But I'm glad that I did. Go running, that is. After a long day at work, my throat hurt, I was sniffling, and I just wanted to come back to the flat, read my book, and have a nice cup of tea. But the half-marathon is looming and there aren't that many running days left before I start the taper, so I told myself that it was better to go out for even a short run than it was to do nothing at all.
When I left the flat, the sun was shining and there was a brisk but manageable wind. Normally it takes me at least a mile to warm up and to relax but today, for some reason, I felt great. The first mile came and went, nothing hurt, my speed was reasonable, and my breathing was settled. Weird. I carried on past the lochan where the Geese of Death lurk (no sign of them and their vicious beaks today) and up the steep hill that gives an amazing view back over Lerwick, and still felt good.
Half-way back down the hill, it started to rain. Then it sleeted. The wind picked up. My hair froze. It briefly crossed my mind to go home, but my running felt so relaxed that it seemed a shame to cut it short so I headed on towards the loop that runs around Clickimin Loch. I saw a runner in the distance coming towards me who stopped on the path, walked back and forth a bit, then minced his way forward through what looked like a bit of water. 'Wuss,' I thought scathingly. And then I got closer and saw that the puddle was actually an ankle-deep flood that had to be forded since there was no way around it. I minced my way across too, leaving me with shoes and socks that were soaked by icy water. I'd like to be able to say that it felt refreshing, but actually it was just really cold.
And still I carried on. I ran up all of the hills and didn't need to stop to stretch out my calves once because they DIDN'T HURT. I ran until I had completed 5 miles, which is what I had been scheduled to do today, but felt as though I could have run a lot further. Some days, it all just fits together.