Tromp le Monde

Jonny Mitchum and yours truly

What a week in the world of plodding and pedalling! ParkRun number 92 is now ticked off, clocked at a not-so-blistering-but-comfortably-enjoyable 31:14. I rocked up to Arrow Valley with my usual gusto… except, plot twist: I turned up just in the nick of time and in my fluster, completely forgot to start my watch (to be honest, I think it was the almost random lady asking if I was, who I was). With that haphazard beginning, there was no point dashing full-throttle, so I resigned myself to a leisurely trundle from the rear of the pack (finishing 318th out of 516, which ain't so bad).

Where did Jonny go?

Best twist: spotted Jonny Mitchum and decided today was for chinwagging, not chasing PB's (ha, fat chance!). 5km of hearty banter later, we hit the final stretch—last 100 metres—and I lobbed the classic “fancy a sprint finish?” at him. He grunted back with something about kicking my backside. But, cunning fox that I am, I left him eating dust and bolted for the finish. Shortly afterwards, whilst sauntering back to the car, a random runner approached with, “Great running mate! Saw you finish—you were flying!” Oh, the irony. Little did they know, it was only the final moments that saw any sign of speed—classic ‘Tromp le Monde’: fooling the world, one sneaky finish at a time!

The rest of the week saw more footloose frolics: an off-road jaunt with Ernie, whom I dragged through Coughton Court to see some splendid cows—hence the route’s new title: ‘Cowabunga’. Throw in a road run (haven’t done that for ages!) and a couple of spins on the bike—nothing too serious. One was a short, fixed-gear jaunt; the other, far more epic: a tandem jolly with my visually-impaired companion Roger (we last pedalled together in February). Off we went to Whitlenge and back, nattering as only old pals can.

Elsewhere in life, the Rat Race (Scotland coast to coast, no less: running, cycling, kayaking!) looms large—just six weeks away. Mr Orange is currently gallivanting somewhere in France (wonder if he is sampling lots of cheese and wine?), while I’m sharpening my kit-list-ticking skills ahead of our big Scottish adventure.

Before all that? Tomorrow, it’s off to Torquay with the wife and kids, where my athletic plans are strictly limited to corkscrewing bottles of wine and devouring chips on the beach. Must remember to apply suncream and not Strava!

Bring on next week—may it be filled with more surprises, stories, and perhaps a little less sprint finish smugness!