Now he's more relaxed. His walk is back. We danced on December 3, and that had been five years since we could dance.

The rapid nightfall of mid-December had quite beset the little village as they approached it on soft feet over a first thin fall of powdery snow. Little was visible but squares of a dusky orange-red on either side of the street, where the firelight or lamplight of each cottage overflowed through the casements into the dark world without. Most of the low latticed windows were innocent of blinds, and to the lookers-in from outside, the inmates, gathered round the tea-table, absorbed in handiwork, or talking with laughter and gesture, had each that happy grace which is the last thing the skilled actor shall capture--the natural grace which goes with perfect unconsciousness of observation. Moving at will from one theatre to another, the two spectators, so far from home themselves, had something of wistfulness
in their eyes as they watched a cat being stroked, a sleepy child picked up and huddled off to bed, or a tired man stretch and knock out his pipe on the end of a smouldering log.

When he tried to stand up, it was like his feet were frozen to the floor.

I can be OK, then the next thing I know my arms get shaky or I can walk and my legs get frozen.

We used to see about five cases a month. At the tail-end of December we realized we had a situation on our hands.

Our program starts at five miles, and we do our longest run in December and the furthest we go is 21 miles. It's just not necessary to run 26 miles in practice. It kind of tears your body down. With the adrenaline and crowds you'll be able to make the rest of it.