I had a ready-made excuse for not running this morning. Last night I made my regular trip to donate my armful and claim my reward of biscuits. Unfortunately, the donation didn’t go according to plan (I won’t go into details, judging by Ginge’s face when I told him about it, it’s not a tale for the squeamish or those with issues about needles. I will say that in eight years of giving blood, this is the first problem I’ve had) and I was left with a half completed donation and a leaflet on bruising which advised avoiding lifting, not over exerting myself and waiting 36 hours before resuming normal activities. In my eyes, going out for a 6am run is not a normal activity, but I figured that it wasn’t scuba diving or operating a crane so I might as well get on with it.
This morning there was plenty of cloud cover making it a lot milder than I expected and meaning that Miles had one of his moments confusing ‘clouds’ with ‘ceiling’. I couldn’t be bothered getting into an argument with him and set off without a GPS signal – I feel that this marks a turning point in our relationship, but it was fully justified when he started the “Are you indoors?” conversation half a mile into the run.
Despite what Miles would have you believe, I did actually run about 3 miles and it was marginally faster than the pace than he says, although you will have to trust me on this one. I promise that I didn’t lounge in bed and then dawdle round the car park for ten minutes (because I have only just thought of this plan).