Blind Date

I've had enough of running on my own, particularly now that I have decided to train for a second marathon at the beginning of June. Out there all alone in howling gales and sideways rain, slush up to my knees, slipping around on ice... it's all fun but I really need some company. Therefore I have arranged a kind of running blind date with a guy down the road. OK, it isn't a date as such - but it feels strange having a rendezvous with a man I've never met. I do know, however, that he is at least twenty years my senior. There are some photos of him on the internet and he looks like one of those types who has been doing some kind of sport since before he could walk. Wiry, with a weatherbeaten face and a shock of light grey hair in a military cut. Reliable. A man of few words. A harsh disciplinarian who only lightens up after a litre of Weissbier.* He is the leader of a running club and by all accounts is one of the fittest people this side of the Alps. If he can't get me into shape, then who can? I tried to get CG to come with me (safety in numbers), but he demurred. The running guy - I don't know what his name is, but I'll surely develop a pseudonym for him before too long - wants to meet to do 15 km on Saturday morning at 10, on the dot (I quote). As if I would dare be late!

*I'll let you know if he turns out to be a lenient chatterbox who breeds fluffy yellow canaries and drinks white wine spritzers.