27/03/20: Scenes from the daily lockdown walk: Thank you NHS

Totteridge. Very moving to see this. As the lockdown continues it is touching to see the ways local people have reacted. Children have written messages in chalk on the pavements outside the houses of their friends and relatives. They have also painted rainbows and left them in their front windows. And someone had set up their own hand-sanitation station on their garden wall with cleaning chemicals barrels of water for anyone passing.

This kind of disaster seems to bring out the best in people, despite everything. That's not the case for our Great Leader, though. I hate the way he keeps saying "our NHS", given the way the Tories have treated the NHS over successive governments. I am sorry to hear that Boris has the virus, but will he be queuing up for hours in a crowded NHS waiting room for his treatment? I very much doubt it.

22/03/20: My first half marathon (unofficial)

I finally ran a half marathon today – unofficially, that is – along the pavements, through the parks and beside the rivers near where I live.

After countless strains and sprains, a recent ITB problem saw me spending five weeks on the injury couch and meant that I had to pull out of the Big Half (1st March). The charity kindly moved my place to London Landmarks (29th March), but then that – like everything else – was of course cancelled/postponed because of Coronavirus. So, having spent the last five weeks getting back from zero K to a decent distance, I decided to run my own private HM.

The good news is that I came first.

The bad news is that I also came last.

I set off at about 7:15. The weather was cool and sunny – pretty much ideal. I felt like it might just be possible, but decided to just see how it went and not make too much pressure for myself.

My son ran with me for the first 5K, which was nice. He’s full of beans and makes me laugh. Then he went home and I carried on alone. It was just me, my music and the path ahead.

At about 8–9K I looped back past the front of my house to sip from a pre-placed bottle and pick up a snack.

My playlist threw out some gems. Really enjoyed Simon & Garfunkel singing “The Sound of Silence” and “I Am a Rock”. The latter seemed especially appropriate in these self-isolating times. “Hiding in my room / Safe within my womb / I touch no one and no one touches me / I am a rock / I am an island.”

People I passed were no less friendly than usual, but I did notice a few people steering very clear of one another. One runner ran past wearing a face mask. I wonder if that still works, given all the sweat and so on.

At about 12–13K into my route, the trees and houses fell away from the track and the effect was like entering an empty plain. The result was that a wall of wind was suddenly blowing right into me. This was tough, but I got back to the more covered area and rewarded myself with the peanut-flavoured Nakd bar I’d collected earlier. (Is it just me, or is it difficult to chew food and breathe at the same time?) Not actually sure if this snack had any reviving effect, but I kept on anyway.

Just me, the music and the path ahead.

David Bowie came on, singing “Let’s Dance”. Funny how lyrics jump out when you hear them in a different context: “And if you say run / I’ll run with you,” he sang.

At 18K I passed my previous best distance, which I’ve hit twice. I was slowing down a lot by now but forged on anyway.

“We’re on a road to nowhere,” chanted Talking Heads.

The last few kilometres were on the streets where it all started for me: the same roads I nervously panted along during Couch to 5K last year. It was a strange feeling to be trying this very different kind of run on those same streets.

By 20K I was a bit delirious and stupidly missed a turning I had planned to take. As a result I found myself later running up a close I should have been running down. It was so steep that I refused to continue that way and ended up doing a comedy U-turn, then improvising the final bit to make up the necessary mileage.

I finished on my own road and was very happy to leap into a hot shower.

I didn’t get a medal or a T-shirt, and there wasn’t any cheering along the route or at the finish line, but I do feel pleased to have finally hit this milestone.