How to break an oath. Day by day.

Where were we?

Right: "I made a promise to myself when I arrived home: no more junk food. No more beer."

I made that oath a week ago, while I was writing "Running with Sarah. Part II." It was Monday evening.

I behaved accordingly. Until Wednesday evening.

Wednesday

I had planned to run an interval training on Wednesday. But that was the only day that Stefano and I could go out for dinner. I couldn't train in the morning, I hadn't recovered by the Violenza of the previous days yet.

Stefano is the captain of our fundraising team. He is a monster as a marathon man and as a fundraiser. You think I'm brave by training at 5.30 A.M.? (maybe, not you. Someone else does). Stefano trains at 4 A.M.. You think I can raise 1k pounds for a charity? (thanks for helping). Stefano raised 3k pounds.

We had a pizza (Italians...). I asked for water. Water with pizza. This is blasphemy.

Then Stefano, his girlfriend and I went to this nice Cuban bar. I asked for a mojito. Technically, mojito isn't beer.

Thursday

The interval training went well.

Wake up at 6 A.M.. Out at 6.20. 1k of warm up, than three repetitions of 2 km with 1 km recovery. The first repetition was completed in 7'57''. The second one in 7'50''. The third one in 7'48''. The recovery was always completed under 4'20''.

Progressive fartlek. Despite the mojito. I told you that mojito isn't beer.


A party with colleagues landed over my oath in the evening.


You cannot drink water at a party. Who does that? I started with wine. Wine is not beer.


Last thing that I remember of that evening is an empty bottle of Becks on the bar. It was my second one. After three Corona.

Friday

Someone could say that Corona is not a beer. But Becks? It's German, it's a beer.

Best case scenario, I had broken my oath twice. But you need to be a lawyer to get this result. And I'm not qualified (hopefully, yet).


In any case, the oath is broken, I'm damned.


Let's think about this later.


Friday morning I had the fourth training of the week. 12 km with a progression. I went early at the office, changed there, and got out quickly. Direction: Hyde Park. Never been there before.


3 km to get there. 6 km run in the Park. 3 km to get back.


Timing: first 4 km at an average of 4'23'' per km, second 4 km at an average of 4'18'' per km, third 4 km at an average of 4'08 per km.


Screw the oath. Who's damned now?


I got an extra beer with the colleagues in the evening. Peroni. That's not really a beer. But who cares, even if it were.

Saturday

No training. Yes junk food. Yes beer.


Fish and chips for lunch.

(in the picture: the alleged best fish and chips of Wandsworth)

The evening was quieter. I went to the ballet with some friends, to see the Swan Lake.

We needed something tough after all that girly stuff (seriously, it was gorgeous).


Hamburger and beer. Like real men.


While I was ordering, I recall a tiny voice saying "do not take beer, do not take meat".


Vegetarian burger. And a pint of beer.

Sunday

Here we come. Sunday. The last long distance run before the marathon. 32 km.


It must be fast.


I woke up at 11, thanks to the Daylight Saving Time. Helped by the vegburger and the beer of the night before, perhaps.


I usually have something for breakfast, before long runs. That means I cannot leave before a certain time. In this case, 12.30.

My body didn't feel very well, thanks to the Swan Lake. The vegburger and the beer got nothing to do with it.

Despite such tiny bother, the first 8 km ended fast, at an average 4'23'' per km. Next 22 km had to be under 4'20'' per km.

They started well. Then people came. I left at 12.30 leaving. I was in Westminster at 1 P.M.. Too many tourists in London, at that time. They should do something for late runners.

Arrived at Tower Bridge I was really annoyed by Italians with their cameras, their slow pace and their change of directions. Are there other tourists in London?

I decided to come back through the south bank. Forgetting about the existence of Tate Gallery and Millenium Eye. Went back on the north bank at Waterloo Bridge and kept going at the planned pace.

I was confident to finish on time, despite the 2 km slowered by the crowd. So confident that I decided to explore London a little bit. I hadn't seen Buckingham Palace yet. Now I will remember it forever. When I got there that tiny bother blow off. It happens when you run. It shouldn't when you're before a monument. My apologies.

Anyway, it was the 20th km at that time. I had 12 km to run. Let's see again Hyde Park.

I got lost.

After a while I had to come back home. But I didn't know the way. I asked a few cops. But they were still scared for the march of the day before. At least this is an explanation.

I lost 15 minutes looking for the right direction. Also because when I thought I got it, I didn't.

At that point everything was enlightened. Nostos and Hybris. As Odysseus I was coming home. But I was damned by the gods for my biggest sin: hybris, arrogance.

You can drink beer. You can eat junk food. Just don't go too far. Don't make fun of your oath. Especially when you have a marathon in three weeks. Homer said.

Finally, I got back to Battersea Park. Next to home.

The second distance, 22 km, had been run at an average of 4'19'' per km (stops with cops excluded).

Last 2 km were run in the park, at 4'04'' per km. Home was there. At the end.

I can have a real Sunday English Breakfast.

(in the picture: the best English Breakfast of Wandsworth.

The porridge couldn't enter into the picture)

Two eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes and bacon. Buttered bread. Jam.

This isn't junk food. The eggs are poached, not fried.

Am I right?