Someone's mother used to say: "There are sixty two days in January". She was right. My own mother used to be counting pennies from the 15th as if there were thirty one days left to February 1st. To the Clare Crusader it might not be the pennies that are the main preoccupation in January but the cold, the wind, the damp, the icy footpaths, the constant threat of flu, the constant threat of injury induced by the wretched climatic conditions. A carefully laid plan for a return to pre Christmas fitness lies in tatters. I imagine that Saturday morning runs, which are the power house for so many Crusaders, have been abandoned. And for many a 'would be' Clare Crusader who has been bracing themselves and searching for the courage to join that merry gang of runners on a Saturday morning the feelings are even more uninspiring. It is the disappointment of seeing one of one's priority New Year's resolutions sail down the swanny ever before St Bridget's Day looms nearer. So someone's mother got it spot on, sixty two days in January. Sixty two miserable days.
It is not that I am trying to add to your depressed state that I will share a secret with you, a secret and a solution: warm weather training in Portugal in January. Oh God it's heaven. Not too hot. Nice and sunny. Quiet roads and tracks. Very often the company of waves crashing beside you, more melodic than any iPod. The shower afterwards is a promise and not another hardship. How I wish there were sixty two days in January in Portugal. The only threat is/are the dogs in rural Portugal. They seem to be in every house but fortunately they are usually fenced in. Of course all it takes is one on the loose to shatter the idyllic mood. A bit like in Lees Road. "He won't touch you", you hear barked at you above the barking and barked at you as if you are the root cause of all evil. "It's the heart attack that bothers me", I moan to myself. I haven't the breath to bark back. The Portuguese sentence is a bit longer and sounds like: "He won't bite if you're not afraid. He smells fear". Most comforting. How is it that these dogs are always 'he's'?
But relief is almost at hand for the Crusader and for the 'would be' Crusader who does not lose hope. The evenings lengthen. Mornings brighten. Long ago they used to say that days lengthen after Christmas by a "coischéim choiligh", the footstep of a cock, every day. Those of you with experience of hens know that those tiny footsteps take a hen a long way. Soon Saturday mornings will be bright and cheerful. Lent will be upon us. Lent could be a runner's life saver. Lent could be an opportunity to renew the New Year's resolutions. Instead of giving up stuff the Crusader and the 'would be' Crusader could 'take up' stuff. Like the Saturday morning run, for instance. By the time Lent comes about that Saturday morning run should be sufficient punishment. By Easter we will all be back on the saddle again. PB's in the Hurley/Hoey and the Pakie Ryan. Portugal will be a distant memory.
It is not that I am trying to add to your depressed state that I will share a secret with you, a secret and a solution: warm weather training in Portugal in January. Oh God it's heaven. Not too hot. Nice and sunny. Quiet roads and tracks. Very often the company of waves crashing beside you, more melodic than any iPod. The shower afterwards is a promise and not another hardship. How I wish there were sixty two days in January in Portugal. The only threat is/are the dogs in rural Portugal. They seem to be in every house but fortunately they are usually fenced in. Of course all it takes is one on the loose to shatter the idyllic mood. A bit like in Lees Road. "He won't touch you", you hear barked at you above the barking and barked at you as if you are the root cause of all evil. "It's the heart attack that bothers me", I moan to myself. I haven't the breath to bark back. The Portuguese sentence is a bit longer and sounds like: "He won't bite if you're not afraid. He smells fear". Most comforting. How is it that these dogs are always 'he's'?
But relief is almost at hand for the Crusader and for the 'would be' Crusader who does not lose hope. The evenings lengthen. Mornings brighten. Long ago they used to say that days lengthen after Christmas by a "coischéim choiligh", the footstep of a cock, every day. Those of you with experience of hens know that those tiny footsteps take a hen a long way. Soon Saturday mornings will be bright and cheerful. Lent will be upon us. Lent could be a runner's life saver. Lent could be an opportunity to renew the New Year's resolutions. Instead of giving up stuff the Crusader and the 'would be' Crusader could 'take up' stuff. Like the Saturday morning run, for instance. By the time Lent comes about that Saturday morning run should be sufficient punishment. By Easter we will all be back on the saddle again. PB's in the Hurley/Hoey and the Pakie Ryan. Portugal will be a distant memory.