Feeling it on Seanadh Phéistín

Bog cotton on Seanadh Phéistín... from last summer.

Two things:  1) I need to change my runners, 2) I need to establish a better running routine. 

Not doing either of the above has seriously affected my running lately.  Now, I know there is no excuse for me not to change runners but lately domestic bills have been given priority over my pavement pounding, with the result that I'm practically running on the soles of my feet along the hard concrete grounds of Conamara.  I'm convinced that this is what gave me a sore hip two weeks ago, but idiotically I still haven't changed the bróga (Gaelic for shoes!).  So, I promise to get a brand swanking new pair tomorrow, it being 'pay day'.

Now, on the other front, I have even less excuse.  I haven't strung a three-day week session in well over a month.  In fact, for the past few weeks I have only run once.  At least this week I have done two sessions, so please God I'll get out for a third on the weekend (with my brand swanking new bróga).  

Yesterday, Conor and I got out to Seanadh Phéistín for a seven miler.  The man is flying!  He will complete his 100th marathon this August, with a 100 mile run in Conamara, and is darting down to Limerick this weekend to compete in marathon number 92.  I felt like a complete novice beside him as we climbed the gradiants of Seanadh Phéistín - him chatting away like an auld woman having tea and crumpets, while I grunted and groaned to the best of my ability!  The greatest indignity came after the halfway turn when Conor declared that he would do some 'strides'.  What are these strides I hear you ask?  Strides, my dear, are when one runner decides to completely take the mickey out of the other!!!  Yes, he literally took off at pace, sprinting four hundred yards or more, while I still jogged away in the distance behind him.  And then he would turn around, jog back to me, and run alongside again for awhile.  I had to pretend that I too could stride away like this if the notion took me... but the truth is that I was struggling to keep my snail pace going (I blame the bróga).  Conor must have broken away five times during the course of our run back to the cross - taking off like a jet each time.  'Jaysus, you're goin well now', was about all I could say!

Still... with new runners and a third session this week, I know I can get back some kind of dignity!

PS:  I also REALLY NEED A RACE!  No event yet this year...