So I levered my son out of the house for a walk and remained patient as he moaned about having to wear his new shark wellington boots because he can’t run in them. (Same child who moans if I suggest running). I didn’t buy welly socks because he moaned about them and now he moaned because the boots were loose. We got to the river and paused, commenting how deep and fast it was looking; then he kicked his foot and the new wellie went flying in a slow loop into the middle of the water. He did look suitably horrified, eyes big and hands clapped over his mouth, so I took a deep breath and we just silently watched the thing float ten metres downstream before it sank into the murky depths.
That spike in the graphics is my heart rate as I stripped off to my undies, waded waist deep through sharp-bottomed icy cold water and searched for the boot. Thankfully the glinting teeth of the shark shone up through the murk and a slow breathless lunge later I had it.
An audience had gathered at this point, the way people seem to at accident sites. A few others averted their eyes and moved on quickly. I thanked them for their solidarity and tried to maintain composure in my dripping pants and bright red lobster legs.
My son was impressed though. He ran me a bath, hasn’t moaned since and says he thinks wellie socks might be a good idea.
All terrain running!
Slow and Steady (with the running fairies)
