I wasn’t sure it would be wise to run yesterday. I slammed my fingers in two drawers – I am certain my ring nail is going to fall off. I plunged the coffee all over the kitchen floor, spilled the laundry detergent, stubbed my toe hanging the laundry out, wacked my head on a low flying branch and had pea puree for lunch. That’s baby food isn’t it? It was gourmet pea puree, left over from the dinner party last night, but I’m still not sure pureed peas with butter, garlic, herbs and spices constitutes a balanced meal. Still, after sitting at my desk writing from 8am until 6.45pm, stopping only for the aforementioned disasters and hanging out two loads of washing, I needed it. I didn’t run with the same vigour as Sunday – there were no sprinting teenagers about – so I only had to beat the walkers and talkers again, but it was a lovely way to blow out the cobwebs and I managed to complete the run without any physical mishaps.
I am also going to finish this blog before I incur an injury here too. As pathetic as it sounds, I'm not going to type any more for fear of causing myself greater harm. I’ve persevered all day, but my fingernail really hurts. Who knew writing could be such a hazardous activity?
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