Accidentally had a 40 minute run yesterday (am supposed to be doing week 8) because I took my parent's beautiful little whippet-y dog. Haven't run with canine company before, and would highly recommend it for amusement value if nothing else. It went something like this...
"oh, swans. I like swans. Let's chase...oh-f*ck-they're-really-big-I-must-wrap-myself-around-your-sweaty-legs-in-canine-terror. Oh, Ok. They're gone. OK. I like running. You've nearly done 30 minutes without stopping? Go you! Must mean it's time for me to do an enormous poo on top of the concrete dinosaur sculpture. You know. The one children play on. That's it; you stop running and pick it up - I'll just skip up here while you're busy and roll in something. Goose poo. Yum. Why are you shouting? Do you realise you are wearing lycra and running along shouting 'No rolling! No rolling!' with a bag of warm excrement swinging from your hand? Because that man on a bicycle does and he is laughing so hard he's in danger of falling off. Let's go then. Oh. Oh. This is where my actual full time owners were when we set off. I do not believe you One Bit when you tell me they're no longer there. I am going to freeze in the middle of the pavement and whimper. In fact, the only way you will get me to move is by pretending it's a game and running again. Even though you are knackered and your thighs are crying. All the way home. And you're going to let me carry my own lead in my mouth, but you won't care because you will quite literally be blinded by your own sweat, and I am partly whippet so I won't even pant."