Thursday, February 11, 2010


Yesterday I took the day off.  Gregory didn’t.  He sprinted up and down my parent’s steep driveway, interspersing each one with pushups, while I sat on the deck with my computer and desperately tried to harness my blog.  (I can now change colours, add links, find friends and make comments.  These are all very big steps for me).
I had planned to run in the afternoon, but Gregory’s job interview went decidedly well so we opted to return to the restaurant for dinner and see what it was like in action.  I can’t tell you where just now, but suffice to say the location is a tourist’s wet dream. 
After another day spent wrangling my website and blog into submission, by afternoon I was more than ready to stretch my legs. 
Maybe I’ll make today my long day, I thought, sliding into my youngest brother’s running shorts.  He is away at present, and following household lore, all personal items are now in general circulation.  (I also don’t have anything else to wear given that everything we own is still in storage).  Now Rhys is a wearer of the shorts with built in undies, and while such a look on my father has scarred me since childhood, I can thoroughly appreciate the design.  But not even the titillating fluff of wind up the shorts could convince my body to run for longer than an hour.  I trudged up the final hill – a long slow and painful one – and ‘The Flight of the Bumblebee’ morphed from being encouraging to downright irritating.  Time for a glass of wine.

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