It is not yet 6am on a Saturday morning in January and the wind is whipping outside, bending trees and howling around houses. It is contrastingly calm and cwtchily warm in my flat, in my bed. But there is nowhere I’d rather be in this moment than in my trainers, rain in face, running against said whipping wind. I wake up thinking about running. My legs tell me to move. Is that addiction? You might suggest love. Either way, that was yesterday morning, and that's what I talk about when I talk about running.
- I’ll come last
- I’ll fall over
- I’ll come last and fall over and everyone will laugh.
|The prettiest picture I have of Bute Park. Not on a Park Run day admittedly.|
Just joking, I'm calm.
I’ve had the last week off running due to being ill. I have
Bring. It. On.