I went for a run this evening with Miss 19. Actually, “run” is something of an exaggeration. It was more of a slow jog – or a fast amble perhaps. While it would be nice to think it had anything to do with fitness, it probably had more to do with mental health. At least we got out of the house though, right?
The stock photo accompanying this post isn’t entirely accurate either – but I couldn’t find one of a hassled father with his daughter running in rain sodden streets, in the dark, while trying not to get run over by lunatics racing home from work.
Within seconds of leaving the house I stood in a ginormous puddle – which made one foot weigh twice as much as the other. Miss 19 cackled uproariously at me. She’s so supportive.
To celebrate “doing something”, I came home, ate a pizza, and poured myself a glass of cider – more than obliterating any good done by running/jogging/ambling in a hurry.
And now somehow it’s 11pm. How does that happen ?