A last bit of unpleasantness

I got up this morning to do a few intervals, my last set before the race. I wasn't looking forward to them much: I really struggle with the faster paced ones now. Back when I was sprinting round Happy Valley in October they seemed much easier.

Still, I managed to keep close to pace on the first two, but died a death trying to run a k at 5k pace - I was making all kinds of horrible noises as I ran, like a cat that had been beaten with a broomstick.

I imagine.

I got home and showered. My wife asked me if it had been a hard run. I couldn't speak. I started sweating again. A rivulet of perspiration ran out of my beard and splashed on the floor. When you're producing enough sweat to splash, your body is telling you it's a bit angry.

I had another shower. I sat naked under the ceiling fan, and still the sweat poured off me. I was three pounds lighter than when I went to bed, and I think most of that weight was in puddles on our living room floor. There'll be a corner of some foreign field that will be forever England, and all that.

My wife left, in disgust or for work, I'm not sure which. I carried on sweating, then tugged on my compression tights, and got dressed for work in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Then I walked to the office. And continued to sweat.

As I stood at the junction near the office, waiting for the lights to change, I noticed a woman inspecting me. This wasn't a subtle glance, it was a full on up and down blatant stare, as if she'd never seen a full grown man wearing compression tights under a pair of baggy shorts before. I considered asking her if she was looking for anything in particular.

But then I realised I shouldn't be culturally insensitive. Some groups of people believe the very fat have the most prized physiques; for all I know, Hokkien Chinese believe that the more you sweat, the more suitable a husband you will be.

Which got me worried, because I'm already married. I don't want a fifty year old woman with a big shopping bag getting the wrong idea and trying to get her claws in me.

Luckily, the lights changed and I got away sharpish. Three hours of tight-wearing in the office passed without comment, and then I removed them. My muscles were happy with me and quite forgiving, which is a first after interval work. A fine investment, I believe.