It’s Friday so of course today is the day I finally did the 10 mile run I was supposed to do on Monday. I am usually more disciplined, but I have been procrastinating about all sorts this week, from marathon plans to not writing something I should have written weeks ago. So it’s Friday and although last night I fell off my marathon no-alcohol wagon, with two gin and tonics and half a bottle of white wine, I still got up from my desk chair at 12.30 and headed out. It had been a beautiful morning. There was something called “the sun” in the sky, last seen in October. But there is a weathervane in my body which works against me. Yesterday I set off to my studio on my bike in clear weather, and five minutes later there was a cloudburst. My jeans needed wringing. Five minutes after I arrived at the studio, the sun came out.

The weathervane worked again today, because as I reached the bridge over the Leeds-Liverpool canal, the rain began to fall. It was cold, and now it was wet too. I kept going, and the rain stopped, and then it started, and then it went horizontal, and then the sun came out, and then I dried a bit, and then it rained again.


I am ambivalent about running on the canal alone, but I did it and it was fine. I saw about half a dozen people, some lone walkers, some cycling, some fishing, and although I intended only to do five miles (as I’m doing a five mile cross country race tomorrow so that would make up for the 10), I carried on, and on, until I reached Fishpond Lock near Rothwell. Rothwell! That’s a WHOLE OTHER TOWN. I impressed myself. The canal and river – at some points I was running between them – were beautiful, and the feeling of running alone and there being no-one else was soothing rather than sinister. So I ran for five miles, and then I ran back, and it was good. My hip was sore – oddly, as it was such a flat run – but I loved it. And then I went to Kirkgate market and ate my body weight in falafel.

The M1

Swimming spot? Or inspection ladder.

TIME: 1:32:12