Been there, done that, (for)got the t-shirt

I got up at stupid o'clock this morning, in spite of the bottles of wine the previous night, and a very affectionate CS.  Yes I got up to drive* to parkrun.  Unfortunately I was a bit late (mainly due to a very affectionate kitten, sorry CS, you've been plutoed) and had to sprint to the start line.  I ran part of the course (partrun?) with my friend Jenny, who has also been swimming with me in the past**.  I'd like to take her cycling too, so I can call her Spinning Jenny.  Sad but true.

One of the dangers of running with a real person as opposed to the voices in your head is that you can get a bit distracted by gossip and not realise how slow or fast you are running.  After about 12 minutes, well actually 11 minutes and 10 seconds, I began to feel really really tired.  I know it was 11 minutes and 10 seconds, because a lovely parkrun volunteer was giving out timechecks at every km.  this was not the 1km check, it was the 2km one.  I have never run that fast***.  I don't think I could ever run that fast***.

I realised that I had been far too busy chatting to notice how much my feet were hurting.  Then I was too busy noticing how much my feet were hurting to notice how I wasn't breathing.  I managed another 1k before stopping to take my inhaler.  My feet were hurting, my calves were cramping, and my lungs were bursting, but I managed to over-ride them all and finish the course.  I was so full of self congratulation that I completely forgot to collect my t-shirt.

* Yes, I know.  But at least I went to parkrun.
** That's another story.  I'm still to embarassed to talk about it
*** OK that's not fast, but it's fast for me, too fast for me in fact.



In other news.....  Remember Phil?  No, I don't either.  I received a letter from him this week.  He wrote to say thanks for all my support.  He also mentioned that he had good news - he has found a new home.  On a farm.  He ended the letter with  "hugs and wags", and that's when it dawned on me.  Phil!  Yes!  Now I remember!  He's my dog!  But, wait.  He can type?  And he's gone to live on a farm?  Hmmmmm, I'm slightly suspicious.  Last time I checked, dogs didn't have poseable thumbs.  And last time I heard, "living on a farm" was a euphemism for something slightly more sinister.  Oh well, can always get another one.

Phil.  The dog I forgot I had.  It's a good thing I never had kids.
Or maybe I did but forgot?

Maddie, Phil's replacement. Possibly the ugliest dog in the world.
I wonder how she would get on with a couple of defenseless kittens.