Some fucking writing at last

Running is such a profoundly personal thing. It seems to chime with radical changes, commitments, love affairs, tears, and life and death themselves. All these stories are moving and it's amazing how they never seem to read like the straight forward story we all imagined when we saw a runner cruising past before we started running. That story being a tale of an all time content , organised, loved and trim fit individual, not someone haunted and trying to escape ,`who's aligning endomorphins in the fight against angst and generally
re-stacking the contents of their head.

i've run off and on all my life. The problem being that there has been long peroids of off and not quite enougn on. During the fallow periods i drank(i still do) , smoked everything ( i don't anymore), married the wrong woman (I did) and managed to hospitalise myself with a suspected cardiac a couple of times.

A couple of years ago I bought a treadmill and from the the first second i knew i was back hooked on running. The plan was to sort my health and wieght out, and then save my marriage.I think I managed the first two but couldn't quite manage the third. So now a couple of years and four pairs of trainers later I'm a 47 yo who habitually trains most days, I'm in pretty good shape and I think that running saved my life.