I was hoping to run at 7.00 yesterday morning:
* woke up hot and bothered at 5.00am... too early!
* dozed until 5.30 ... still too early
* dozed - actually fell fast asleep... too long!
* woke up at 7.40 - aargh 😮... too late!
I’d missed my chance as I needed to set off at 8.45 to head into London.
I spent the day rehearsing with my choir, and during the rather sumptuous bring and share lunch I was totally shamed by one of the members of the choir’s running club who had run 10km this morning and asked how my run had gone. 🤭
So at the end of a long day of singing, once I’d got home, I decided that I really should get my run done. It was nearly 6pm so I thought it might be cooler.
Inspired by @Jay66UK and his furry legs, I decided that not only would it be my first ever evening run, it would also be my first ever in shorts - treating the world (or Luton at least) to my slightly less hairy, and hopefully significantly less pasty white legs.
However it wasn’t much cooler and that was a really hard run. I’d chosen one of my more shady routes. Unfortunately Geography was never one of my strong points at school, so the fact that the sun would be in a different position from my morning runs hadn’t occurred to me! The tiniest slivers of shade were by nettles which drew me like magnets. I didn’t want to risk another close encounter!
After 7km I was really struggling, and when Michael Jackson started telling me, “Keep on with force... Don’t stop till you’ve had enough.” I felt like telling him to shove his force where the sun don’t shine. Except there wasn’t anywhere where the sun wasn’t shining. I slogged on reluctantly for another two km, but then the though of the hill back home started praying on my mind. I started to feel a stitch developing and slowed the pace down. My legs wanted to keep going but the rest of my body was shouting at me to stop. They, in a bid to emulate the independence of @sallenson’s legs , were singing along with the Communards, “Don’t leave us this way!” and somehow managed to keep going for another half a kilometre, but I was done in. Tired, overheated, dehydrated, I couldn’t find any motivation to run the last half km to reach my target and walked slowly back home.
After some very sluggish stretches, I managed to get through the door and there in front of me was a tall glass full of ice and water left by Miss Razouski .