Run Fail

I committed a heinous running crime last week. Had a couple of days in Frankfurt with work, and packed my running shoes in my bag...and left them there until I returned home! I could, of course, give many reasons for this apparent lack of passion and commitment, and help absolve the guilt I felt as I sheepishly pulled them back out of my bag. Frankfurt, they said, lovely, take your shoes as its a beautiful city. Visit the Christmas Markets blah blah.

Thought I'd better check where my hotel actually was and with minutes to go before my train to the airport I found I was staying in a hotel literally at Frankfurt Airport itself. Bugger, no running likely then. I unpacked them. Then I thought I'd just check the website. Yes, "though close to the airport, we have a 10km route in the local woods..." Excellent. Back in they went. So on my chosen morning, I woke early and ready, pulled open the curtain...couldn't see a bloody thing.

Dark for sure, but thick with gloopy fog. I was on the third floor and couldn't even see the ground. I looked out, looked at my watch, looked out again, looked back at my bed...my resolve crumbled. I could see myself walking out of my room dressed for outdoor fun, mixing it with the grey business suits in the lift, strolling confidently through reception, stepping outside and having to face the fact that I wouldn't be able to find the route and inevitably turn around and come back in.

So I didn't bother. Run Fail. I'm not usually like that, giving up so easily. Despite not getting home that night until almost midnight, I was out the following morning, waiting for James in the dark for an early assault on the more familiar Manchester airport perimeter route. Running by airports can be fun...if you know where you're going! I attended a club training session out at the back of Lyme Park and over by Bowstones yesterday. I awoke to wind and rain lashing the window. Hmmm.

You know that feeling! Nope, I'm going out come what may. And so I did. The weather cleared, the rain stopped and the wind blew away the clouds to reveal some spectacular scenery over the hills and down on the canal. 13 miles of plenty up and little down as far as I could make out, but a good work out. There was no socialising, straight home and a pie from the Wilmslow Christmas Market that Pete brought round the night before. Pie...Breakfast of champions.