So here we are, approaching the end of Lockdown#2 with no real idea of what the short term future holds. 5 days of Christmas cheer (although for two of those, I personally will be at work) followed by many weeks of tightened restrictions until the vaccines, should they work, become widely available, after which we can all return to our pre-covid anti-social norm. I think. There seems to be plenty of doubt even on that score. If you’re protected, apparently, it doesn’t necessarily mean that you can’t spread the disease to those that have chosen not to be vaccinated. Well, as long as it is chosen not to, it will be hard to lose too much sleep over that. But how long will the protection last? It appears that nobody can say. Maybe Lockdown will become an annual affair – straight after Christmas. I hope not, I don’t think I can take any more DIY projects. My current list has been satisfactorily completed: nothing has yet fallen off or over. Corrective repairs on the previous Lockdown calamities have been completed (the author would like to extend his personal thanks to Messrs No-Nails and Hammered-In-Screw) and all areas of bodily damage taped. I’m not sure that I could do it all again.
I have enjoyed my running over the last few weeks; it has got me out of the house and away from the paint brush whilst the sky was still relatively light, whilst the weather was reasonably benign. When I return to work I will no longer have that opportunity. I will have to run in the evening, bedecked in something specifically designed to startle. My months of running to date have been characterised by my desire to not be seen. I set off with a dozen alternative routes in my head so that I can change at a second’s notice when I see somebody I might conceivably know ahead of me. I have worn black (although, from what I understand from the comments to my Zebra rhyme – here – I may have been better in stripes) in order to blend in; to be as inconspicuous as possible. Only the tell-tale rattle of almost terminal shortness of breath letting people know that I was stumbling by. That can no longer be the case. I must strive for visibility. I need people to see me coming.
I have to buy some new gear that will announce my presence to the evening world. I have to look like somebody who runs. Also, I have to focus my mind to the plod of my feet and not to the constantly evolving world of ‘For Sale’ boards that I will no longer be able to see. I will no longer be au fait with whose lawn is better than mine, who is extending at the back, who has just had the drive done. I’m not certain how effectively I will be able to martial the will to run without the distraction of inconsequentialities. Three quarters of an hour can be a very long time with only myself for company. I may not come out of it well.
Anyway, as I return to work post lockdown (again) you will be spared these semiweekly updates, at least until the post-Christmas Lockdown#3 kicks in. I will, in the meantime, plod on, looming out of the dark, pretending to be somebody else entirely; somebody who almost certainly never runs in a bright yellow jacket and a pair of leggings that have sufficient room in the crotch to hold the Strictly Come Dancing finals. If anything changes, I’ll let you know. Meantime, I will return to my old schedule of posting, and we’ll all be the better for it.
Today’s new plodding playlist:
- The Seer – Big Country
- Angela’s Eyes – Guy Garvey
- Pulling Punches – David Sylvian
- Bridges Burning – The Mission
- Far Cry – Rush
- Sowelu – Willy Porter
- Scumbag Blues – Them Crooked Vultures
- Cornflake Girl – Tori Amos
- Big Love – Fleetwood Mac (abruptly halted by an inadvertent prod on the side of the earbud – with absolutely no idea whatsoever of how to get it going again).
The next instalment of the Running diary, The Running Man and Lockdown (the Third) is here.
The previous instalment of the running diary ‘The Running Man and Dentistry’ is here.
The first part of the running diary ‘Couch to 5k’ is here.