Or, how I didn’t run yesterday and haven’t run today. Yesterday I wrote all afternoon, so we can excuse that on one level (New Year’s Resolution no.1 was to get on with writing) but I could have run on the treadmill in the evening as planned. But by the time I’d sorted out cold weather clothes for the children’s return to school and done bedtime and bathtime, it just didn’t happen.
But that’s okay, I thought. I should have time to run once I get them off to school, even taking into consideration the fact that the washing mountain is threatening to take over the utility room. But then I hadn’t seen anyone for ages, and somehow I ended up making bacon rolls and drinking tea with my friend this morning. And then it was preschool pickup, and then I had to go and park at school a whole hour early to get a space near school in the horrible snowy slush.
But that’s alright, I thought. I’ll have a banana whilst I cook their dinner, then I’ll run when they go to bed. And I would have. But instead I slipped on a pile of to-be-put-away clothes on the stairs and hurtled down them, landing in an ungraceful heap. So now I’m covered in bruises, a little bit shaken up, and feeling rather sore. I’m doing a Scarlett O’Hara, and I’m going to think about running tomorrow.