the road. the wind is there. we run up a hill and it blows back into our faces. we retreat back into the tree's. the wind is there, it mocks us, rustles our jackets and tousles our hair. juan, the clubs other foreign runner is not there. he is on holiday in another time zone, it's the middle of the night and he's fast asleep. neither is jerry, he's recovering from a 50 mile race in his union jack shorts. i battle in the bluster, as lame as a three legged dog, my body stiff, unresponsive and out of sync. in truth i hate running on these days and hold various conversations with the rest of the group in an attempt to take my mind off the run. we discuss marathon training and zimbabwe and speak in code (time on my feet, 8 minute mileing, fartlek, bonking) when i exhaust this strategy i lapse into solitary and grumpy silence at the back of the pack. i curse the wind. i tell myself to htfu. i wish that i'd stayed in bed. eventually i get home. for the rest of the day my legs ache, i've had tougher, longer and faster runs without any ill effect. strange.