Day 58: A Sole-Searching Experience

I'm writing today's post under the shadow of the great arch of Wembley Stadium, where history has been made, dreams have been shattered, and—more importantly—where I am currently nursing a coffee in a rather cramped Pret a Manger. The girls are off enjoying Disney on Ice at Wembley Arena and I am making the most of my waiting time, valiantly trying to make this coffee last long enough to justify my table occupancy. There’s a Five Guys just around the corner, which is whispering sweet promises of burgers and fries for dinner and I am beginning to think resistance is futile.

The Case of the Unravelling Trainer

This morning’s long run was always going to be a squeeze thanks to today’s trip to Wembley, but I managed to get out early, following a route that could soon become my usual—down into the Highsted Valley and up towards Milstead. The air was crisp, the roads were quiet, and everything was going smoothly until I noticed a strange sensation underfoot. It felt as though my trainer was catching on something, but assuming it was just a clump of mud, I kept going.

That was my first mistake.

A few strides later, my foot clipped the ground at an odd angle, and suddenly, part of my running shoe decided it had other places to be. I stopped, looked down, and discovered that the tread of my trainer had entirely detached, leaving me with a shoe that was more concept than reality. I tried to press on, but running with an uneven sole is about as advisable as trying to balance on a rolling barrel—possible, but not without consequences. Realising that an impromptu ankle injury would not be an ideal addition to my training plan, I turned back and hobbled home at a sensible pace.

Emergency Repairs and Looking Ahead

The run clocked in at just over an hour—shorter than I had planned but ultimately the right decision. There’s a fine line between pushing through and pushing your luck, and I suspect I had already nudged a toe over it. Back home, I performed emergency surgery with superglue, the retrieved sole and sheer optimism. With any luck, my makeshift repairs will hold long enough for me to get new trainers, though I now feel a deep sympathy for any cobbler who ever tried to make a living.

Next week’s training looks set to be a heavy one, with plenty of miles to cover on pavement and road. Hopefully, the new shoes will arrive before I find myself running in what is essentially an advanced form of slipper.

For now, though, it’s time to enjoy the evening, see the girls’ post-show excitement and—if my willpower fails me—perhaps answer the call of Five Guys.