Day 14

Distance Run: 8.5 miles
Total Distance Run for January: 30.22 miles
Other Exercise: None

  I opted for The Big Bang Theory in the end - reluctantly stopping after watching episodes 9-11 for the first time. Far too funny! Plenty of sleep followed, before the preparation began for today's visit of Helen H and distance run. My room required a vacuum, not least because the carpet had accumulated enough of the small, black rubber pellets sprinkled on astroturf football pitches to create a set of tyres. The ongoing life clearout processs of junk/clothes was made to look remotely respectable, meaning several piles of books, gadgets and clothes in a form of organised chaos were transformed into structured randomness. With everything then prepped for "suitable guest welcoming", I was only a few minutes late in picking Helen up from the local station...
  Following arrival, and a swift tour, we checked and agreed upon our running route for the afternoon. With Helen not training for any particular race (lucky her...) atm, and with her sporadic training interrupted by a skiing holiday (very lucky her...), it was anticipated that she wouldn't managed 8-9 miles. Our last run together was in mid-December around Battersea, and whilst I completed the 8 mile course she'd suffered enough at 7.5m. For Battersea, an early finish is no bother - we tend to run circuited loops which allow for early finishes. For my running around Enfield, however, living on top of a hill with nowhere especially convenient to rendez-vous, a solution was required. I proposed running one of my distance routes backwards (as in clockwise - pretty much every run I do is anti-clockwise for some reason), which meant running to Edmonton Green via the Hertford Road for the first 4.8 miles. After that, we'd be following the W8 bus route back through Enfield Town to my territory, with the "emergency rendez-vous" point being the stop just after the Holly Bush roundabout (8.5 miles). Plan accepted, we set off with Helen deciding the pace - which felt comfortably slow. The football hadn't kicked off yet, meaning I was obliged to engage in actual conversation for a few miles (interspersed with award-winning tourguide commentary, centering mainly on where recent reports of knife-attacks had taken place). My multi-tasking abilities meant I was able to maintain focus on my running form - no overstriding, forefoot landing and no pain or acheyness to worry about. Although the pace was slow, Helen showed signs of fatigue before we reached Edmonton Green, and soon after stated her goal was to get through 60 minutes/6 miles. This she achieved, just after the tour had taken in my old primary and secondary school and former house. A bus stop on Church Street was her reward, as I set about increasing my pace to both challenge my lungs but also "beat the bus" to the rendezvous point 2.5 miles away. With a W8 having recently passed us, and several traffic lights and obligatory stops along the way, I felt there was a remote chance of "winning" the battle - and the longer I went without seeing a big red vehicle over my shoulder, the more confident I became. My body felt fine too, and I bounded on through Enfield Town's myriad of shoppers, past the Nando's (reluctantly), and off down Baker Street. Glances behind still brought no sight of a bus, and in a slightly confused state I began to seek acceptable methods of sabotage to improve my odds of victory (unfortunately a zebra crossing doesn't have a button which can hold up traffic for a few vital seconds). Striding past the final set of traffic lights, with about 2/3 of a mile to go, I was past the bus's last major obstacle still in the clear. I briefly considered the prospect of Helen still being stuck at the stop waiting, chuckled evilly, and powered on - turning left onto Lancaster Road and the 700m home straight. There were two stops prior to the target, and with nobody waiting to get on at the first my brow furrowed. Approaching the second and disaster - passengers waiting stepped up ready to board! Short of running down the road to block the bus's path, my race was over...except it wasn't a W8 but a 191! Three more roads junctions had to be negotiated, but the finishing line was in sight - a surge of speed that I can only dream of being Mo Farah-esque took me closer still. The football scores on the radio had been white noise for some time, and dodging past several of the Holly Bush punters enjoying a half-time fag, I made it across the zebra crossing and up the final yards to the bus stop! Dan 1 TFL 0! No sooner had I caught my breath and sat down, but I saw a bus approach the roundabout - unofficial victory time of 28 seconds. Helen was thankfully on board, moaned slightly about a long wait for a bus, but we were both pleased with our afternoon's efforts.
  Neither of us had anything planned for the rest of the day, and I found a convenient excuse not to expose my lack of cooking ability (for now) by suggesting Nando's as a post-race meal. Helen was keen to oblige, and only made five references to my reknowned slow-eating throughout the course of our (lengthy) dining session. Last Saturday's inagural "quadruple C classic" was then usurped with the "quintuple C feast", as gooey caramel cheesecake was added to the order. As post-race meals go, it was tops - although I'm a huge fan of Helen's Battersea-based pasta concoctions of course. Post-dinner, a difficult decision needed to be made - which pub? The George is almost adjacent to Nando's, but it (definitely, never, ever) didn't meet Helen's request for "an old man's pub". Enfield's more quiet venues were a short drive away, but as The George appeared quite empty we frequented it anyway...and having not been in there for several years, it wasn't that bad at 7:30. A quite table was found, and if you ignore the music which was sporadically blaring out of the speakers, and the suitably odd patrons at nearby tables, or the odd occurances in the ladies toilets (note: I did not experience those first-hand), it wasn't the worst decision ever made to stay there. By the time Helen began her train journey home, the pub (with an increase in bouncer numbers) was starting to heave with Enfield's less upmarket clientele - good timing all round. With Liverpool having failed to score/win at Anfield once again, I declined MotD and did some more tidying instead.

Injuries: A few aches, but otherwise unscathed
Mood: Happy

  Tomorrow brings nothing of interest, but I could do with buying some astroturf football boots ahead of this week's matches.