There can surely be nothing so sad and dejected as the carnage of my used running kit as I stand over it utterly spent on the floor below my naked aching body.

It’s damp and limp state seems to be an assault on all my senses as it transcends in an hour from pristine and crisp and rather flattering, to dirty and damp and rather disgusting.

I love the carnage of my used running kit as it straddles beneath my muscular legs and feet, because it has been on a journey on which I have been its passenger and friend.

Its visual state, just described, is as nothing compared to its feeling to touch – so damp and wet and incapable of being deft and alert.

Its assault on my nose is perhaps its most remarkable – the shirt so sweaty and wet; the shorts so sweaty and worse due to its recent proximity to ‘importance’ at the front! and ‘necessary’  at the back!

Its exposure to the wider environment of cold and rain; and mist and fumes together with its occasional contact with leaves and branches which leave their mark.

The carnage of my used running kit speaks to me of fulfilling a purpose and doing so at a price well paid.

Tonight, the clothes will be washed and restored to glory; restored to repeat its journey of support; restored to comfort and sexy style which draws the attention of passersby and the occasional whistle and horn.

I ask myself whether I can translate the journey and cycle of my running kit to the emotional cycles of my life, recognising within my soul the heights and depths which come from being connected; from being in demand; from being accessible; from being loved.

My next blog will be: The End of Our Love Notes

William Defoe