The time neared 7.30pm and I had made arrangements to meet a neighbour, Rob, for a lift to the running track but just as I was about to slip on my left Monkey Foot there was a knock at the front door and a ring of the bell. Thinking it was Rob I shuffled to the door to find the familiar face of Michael who was obviously in the middle of a run and was requesting a drink and company to the track. Ribena blackcurrant cordial thrust in hand he was soon dragged through the front door so that I could cancel my lift with Rob.
The next 25 minutes was taken at pace as we chatted and ran to the track via a few side roads and across the darkened park towards the bright lights of the track and the floodlit football pitches where Michael was to meet his son, this is where we left each other and I entered the track.
As usual there was a gathering at the 3,000 metre line, the Coach on the top step talking to his disciples informing them of their torture for the next hour. It was apparent that there were two coached tonight but as I was warmed up and ready I trundled out ahead of the speedsters and heard Mike say to his understudy "That's Jerry, he does his own thing"
The waves of runners passed me by, I on almost perfect 8 min/miles(5 min/kph) which I stuck at, after every 4 laps I had a 60 seconds break to then carry on, sometimes when I stopped I would hear Mike say "That's Jerry, he does his own thing"
Tonight I felt great, my running smooth, breathing was fine but have a niggle in my ankle and a toe. Overall made better by the impromptu arrival of Michael asking me to run to the track.