Despite not fancying a run today, I remembered how stiff I became after last week’s tough race when I skipped my recovery run. So I wo-manned up this morning, pulled on my (dry) big girl pants and staggered out of the door.
The plan was 3 easy miles revisiting the scene of yesterday’s triumph race. (Not the stream, just the bit closest to my house). This is a muddy track that usually just has tyre marks from the game keeper’s pickup, a few dogs’ paw prints and their walkers’ boot marks. However today it looked like a herd of elephants wearing trainers had stampeded down there.
As I plodded I thought about the lovely t-shirt I got at the end, and I suddenly realised the revolting pink colour was the exact shade of the strawberry* blancmange we were forced to eat at school. Another reason to hate that colour.
* I presume it was strawberry flavour, although I doubt it had ever seen any red fruit let alone a strawberry.