…now that wasn’t called for!
So there I am running* along Windsor Rd.
The sky is blue- one of those clear, cold Sydney mornings. Crispy and cold. I’m doing better than I expected I would be.
This was the first outdoor run* since my recent bout with man flu and asthma and I fully expected to suffer.
One kilometre in and my left shin was screaming. That’s good too- a few months ago both shins would have been screaming.
By 6kms I was flagging badly. It was at that point I heard it- a horn blaring and a bogan yelling out of a speeding ute “move that fat arse, Bitch!” Seriously?
Not only was he being unspeakably rude, he was also wrong- my arse was moving.
I’m actually more surprised that I heard it, than I am that he yelled it. Euphoria’s Love You Right had just finished blaring in my ears and Pet Shop Boys Pandemonium/Can You Forgive Her hadn’t quite started.
So I did the only thing I could do- I kept running*…at least until I was out of sight :).
Seriously though, it didn’t worry me- and it very easily could have. It’s just one of the occupational hazards involved with running* outside- and the benefits generally outweigh the occasional dickless pillock with diminishing brain cells. Did that come out loud?
Anyways, 8kms done and dusted and a good base for next weeks efforts. I assume I’ll be able to feel my legs again by then.
*I use the term loosely and very slowly, although these days I am doing slightly more running than walking in my sessions, so that’s gotta be good…