I went for an awesome run yesterday (Saturday). I ran for an hour and twenty minutes including several hills, some of them quite steep. I was very impressed with myself. Then I went to Liverpool and partied heartily with my sister. That is an ’80s expression, and I find that appropriate, because we used to party about that heartily in the ’80s. The result was I woke up this morning feeling as if I was in my 80s.
I went running anyways. I thought the sweat would do me good. Then, too, I knew I would be in no mood to run on Monday. This way I could feel less guilty about it. I could go for a short run, twenty or thirty minutes.
It was a good plan, but I reckoned without my uncanny ability to get lost. In my defense, these residential developments are often laid out in a far from straightforward fashion. I often think they use a plate of spaghetti as their model (and I may have said so in this space; sorry to repeat myself). I ended up running for 52 minutes. It would have been 51:27, but I ran by my sister’s house to make it an even number. Additionally, I like the number 52, because it means I am playing with a full deck (get it?).
I know, this is not my usual Running Commentary. In my defense, I’m tired. But I may go running tomorrow. As the late, great Fats Waller often said, One never knows, do one?