Like panthers...

On the day I bought the ugly shoes I decided it would be wise to go looking for some inspirational reading material. Looking through the catalogue in the library the one that stood out was Ultramarathon Man: Confessions of an All Night Runner by Dean Karnazes. It sounded like a splendid book, after all the man turned a drinking session and potential detour down infidelity lane into a midnight marathon. Sadly, the book was out, which scuppered all my chances of running across deserts, either baked or frozen, until at least next year. Instead I ended up buying a copy of One Step Beyond by Chris Moon, which is probably even more inspirational because he wasn't just a bit tipsy, letchy and excessively guilty about it, he was blown up by a landmine, losing his right arm and... the lower part of his right leg. Whichever way you spin it, losing any part of a leg must be a marginal impediment to running, especially a 137 mile race across the Sahara. I find it a bit of a faff just getting out of a sand pit.

When I say 'probably even more inspirational' I must confess that I am not really making an informed judgement because I haven't, as yet, read either of these books (too busy running, of course) but it's good to have Chris on the shelf, as back up, should I ever waver. Of course, reading about running might be a bit like all the books I've read about manned space missions, they're a great read, my favourite subject in fact, but I've yet to become an astronaut. How I curse my nationality, the odds of space voyaging would be so much better if I had been born in the US.A...

Next week, after reading these books: Gutted I'm not Kenyan.

Anyway, winding this back to where I started, like an expert weaver creating a tapestry of hallucinogenic innovation, it seems to be the word 'night' (from Dean Karnazes book title - am I pushing this too far?) that is the operative word of late. Although the days are still reasonably long down here in the southern hemisphere it seems that me and Rach have been doing a lot of running in the dark. My initial reaction to this was to not wear my glasses, as there wouldn't be enough to look at to make them worthwhile and I get sick of them sliding down my nose on the stream of sweat that comes from my forehead. The only reason I've worn them so much, even in daylight, has been because the abundant Pohutukawa trees have been in flower, turning their green canopies red, like giant, strange, vibrant, red-dyed broccoli. That's a terrible description but it might well be the best I can think of. They're awesome, anyway, and have proven to be a great reason to look up while jogging along. Sadly, the funny spindly flowers are now all gone.

If you do require spectacles then I suggest you learn from my mistake now and don't feel tempted to fight fire with fire, or darkness with blurriness, to be specific and not use a highly specialised and only narrowly applicable term. The darkness actually spreads without specs and the light bits all but vanish. I didn't actually come a cropper but the fear was ever present, for there are some dark spots on that route and the ground turned to blackest velvet for my poor pupils.

Also, when Rach got ahead of me by some distance, I could barely see where she was; I only caught glimpses of her as the road descended and twisted round corner after corner. Somewhere, deep inside, my protector instincts kicked in and almost made me fretful enough to speed up.