I'm still alive...just. Though it's taken a week to adjust. I woke early, very early actually and delivered on my self promised solo run up Shutts. An empty carpark, and indeed empty path, I'd just missed the sun rise, but the sky was blue and sun yellow. Views back over Manchester far enough away not to be troubled by urban life, and the hills towards Buxton inviting and lush green. The only sound, anxious sheep bleats and the faint rustle of a light breeze. I have to say, it's a very beautiful place to be. Moreso on a day like this.
It was a week of light running, more early mornings and coffee. Cappuccino and an almond croissant. Light running, except for RunClub on Tuesday. Significantly, coach Tony wasn't there, the first I can ever remember. Seems he's got a nasty injury after a heavy fall. Saw him Wednesday after my run and he's quite down. It's that same feeling of 'why me' and facing the prospect of not being able to do what it is that makes you tick. It's a sickening thought and I feel bad for him. You can see it in his eyes. Dejection and despair, almost. Time is a healer, though...isn't it?
