Monday mornings are always full of "so, what did you get up to over the weekend?" type questions, which I answer in a manner that makes me really try to dodge the question in the first place. Mostly, I genuinely can't remember, or choose not to remember. And that which I do remember I usually have no desire to share. I'm sure I come across as aloof and a bit of a knob. Neither is true. Misunderstood, my dad would have robustly defended! But what I do know is that I didn't run at the weekend, but had a good spell leading to it.
I've expanded my run route by work. An early morning in the depths of Stockport doesn't really sound appealing, but I've got a gem of route that for 5 miles of a 6 mile run, has me in either wooded parkland or quiet bridleways and riverside trails. It's a great find and has added a new string to my thinning bow. I had a great run yesterday morning, from home and another slightly reconfigured loop. I ran far, and ran hard, which was at odds with how I felt as a rolled out of bed after what I then remembered was a weekend of hard graft in Petes' meadow.
Broken was how I felt, but seemingly only mentally. And as I write this, I'm sat with my back pinned firmly to the wall, staring at a fresh opportunity to rekindle some of my past running experiences. It is a feeling that has brought mixed emotions, mostly anger it seems. But like a caged animal, suppressed in captivity for so long, I'm somewhat scared to poke my nose out of this slightly opened doorway...but I will, when I'm ready...and when I have found my courage.
