Today was the day that I was dreading. Wednesday night is yoga night and so Wednesday morning was running morning. The alarm was due to go off at 5.45 (to factor in some essential faffing around) and in true Juneathon style, I woke up an hour before it was about to go off. The upside of this was that I got to hear a bit more of Test Match Special, the downside was that I was awake at 4.45. There are two 4.45s in a day? What’s that all about.
When it was eventually time to get up, I listened to the swoosh of passing traffic on the rainswept road and thought “Ah, a refreshing run through all of nature’s glory – how wonderful and uplifting”. That’s a lie. I listened to the swoosh of passing traffic on the rainswept road, made sad whimpering noises and thought thoughts that use bad words.
I still went out though. A 2 mile rest day in a lopsided figure of 8 (the sort of with a small, wonky head and a morbidly obsese body. All my 8s looked like that as a child, I had very poor motor skills, but I digress) run quite fast (for me) because it was cold and wet and dark. I saw a milkman, a dog walker and a man at a bus stop.
You know what? I quite enjoyed it.
|Ferrero rochers burned|