This morning I did it. I ran five kilometres in twenty nine minutes and fifty five seconds. For the most part I was moving within my limits but there was some unseemly acceleration in the final four hundred metres to see me to my post. But it is done now.
It feels Everest like in its accomplishment but everything is in context I suppose. Five ks, ten ks, half marathons, marathons, ultra marathons: all are signposts to something in a certain direction.
It might be that any of these are markers of something better but I don’t see how it could be guaranteed. Might be more vanity, more time away from the kids, might be a fear of loneliness, might just be running away from death.
Five ks in half an hour means, to me, that since I managed to pull off this impossible task this morning on some other morning I might be able to pull off something even more unlikely.
And having built that kind of hope, well, there’s some pleasure to be found in that.