One Sunday morning in 2011, I found myself garbed in comical spandex clothing, clutching a doughnut-hole drinking bottle, as I limbered up among the crowd to run a provincial half marathon. I am still not entirely sure what I was doing there, other than pursuing a fantasy of the lissom youth I had never actually gone in for first time around.
Running with Ghosts
Polly Morland on death, and why we run marathons.
9th February 2014
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