Apparently I have competition. My occasional (when I don’t see him first), self-appointed, personal trainer is apparently now doing the half marathon on Sunday after previously announcing he was giving away his number. My spies saw him training on the dreadmill this morning and believe he has said he's aiming for two and a half hours. L says they all say that. Well, she normally says three hours.
I’m delighted for him and now we can run together. I’m aiming for two and a half hours as well. L promises to throw bottles at us from Triumph Road. She’s thoughtful like that.
She's also feeling very smug, practically glowing with smug having done a brick session. That must have involved a bike.
Tonight the much derided match forcibly relocated from Saturday. Subsequently attendance is about 5k down on what you would expect. Despite being 0-0 it’s a good close game that Derby would maybe have won had we had a manager who is a bit more prepared to take risks. He’s still new, so perhaps he’ll become more daring in time.
The joy of Monday’s is that our usual post match haunt, The Harrington in Elvaston doesn’t open. We visit Aston’s Malt Shovel and celebrate my Dad’s Birthday with a couple of drinks.
(Monday 21st September)