So this last week has not been conducive to running. When I checked my phone this morning, the weather app was flashing red warnings…DANGEROUS COLD. Seriously. Now, at the warmest part of the day, it’s been downgraded to EXTREME COLD WARNING.
Not conducive to running at all.
So I’ve done what any sensible sentient being would do. Stayed inside eating chocolate and drinking tea. And eventually heading down to the Rec Centre to get at least a little exercise.
Six laps = one kilometre. Good to know.
Of course the only problem is that I absolutely cannot keep track. The right side of my brain knows that the numbers go…1, 2, 3, 4, etc. But the left side gets bored with that and starts singing the numbers. Think, for example, the number one repeated over and over and over to the tune of We Wish You a Merry Christmas. (Santa was attending a party on the main floor. That’s my excuse.)
Then Phil, who continues to be my long suffering running companion, and I argue about how many laps it’s really been. Ok, argue might be a strong word for our little discussions. More like…is that three laps? I think four. Or maybe 2? Nobody ever really knows for sure how far we’ve gone.
An hour later, though, we’re done. Ready to wrap up again and head home for yet another mug of tea. Bengal spice anyone?
I’ll put the water on.