Hell is running in a desert city, in 35c heat at night, failing to find one of the largest man made objects on Earth, and having forgotten your anti-chaffage nipple tape.
The trouble with Dubai is there is so much construction work going on. Had I envisaged the scene, pre-arrival, of being up to my ankles in sand and on the coast I'd have added a Margherita to proceedings. Instead I was up to my ankles in sand and dodging traffic cones.
Still, I maintained a pretty respectable pace of just under 4:30/km for 13+ kilometres. Given that it was my ninth straight day on the road, jet lagged into somewhere next week, and full (to bursting) of butter chicken I was pretty pleased with the effort. And I did manage to find the Jameira Palm finally.
The following morning I was out again, this time full (to bursting) of blue cheese and pita bread. Victoria's favourite trick is ordering way too much food for herself, leaving me, out of feelings of politeness (read; greed), to finish the lot. Bad idea, daytime temperature reached 39c.
This was a much better route. Mislead, just the once, by more construction, I ran around Dubai Marina. Lovely pedestrianised walkways with the odd madman, in something resembling a golf buggy, careering around. Beautiful cityscapes. The Dubai I'd seen in pictures.
The blue cheese and pita bread powered me to another respectable 4:30ish/km pace, but at the expense of some fairly noxious exhaust fumes out my top end.
Sweaty? You better believe it. Left half my circulating volume out there somewhere and more besides in my hat.
So pleased overall with my Dubai running. Had only earmarked one day in my trainers, but managed two. Acceptable pace in trying circumstance. Probably done too much given I'm racing on Sunday, but hey ho, Sunday is not the goal. More a training run in itself.
Roll on Manchester....
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