Day 115: A Birthday, a Bank Holiday and a Gentle Shuffle
Birthday Bliss
Being a Bank Holiday Monday, I enjoyed that rarest of treasures: a birthday that didn’t involve a staffroom, emails, or muttering “thanks” to a Year 10 who says “happy birthday” like it’s a diagnosis. Instead, I woke up to the gleeful noise of children bouncing off the walls and Kelly wielding a pile of presents like the world’s most cheerful postie. Among them, the absolute gem: tickets to see the Gladiators live tour in November. Yes, actual Gladiators. There was a moment I thought about challenging my family to “Duel” over who loved me the most, but then I remembered the cake.
Just a Little Trundle
Now, you might imagine that being both my birthday and taper week would result in me doing what any rational person would do: sit down, stay there and perhaps eat more cake. But alas, the schedule called for a 30-minute recovery run, and as every runner knows, taper doesn’t mean stop, it means “run a bit, but feel smug about how little you're doing.”
So I set off for a gentle out-and-back, legs moving powered by the smoke salmon and cream cheese bagels that I had for breakfast and the faint sense of obligation. It was uneventful—but it ticked the box. One slow shuffle closer to race day.
Pizza, Pixels, and a Power Nap
Post-run, the festivities resumed in true celebratory style: pizza, Nintendo Switch and laughter loud enough to make the walls consider applying for noise-cancelling insulation. One 14-inch pizza and a third of a birthday cake later, I had achieved the mythical state of Too Full To Function and reclined into a 20-minute nap so deep I’m fairly sure I time-travelled.
Six Days and Counting
It’ll be hard to go back to work tomorrow – not because I don’t love it (I do), but because birthdays at home are wrapped in warmth, noise and the unmistakable joy of not needing to set an alarm. But the world spins on, and the countdown has reached single digits. Just six days to go.
Somewhere, quietly, the marathon is waiting. Probably doing lunges.
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