I have just had a week in the southern european sun at a beach resort where I got about 5 hours sleep every night and spent most of my time in the company of Norwegian, Swedish, German & Dutch ladies. And my family were back home.
Sounds like a dream come true for most married men. For most men. For practically anybody who lives north of Paris.
It was work.
The late nights and lack of sleep were mainly because work went on until late into the night. And while the Hotel we worked in had a roof-top pool and bar looking out onto the beaches of Cascais and Estoril we were working in a windowless basement room.
Still, on the positive side I got to go swimming every morning when all the real holiday makers were sleeping off their hangovers and I managed to string together a few runs so the feeling of sucking in hot dry air as your body wondered where the mild Irish summer had gone came back to me.
The body is fully recovered from the ultra marathon and now I just need to find a “thing” to train for. I am stringing together several days of running but I’m drifting into that space where 12 miles is a long run. This is a mental rut rather than a physical loss of form. I am sorely tempted by a 100k in Tralee in early August but with my last long run 5 weeks ago I think I would have 30 miles of fun and a long day of coming to terms with my stupidity (the last 32 miles). In the absence of anything more meaningful I think I’ll just run on for fun and see what comes across my radar. A jaunt in the hills would be nice but I think it’ll have to be Ireland or naught as the funds are low with a family holiday in the next few weeks.
The title of the blog post is just a reminder for a future blog post about whether various nationalities live up to their national stereotypes (noting to do with running at all).