podeamRomanticism
I wanted to write something long and romantic, about the conquering of the urban elements.
Setting out at the ungodly hour of eight thirty am, into the light rain, starting to run, foot after foot after foot; your feet turning feet into miles (or kilometres, but that just doesn’t sound as poetic, does it?).
Fourteen kilometres through, I was feeling exuberant.
It’s the last four hundred metres that screwed it up though.
I pulled something I didn’t know I even had, within sight of my end-point.
Bloody embarrassing, I tell you.
So now, I hobble around my room, cursing the bugger who invented slopes and stairs and running.