Where I work we have two different book companies that come in every few weeks with a selection of books and novelty gifts for us to peruse and (ideally) buy - last week there were Kate and William mugs and a learn-to-play-recorder set to name just a few of the treats on offer.
We refer to both of these companies collectively as 'The Book Man'.
Today TBM came to pick up the books, mugs, recorder etc. and it took me some time to get to the front door to let him in. He looked at me questioningly and I explained that I was a bit stiff and finding it hard to move as I'd done yoga twice at the weekend. He responded with a supportive, 'So you've overdone it a bit' - I nodded, proud of my sporadic attempt at exercise.
He went on to talk about how wonderful the weather's been and that yesterday he was in London...
It transpired he'd been doing the marathon. Only his 121st one. This guy must be in his late 50s and he was there talking to me holding a massive pile of books, not a hobble or suggestion of stiffness in sight. I felt embarrassed and ashamed to be half his age and rendered nearly incapacitated by two 40 minute yoga sessions when he was off running 26 miles on tarmac in the blistering heat. I'm really glad I hadn't told him that I'd also attempted a run this weekend, in a field and neighbouring wood, that had lasted a maximum of 20 minutes (I'm sure some of that time was spent walking/trying to alleviate a stitch) and had taken me 15 minutes to walk to because I get really painful shins if I attempt to run on concrete.
Off he hopped back out into the sun, mountain of books in hand, whilst I hobbled back to my desk to hang my head in shame.