Today’s run = Brrrrrr

I wish weather reports would stop being so bloody vague. When they said “expect winds with gusts of up to 50mph, accompanied by heavy showers”, that could have meant literally anything.

If you’ve ever seen me out running, you’ll know that I look like an idiot at the best of times, lurching haphazardly along like something that’s escaped from an evil circus. But today I really excelled myself. As I jogged along, whipped by icy needles of rain and nearly knocked off my little hobbit feet by the relentless gale, I allowed my mind to wander, to imagine how I’d be feeling right now if only I’d opted to wear something a bit more substantial than the flimsiest of t-shirts and my shortest of short-shorts.

Whenever I came into the view of other (more suitably dressed because they’re not mental) people, I did my very best to compose myself, to adopt a stoic visage, like a samurai sat astride an armour-plated horse, calmly surveying a field of fallen enemies. Or one of those Easter Island heads; they’re pretty bloody stoic.

Then, as soon as I’d passed them, I went back to doing this face:

Seriously, I was so damned chilly. And soaked? My eyebrows had reached such a level of waterloggedness (real word) that the weight of them was dragging my head down towards the ground, forcing me to use my hands to hold it in place as I ran. I was so cold that, at one point, I was tempted to ask a couple of dog-walkers if they had any goose fat I could borrow, so I could rub it onto my bare arms and fend off some of the chill1.

For the sake of transparency, I should probably point out that the cold/wind/rain lasted for less than five minutes, after which the weather became nothing short of delightful. But I’d already written all of this in my head by then, so there.

Bye x 🙂

1 In my little hometown, there’s a law which states that all freemen of the town must carry with them, at all times, a small barrel of goose fat. I think it’s to ward off sprites. Anyone caught without one must face the punishment of being led to the town square, tethered to a Welshman, and knargled with a crumpet brush 2.
2 Don’t ask.
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