For reasons no one close to him could fathom, Graham March decided to run a marathon. Was it the desire to reduce the forty plus inch beer belly with its associated visceral fat slowly crushing his major organs? Was it to prove to his young son that this middle aged authoritarian figure could mix it with the younger lads still? That his depleting machismo still had a swansong left in it?
Graham has been muddling through at a laconically plodding pace most of his life. A lazy drift through the education system saw him leave school completely ill-equipped for a moribund mid ’80s job’s market. A succession of demoralising positions (to which ill-suited was an understatement) forced him back into the higher education system before spitting him out, older and wiser, and ready to get his career back on track.
Twenty odd years later, life has become comfortable and he’s satisfied with his lot.
Too satisfied.
Hence this book and everything in it…
