I Burble On About Running / Butter

The best thing, among the other best things, about being a late starter is that I don’t have a history of running times, triumphs or disasters - completing my second ever timed 10K yesterday, all I had to compare myself with was the first one. As it wasn’t 30 degrees this time, and most of the hills were in a downwards direction, I ran faster. More importantly, I ran with J. - my running friend. I’ve never had a running friend before, at least, not one with whom I’ve actually gone running regularly, twice a week, chatting. 

My other running friends have become breakfast friends. I with D. on Saturday discussing butter as we ate eggs on toast - our conversation was something along the lines of everything being improved by it: everything food, D. clarified (the sentiment, not the butter). With D’s confident endorsement of something I’ve always known and discussed at length with my longest-serving friend, I enjoyed my toast even more. 

The thing is, I got excited earlier in the week by an email. It was marketing from Candlestick Press, famous for its commitment to publishing poetry in the form of ‘not greetings cards’. They’ve published ‘Ten Poems About Bikes, Dogs, Breakfast’, about XYZ. The email was advertising their latest pamphlet. ‘At last,’ I thought ‘Ten Poems About Butter’.

After yesterday’s 10K in which I clocked a lifetime personal best, J., a skilled listener, suggested hot chocolate. As we neared the order point, I asked ‘Are you going to have cream and a flake?’ I asked the question more in the style of, ‘I couldn’t possibly justify having cream and a flake, could I, given that I’ve just been making observations about my menopausal tummy?’ Cream is a couple of levels above butter on my list of life’s indulgences - not everything is improved by cream, but a few things you wouldn’t want to put butter on are. J. heard what I was really asking - something along the lines of ‘I’d really like cream and a flake but I’m not sure I’m allowed.’ ‘Of course,’ J. answered, ‘and marshmallows,’ as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

When I re-read the Candlestick email later on yesterday, poised to order a full fat poetry pamphlet, I read more carefully this time, ‘Ten Poems About Butterflies.’ Well, at least the landscape is clear for my own work. I fancy writing my way through a Butter Phase.