A lovely realisation hit me on Sunday morning. For a while, Sunday has been the day of the weekend when I go for a hopefully productive run. Dare I say it? OK, it almost feels like a bit of a routine. And this was the realisation. For the first time I felt like a proper runner, exciting!
Like a thunder bolt this thought came to me, ironically, whilst I was sat in a little French cafe. Worse, I was munching on a pain au chocolate, drinking a large cappuccino, looking out over Clapham common on a damp November morning. Through the condensation and rain lashed windows, amongst the varying tones of lush green and grey, men and women dressed brightly, whizzed in and then out of view.
I’d taken a raincheck on my ritual Sunday run for a lovely little chin wag and coffee with an old friend. In between lovely chat, lots of laughs and the collective reading of Heat magazine (guilty) the runner inside me had a little think. Was I happy to be inside in the warm? Of course. Was the thought of being outside running in the rain horrible? No! Was I thinking of going for a run later on that day? Yes! Amazing. I was actually looking forward pounding the pavements...in the rain. This made me, not just the runner inside me smile. I munched my croissant in glee. Lovely!
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