This morning I nearly fell off my treadmill - that would have alarmed the dog that was in attendance, possibly my greatest fan.
I was jogging along nicely. Yes, jogging, Rowyn James, jogging. I am one of those filthy joggers that clutters up the back of your race and sometimes even the medical tent.
But prejudice aside, I was jogging on my treadmill, headphones on, listening to Chariots of Fire. I was picturing that Comrades start line so vividly that I forgot where I was. My foot hit the side of the mill and it was nearly arse over tip. My sensible side says I will never toe that line again but, by God, I hope I can alway be there, either as a second or a spectator. The atmosphere is always electric.
Okay, back to reality. Nothing’s changed. A couple of slow 10 kay races have been executed in fine fashion i.e. no falling, crying or vomiting, so onwards and upwards fellow joggers!
The picture I’m sharing here is obviously of a non-jogger, flying in to the finish for her green number - the smile says it all. I’m a proud mama!