A morning bicycle ride through Brixton en route to Brockwell Park Run.
I passed a dandy chap along Atlantic Road wearing a full checkered suit. He was either cool as f*** or on day release.
Eye contact was made – probably for too long.
He gave me a head nod, the type you receive in recognition when you greet one of your own.
There was nothing odd about me riding a gold coloured Mini Moulton wearing a pair of classic rainbow trimmed cycling tights and a pair of shades.
Also odd was Brockwell Park Run.
I rocked up ahead of the 9am start time to see a reduced field of around 100 runners.
It soon became clear that this was a field of fellow disorganised South Ldn types who had failed to check if the run was taking place this week.
Bloody #lambethfireworks from the night before meant that the official run was cancelled.
Without any organisation or announcement, all 100 or so Park Run refuseniks ran out along the usual route together at 9am.
It was a little strange with no real incentive to push yourself. Large gaps opened up between the runners. I wasn’t chasing a race time that would be emailed later in the day.
What threw me was the appearance of Madam Pacemaker approaching from the opposite direction.
A run is a run.
The plan was to purify myself immediately in the tepid waters of Lake Brockwell whilst my body temperature was still above the seasonal norm.
But you can’t do that at the lovely lido these days.
It’s all about the conversations with the fellow Icicles.
Half an hour later and my shivering frame was ready to take the plunge.
The water temperature was hovering above eleven degrees. This translates as twelve lengths for me to put in.
Two Hats Jase strutted down to the deep end with the first wearing of the flip flops of the season.
It was… fresh.
This was the first true winter swim of the season.
The first length led to a few tears.
Eleven lengths later and I was buzzing off me tits.
It’s all about the motion.
KEEP BLOODY SWIMMING you fool.
I took a little time out to enter the gypsy caravan sauna. The decent folk from the Windrush Tri club had taken over. There was more room on a north bound Northern Line 8am train.
A brief cycle back through Brixton.
I stopped off at Brixton Cycles to get a little air for the Moulton Mini.
Bicycle people are the best.
Then some more Dorset Road business.
And so it continues.
I spent luncheon trying to catch up with school work. It’s an effort.
For some strange reason the new Barnstormer album was the random soundtrack of choice.
This led to me googling ‘English Civil War for Dummies.’
wtf did they teach me in history lessons at school?
BALLS to wattle and daub.
The Sunny Stockwell sun was setting. I legged it for a brief walk around Larkhall Park.
I couldn’t resist the outdoor gym. It felt good pushing and lifting with a backdrop of Battersea Power station illuminating as the S Ldn sun went down.
And then an evening on more school work, and a random late, late work shift.