Mrs S and I have just returned from an afternoon walk (drag uphill thank goodness), with new dog.
Our route took us through some fantastic woodland and then we decided to traverse the local playing fields.
At one important stage, I realised that when I was a true sports hero, I could run most of the length of a rugby pitch without too much discomfort. Indeed, against Dover one year, (first match of the season), I was forced into having to run from my own 25 yd line and score. This was an oversight in my training programme, as I was not normally meant to do such things at this time of year.
Today, as the dog took a small rest at a spot roughly at the same position that I had to commence my immortal try-scoring run, the posts at the other end seemed so small, that my glasses misted up with the memory, and I had to lean on Mrs S for comfort.
Do distances cheat us when we get towards late middle age?
Or was I just a fitter and more eager man then?