A bit of a hectic day today : we have contractors working on the hovel so I was frantically moving plants ahead of them before said flora suffered death by mini-digger. By the time I'd done that, moved a small mountain of soil from around the doors and walked Jethro and Lucy, there wasn't a lot of daylight left. We are in the sticks here so I would have had to run with a flashlight, like some Olympic torch bearer inexplicably lost among the sheep and heifers. That would have probably reignited rumours of wandering spirits on The Moss and got the locals overexcited: we are simple souls here.
So, I cracked on before the gloom engulfed us.
I trotted off, slowly, slightly apprehensive- partly as I tweaked my knee doing other (non running) stuff at weekend.
Rather like the current Ashes cricket in Australia, it played out pretty much as I expected. I haven't yet had much trouble with breathing or cardio-vascular issues, I suppose because I have carried remnants of my swimming fitness over to this programme. I recover really quickly after each section.
But, today, my legs felt like lead! As I've said before, they have pretty much hitched a ride for years as my arms, shoulders and back have powered me up and down the pool. Now the idle beggars are grumbling and whinging like teenagers on the first day of term while my upper body, finely tuned ( haha) over decades, making up most of my 93 kg, is colluding with its mate gravity to make things hard.
Anyway, it was fine. I pottered along at a sedate and gentlemanly 7mins/ km pace, listening to Radio 4, avoided wildlife, dog poo and inquisitive farm animals and arrived back at Poverty Bank in good spirits ( not the wandering ones) and without incident. The knee is ever so slightly niggly so I will need to watch that. I've iced it, elevated it and given it a stern talking to: I won't run again until it is behaving itself.
I do so enjoy this running malarkey-despite several decades saying I would hate it-and am looking forward to a gentle progression toward the business end of the programme, at whatever pace my ageing carcase dictates.