And so it has arrived. The elephant of Juneathon has been a mere speck in the distance, but now it has thundered closer and we’re all staring it in the tusks. I was so petrified of racking up a Juneathon fail on day one that I woke up at 3.24 panicking that I’d slept through my alarm. This was followed by a dream about arriving too late for it, so in some ways it was a blessed relief when the alarm did go off at quarter to six.
I’d spent last night hunting down all of my kit and assembling in a big box that is currently neatly organised, but will soon resemble a jumble sale at the church hall. All of my bits are in there, from my “best” to the online sale impulse buys that can only be worn under the cover of darkness.
I’d planned on doing 3 miles, but because of the previous evening’s unheard of levels of organisation, I had enough time to do 4 and still be back in time for a shower and porridge. I went in a direction that I don’t usually go, which did make a nice change and wasn’t half as hilly as I dreaded. When I set off at about ten past 6 it was really quiet, even the papershop wasn’t open yet, but saw a few people to wheeze a cheerful “morning!” to on my return home. I don’t think I saw anything really exciting, certainly not in the realms of Highway Kind’s wheelbarrow). Oooh, having said that, my favourite morris dancers (and I fully I appreciate the desperation of that sentence) are on at the local pub’s folk festival, which is ace.
Tomorrow’s going to be another early one, then Thursday evening and Friday morning. For a while it did look as if every morning was going to be an early one because of after work commitments, but thank goodness it’s not.
Bring on day 2…