Back to the routine

We returned home from the Lake District on Wednesday. Six hours, a stop for a cup of tea, and nervously watching the fuel tick down for the last hundred miles - wondering if we might get home without stopping to fill the car back up. We chickened out ten miles from home.

The washing machine has been running ever since - we're just about catching up after two days of filling and re-filling it.

While out walking in the hills earlier in the week I realised my leg doesn't hurt any more - the leg that I injured while completing the hundred kilometres idiocy in September. I'll more than likely head out for a run this weekend - a quiet lap of town - just to see how I go. I've missed running. I've missed the alone time, the time to gather my thoughts, and the escape - if only for a little while.

I wonder how much my body will object to running after a month of doing nothing?

Anyway.

It's getting late.

It's already Saturday morning.

I can't imagine "Park Run" will be happening tomorrow after the biblical volumes of rain that have fallen in recent days. I'll be surprised if the river through town hasn't burst it's banks here and there (the park run course follows the edge of the river).

I need to catch up with friends this weekend. I've been off the radar. I try to say hello every so often through whatever means, but have dropped the ball just recently. It's odd - the longer you don't see or hear from somebody, the harder it becomes to say hello again. I still try to get over myself now and again though - even if I don't hear anything back.

I've already written "anyway" once. I can't do it twice. That's against the rules (probably). Maybe I'll just stop writing.