For approximately three nano-seconds, I contemplated a run this evening. Thankfully my senses righted themselves and I’ll try to go tomorrow – legs are weary again (got a bit excited to be moving reasonably quickly on the way home, so kept a decent pace up. Now I’m paying for it.) and it’s going to be a struggle but, knowing I’ll be fine on Saturday for a longer outing if I do go, I’m sure I’ll find the enthusiasm for a little outing.
The cycle commute was dry today (it’s just started tipping it down with rain as I type) and joyously dull. Saw the heron beside the canal near the Kent border again, felt a bit sorry for the rabbit that thad no head but a pristine torso on the way to work as well as the pheasant that was doing a good impression of a two dimensional road print of itself on the way home but other than that, I merely cycled for 31.5 miles and am now a little more tired.
But possibly (and hopefully) a bit more endurance-fit. I’m hoping I can carry the fitness through the summer as I try to put some meat back on my muscles for the autumn. Time will, as I seem to keep thinking, tell.
836.68 miles to go.
29.92 Juneathon running miles.
322.67 Juneathon cycling miles (the sad thing about cycling so far each day is missing the milestones; from a good few below 300, I’d no idea where I’d passed 300 as I did so. No air punch, no stopping pedalling to relish the yards, nothing. If I make it as far as 500 this month (about 6 more days if I can keep it up), I’ll work out where I’ll be and have a little celebration. Might eat a cake or something to mark the mile. Yes, maybe I’ll do that. Is anyone still reading this paragraph after my stats? Could I, in fact, be confessing to crimes and be obtaining a clear conscience with no risk of being found out? If only I had some confessions worth writing!