This Buzzer community is a bit like a fireworks show. Every year since I've been coming on here, the culmination of a year's worth of hard graft reaches its explosive climax in Snowdonia and then the quiet lull of the winter slips in, just like the snow, a cloak of gentleness and recuperation, celebration of what's been and preparation for what's to come. The wrap ups of 'done' and the lists of 'to do'. The fire and the fury. The victory and de-- no, there's no defeat here. This is Realbuzz.
The spring hints at its pending arrival and there we all begin to go pop pop pop and out come the keyboards with tales of training and winter niggles, of lurgies and plans well made and some already missed off. Pow! What colours to come, shining down, lit up against the night sky, across this country and over the seas to the farthest reaches of Buzzer-dom.
My December marcothon glory segued vigorously into a January 10k pb, and with that goal of running through The Big Half in what is now just under a month away, that 10k turned to 10 miles, and twice at that. Then that 10 miles turned to niggly peroneals again and off to physio I go with a new instruction to go forth and grab some support shoes for the long runs if I'm going to be doing all this running now! Who knew all that pounding and the nature of my heel strike-roll-through-midfoot would cause such ructions in the lower leg. So alas, I've added yet ANOTHER pair of shoes to the mix, and broke them in gently with a couple school runs and a trip to the hair salon, eyeing them and willing them to give me eleven or twelve magic miles tomorrow. I know I can to this Big Half straight through, do it in that Buzzer fashion, but by gawd I'd much rather do it with only a couple short miles of the unknown before I go forth and...
This 'only a parkrun left' is not quite far enough. Not quite ready enough, to crush all the jitters back into the crust of that tasty, sweet victory pie.
I was thinking the other day of making a list of miles, and tributes to ride with me through that race and then I remembered how last year that race was on the fifth anniversary of losing my Dad. This year, it's the day after the sixth. I guess I don't have a list to make - it's a list of one. Admittedly I'm a bit more than sad that it took me some thought to remember the date. Six years is a lot of water under the bridge. A lot of shiny polished rocks tumbling away with the tide. How I hate that river of loss.
He'd have been proud of me, my Pop. As much as I know I will go and crush this race, this I know for a fact.
But first things first. I light the wick and get ready to burst. Into colour, and glory and light and sparkle. Surely 10, maybe 11 tomorrow, those miles full of smiles, no dropping arches or niggly legs, those treadhills having built up strength in my legs as much as they've taken the weight off my face. I posted a meme the other day that said something about folks saying 'you don't look like a runner' and there two friends said 'oh but you DO'.
I guess they're right.
Time to light 'em up.
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