A run delayed is still a run

So then, you're probably wondering where I got to. And whether I managed that six miles on Sunday. I didn't. While I felt generally pretty good the day after the big run, my left knee wasn't quite there - still stiff and slightly achy/numb. Nothing major, nothing to worry about, but enough of a warning sign to not choose to run on it.

[That's progress, that is - learning to listen to the warning signs. And even acting on them!]

So I waited until Monday evening for the run. Yup. Monday evening. Monday the-torrential-downpour evening. Monday the-what-the-hell-is-this-in-August evening. And then I did my run. The rain wasn't a big problem - in fact I rather enjoyed it (I am, after all, someone who loves their weather "raw" which is why the closest to "feeling at home" I've ever experienced was living in Glasgow). It was the wind that really did for me.

And despite the fact that I effectively run in a big irregular circle, it amazes me that the wind is always in my face. Never mind that half an hour earlier it was behind me, by the time I've come 180 degrees, it's altered to accommodate me...

So, an hour after I left, I got home, drenched and windswept. Carrying an extra stone or two in water saturation.

To be greeted by a three year old looking at me. "You're all wet. Silly Daddy." And a five year old. "Is that all sweat?"

Of course, they're utterly unimpressed by my stoic attitude, mistaking it for sheer insanity. Ah well.