At home the walls are strangely bare. Daughter has taken all her revision notes down, which is uncharacteristically tidy of her. It’s probably just to stop me blogging about any more of them.
The annual Nottingham Grand Prix starts tonight. That’s four running races in ten days. Part one is, as ever, 10k around Holme Pierrepont Water Sports Centre, meaning we return to the scene of the crime that was the 10 miler a month or so ago.
L is so stressed that she threatens to be eating chocolate as she runs round the many loops of the rowing strip at Holme Pierrepont. I think this is work-related stress rather than race-related. That said, it’s an interesting strategy and if it works she’ll have to do it at every race. I also hope she sticks to one lap. It is only one lap tonight isn't it?
In the end she just downs a sports bar, well that’s all she admits to and then apparently regrets it, feeling full all the way around. That is all the way around in over three minutes quicker than last year. Clearly something worked. Meanwhile I plod round two minutes slower than last year. So our times are converging, at five minutes a year she’ll soon be in front of me.
I suffer badly from stitch from 3km to around 8.5km, not pleasant. I blame my pre-race snack of a flapjack, which I had at 3.30, four hours before the start. So it shouldn’t have been a problem.
Oh well, things can only get better. Ah, no they can’t, its Rushcliffe next. I hate running around Rushcliffe and they’re making us do it twice in five days this years, thanks to Batman.
(Tuesday 28th June)
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