This morning I walked 3.75 miles in 50 minutes. Not headline news, you may think, but worthy of a mention as it was preceded by waking up in a tussocky bog and walking the initial 7 miles in poor visibility, some on rather tricky terrain, without a break. Added to that, I was carrying 9kg on my back. So, I was pretty impressed that I managed to maintain the pace required to make it to the train station on time.
I arrived at the station just a couple of minutes before my train trundled up and after five and a half hours of travelling, a bus dropped me right outside of the house.
Utterly exhausted, I shuffled along the path, muscles protesting after the unaccustomed exercise followed so swiftly by complete inactivity in uncomfortable seats.
I then resurrected a post-walk ritual that has not been exercised for a long time: I ran a hot bath and sank into it with a glass of red in my hand.
The phone rang and I ignored it.
Then I felt guilty: after all, it could have been Mick telling me that my aged car had broken down and that he needed to know with whom we had breakdown cover.
Out of the bath I got, dripping over the floor. It was a delivery driver who couldn’t find the house.
I directed him and signed for my parcel.
Back into the bath I sank, thinking that the relaxation had been rather marred.
Then the phone rang again. This time I really did ignore it, but the relaxation had truly been lost.
However, I digress. This was the end of a 2 day (1.5 day, really) trip, about which I will write more in the next couple of days. Before then, however, I need to sleep - and hopefully tomorrow I won't ache as much as I do now. Where did all that fitness go?
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