My cycling-crazy other half has a love/hate relationship with running. Twenty-two months ago, almost to the day, he clocked a sub-50 minute 10 km without even giving it much thought: It was his second ever 10 km as an adult, sweltering hot outside and over a hilly course - and yet he rocked it. Awe.
|From February 2014.|
But then life (read: cycling) got in the way and his running fitness dwindled, until I could, quite literally, run circles around him. Boo.
Until this week, that is. I casually asked Will if he felt like joining me and the kids for our weekly club time trial, and he agreed. Being the family's designated stroller runner, I automatically assumed that I'd be running with the (double) stroller and that he'd be tottering along until he couldn't keep up any longer (it happens), but boy, was I in for a surprise...
After patiently running right behind me and the kids for the first kilometre, The Dawg showed up from out of nowhere, took over the stroller's reigns and set off like a lightning bolt. I was juuuuust able to keep up, and kept asking if I should take over the stroller again, but The Dawg wouldn't have any of it. He kept on speeding up, double stroller and all, until finally I just couldn't keep up any longer and was literally left in their dust. Ouch.
I was astounded. When...? How...? Not that any of that matters. What matters, is that The Dawg is back - in a big, big way. Perhaps I can tempt him with a Christmas Day parkrun...?