Thursday 9th March
Arrived home to the stodgiest meal in some time. Junior had a wee celebration and his mammy allowed him to pick the table fare – chips with other fatty things. Went for a run later round the old familiar circuit. – DEATH HAS REFOUND ITS STING! (or at least I WANTED it to. Death was preferable to what I experienced over those 1.6 miles).

Friday 10th March
Nothing for it but to get “back in the saddle” so to speak. Comber this time on another cold night. That means THE BIG HILL AGAIN. What was it kimble said? “Attack the hill! Attack the hill! By imagining I am armed to the teeth and Mad Bad John is at the summit, I make short work of both the gradient and my persecutor. Die, fat man, die! It will henceforth be known as Hamburger Hill”.
Sounds good to me, but what arms should I employ for my teeth? “Hamburger Hill!” - that’s what the man said – I imagine I’m armed with knife and fork, and attack it with RELISH! I finish the 1.5 mile route nearly a full two minutes quicker than last time, probably helped by thon monster of a dog that attacked me viciously on the downward slope of the hill. At least it sounded like a monster of a brute – I didn’t look round to find out, I just sprinted as fast as my legs would carry me. It made me forget about the cold too. If kimble’s got his “Hamburger Hill”, I’ve now got my “Hot-Dog Hill”.

Monday 13th March
It’s cold, it’s wet and it’s blowing a gale straight up Strangford Lough, but at least I’ve got a relatively flat course planned out around the town. Junior is making use of local amenities for indoor cricket nets, so while he’s pretending to make runs, I go for one. Of course, I pick the wrong way to go round – while I’m running into the wind, I’m in the open and it’s a real struggle, but when it should be on my back, I’m sheltered by the buildings. I get that URSC Committee feeling again – It’s like two steps forward, one back (or are they one step forward, two back?). Who cares, certainly not the URSC membership, so why should I? I do two laps totalling 2.4 miles, that’s the farthest I’ve gone yet. Soaking wet, freezing cold, but otherwise okay. ………. Sneeze!

Tuesday 14th March
2.5 mile route nearer home, down Movilla Road, up Donaghadee Road, through Stratheden and back home. Lots of gentle undulations and nothing too steep, or so it seems. First 2 miles are fine, then comes “Heron Ridge”. I’ve never noticed the gradient so much before, when I’ve driven over it – not so much of a ridge as an escarpment! I remember kimble’s advice again and mentally picture the knife and fork. Are Heron’s protected? I imagine it on the spit of the barbecue. Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana starts to run through my mind (for swan, substitute heron)
Olim lacus colueram (Loosely) Once in lakes I made my home
Olim pulcher extiteram Once I dwelt in beauty
Dum cignus ego fueram That was me when I was a swan
Miser, Miser! Modo niger Alas, poor me! Now I am black
Et ustus fortiter! And roasted to a turn

Girat, regirat garcifer; On the spit I turn and turn
me rogus urit fortiter The fire roasts me through
propinat me nunc dapifer Now I am presented at the feast

Nunc in scutella iaceo Now in a serving dish I lie
Et volitare nequeo And can no longer fly
Dentes fredentes video Gnashing teeth confront me.
Miser, Miser! Modo niger Alas, poor me! Now I am black
Et ustus fortiter! And roasted to a turn
It doesn’t work! Memo to self, go the other way round next time and tackle Heron MOUNTAIN from the other side when you’ve only done half a mile, not two! ……… Cough!

Friday 17th March
Tickly throat & ears and runny nose (it’s as well something’s running because I don’t feel like it). By 10.30pm, I drag myself into trackies and plimsolls and go out for 1.6 miles and try to sweat it out of me. I was actually intending to try to go farther, but it was quickly apparent I couldn’t.

Saturday 18th March
Every muscle aches and I’m rapidly dehydrating through my nose. It’s official, I have the cold ……….. FLU! THINKS! It was that heron! Not just any old flu – it’s BIRD FLU! In the afternoon, I referee a football match. Ninety minutes of stop-start running, and despite my impending doom and entry into the annals of medical folklore, I actually feel better than I normally would after a match. Maybe, just maybe, my fitness is beginning to come back.

Sunday 19th March
No! the cold …….. flu is still winning. I decide to take it on by going for my first morning run, wrapped in multiple layers of clothing – and hat & gloves. 2.5 miles around the “Heron Ridge” route again, reverse direction. I hum “Carmina” to myself and get the bird barbecue over early, but then have to face running UP the Movilla Road in the last half mile. It’s possibly worse than doing the route in the other direction. Memo to self, find a flatter route! (I still knocked nearly a minute off the previous time though.)

Monday 20th March
Head for work dosed with Lemsips. There’s a traffic snarl up on the Sydenham Bypass and all I can see in the distance is blue flashing lights, but cars are moving slowly. Eventually I get close enough to see that the polis are escorting a swan off the carriageway. I quickly close all the air-vents on the car and turn off the fans – you can’t be too careful. I may have escaped bird flu last week (still waiting the test results), but that swan was WALKING, healthy swans FLY! Heard later that when questioned by the polis, the swan refused to answer – it was a Mute Swan! I hope my virus isn’t now a mutant one, having been exposed to that feathered fiend!