Sunday 9 July 2017 was a memorable day for two reasons.
The first was the London-based 10k for which I had a place. Even at 61 I'm still competitive and I'm always looking to run personal bests so gigging the night before and getting to bed at 1am probably wasn't the best preparation!
So, up at 6.45, porridge, shower and dressed to run, I made my way to a nearby underground station to get to Piccadilly Circus. Standing on the platform, I could see a number of other people carrying the special drop-off bag - over 10,000 people took part.
Being near the end of the line, getting a seat was no problem. With headphones and an iPod, I was soon in a world of my own, listening to Don Henley's The End of the Innocence. I must have closed my eyes for 20 seconds or so. As I opened them, I was aware of the song still playing in my ears, and the person opposite me looking at me in a concerned manner. As I looked around I could see a number of other people also staring at me. Then I became aware of the air on my cheeks and as I touched them with my fingertips I realised they were wet. I'd been crying and given how wet my cheeks were, they must have been floods of tears.
Why else was Sunday 9 July 2017 a memorable day? My mum would have been 90 had she lived that long. She died two years ago, shortly after my dad, and while I think about my dad more often than her, she had been in my thoughts for the previous few days. Something about that song triggered a painful, emotional response over which I had no control. I sat there, a tad embarrassed, wiped away the tears and the journey continued. I thought a little about what I would have done to celebrate her birthday had she been alive. Perhaps a birthday cake or a trip to a local gastro-pub in a similar fashion to Father's Day for my dad some years ago. For five minutes or so, time stood still as I allowed myself to dream about what could have been. Then we arrived at Piccadilly Circus and my thoughts turned back to the race.
The 10k was hard work in 25° of direct sunlight. I finished but way outside my personal best. In the scheme of things it didn't really matter.
Over the past couple of years, I've written a number of blogs that have struck a chord with many readers. This is probably another one. Many of you will relate to being caught out by a memory, smell or action that brings on tears. You're not alone.
I'm starting to believe it is wishful thinking on the part of some people that time is a healer. For some of us, it isn't. The emotions are as painful as they were originally, perhaps a little less raw but just as strong. All you can do is roll with the moment until the feelings subside - and never, ever feel guilty that you are an emotional human being.Suggest a correction