The New Dawn

Fickle, uninterested (and principally imaginary) readers: it's been a while. No, more than that. Two months, and some. When I logged on just now, the date of my last entry shamed me almost as much as its content.

Well, that will change right here. And why? Because now is the time that Andrew gets down to business. It's time to get serious. It's two months until the big day. A mere two months!

The truth is, I didn't do much running in June. I didn't do a whole lot in July either. I'm not sure exactly what I was doing. Not a lot, as far as I can recall. I think I need to get myself a diary and make sure to keep it updated. That way I can check back on my activities periodically, just to satisfy myself that I haven't been hibernating. Anyone seen me in the last two months? No, I mean, anyone remember seeing me in the last two months? No, thought not. Is this a part of getting old? I can barely remember what I was doing yesterday.

Well, diversions aside, things are, as I said, going to change. First of all, I'm going to ensure this page is supplemented regularly. Weekly. That's right. Once a week - unless I come across something particularly interesting, in which I case I might even do it more often. (I'm reading a book of English history at the moment - did you know the venerable Bede had a monastery in Sunderland? A place steeped in history, if ever there was one.)

I'm also going to be running a lot. Outside. In fact, I've started that already (of which more later). And I'll be cutting down my alcohol intake. And eating healthy food. For example, I've recently broken the habit of a lifetime by starting to eat bananas. At the moment, there's something strangely pleasing about the peeling of them in particular, though I'm sure the novelty will wear off sooner or later.

All these things I'll be doing. And I'll be keeping records and writing them down. Why not? If I can't cave to these obsessive-compulsive urges at the mature age of twenty-eight, then when can I?

Oh, and I suppose I should start hassling people for money, like the desperate bore I've always really wanted to be. Go on, you miserable buggers.

So. Running. After four days of horrific three mile sprints around Greenwich and then Bromley a couple of weeks ago, I went for a change of tactic. Hesitantly, I allowed the good lady to escort me out for a jog on Thursday night. Hand in hand, we ambled into the dusky sunlight of Greenwich park at 6.5 miles per hour (so my swanky new watch tells me). We hit a mile without difficulty. I gave her a rakish wink. Two miles. Still no problems. Three miles: I still hadn't died! At this point, the better half retired to a dark room - my manly musk had made her come over all a quiver. But I felt okay, and so I continued. It turns out that I was probably trying to run too fast on my previous forays...

Well, two further jogs later have ratcheted up over 15 miles this weekend. Marvellous. I'm feeling more positive now, that's for sure. Yes, we'll see how things pan out next week...

Week 1 of "New dawn":
Outings: 3
Miles: 20
Alcohol intake: 1 pint lager, 1 pint bitter, 1 half-pint Leffe, 1 bottle of wine (approx.).
Bananas: 4.