Last night I declared that I always sleep badly the night before an early run. It turns out that poor sleep is an essential part of me getting up at 5.30 – I went to bed in plenty of time and slept well, so well in fact that I slept straight through my first alarm… The next alarm went off at 6, which is when Miles and I should be already out hitting the pavements. Ooops.
This meant I had to squeeze in a quick three miles after work so I would have time to stuff my face before yoga. Some people might have you believe that yoga isn’t proper exercise, but my legs would tell you differently. Throughout the class I took heed of my teacher’s words and took a curious interest in what my body was telling me. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hear most of my limbs for my legs yelling “will you just sod off and leave me alone” before they stomped off, slamming their bedroom door behind them.
The class itself though paled into insignificance against my greatest achievement this year… I WAS WEARING MY HAND KNITTED SOCKS.
I have finished the eternal socks that have lived with me, travelled the world with me and sat in the pub with me for two years. And I think that they’re rather splendid.
The toe seams leave a little bit to be desired, but other than that they make me very happy.