Plan A – Go for country park run with the running club at 8.00, home, shower, nip into town. Plan A failed.
Plan B – Go for a country park run in a different park that I’ve never been to on my own, home, shower, nip into town. Plan B failed.
Plan C – Go for a run in the village, home, shower, nip into town. Plan C failed.
And so Plan D came into action, which is how I ended up going to the bank dressed in my running kit and accessorised with my handbag. At one point I put my bag strap across my chest, until I realised that it was possible to make the running kit/handbag outfit look even more ridiculous.
After I’d been to town, I decided that as I was out in the car I may as well go somewhere interesting and ventured to a spot of the canal further down than I tend to go. Although it was generally a grey day, there were patches of blue sky visible and at one point the sun was so bright that I couldn’t see the difference between mud, puddle and edge of towpath. The sunshine didn’t last long and it felt as if the day was still trying to get going – the sun must have still been up there, but it didn’t seem to be doing a great deal.
As far as the running went, it was a bit of a stop start affair. Partly to take photos, partly to negotiate the mud and partly because I felt a bit lethargic. I put this down to the previous 7 days, but on the return stretch I realised that I had developed an affliction I call “Bear-paw hands” – basically a cock up with hydration – which would explain why I felt rubbish.
I also ran listening to a debate on whether philosophy is dead on The Infinite Monkey Cage podcast – my brain melted at 2.68 miles, but at least I finished the run slightly more educated and with slightly muddy feet.
|Ferrero rochers burned*|