Damp Boxing Day

I woke up at six thirty to a downpour. I turned off my alarm and went back to sleep, gloomy at the thought of missing a run this morning, but looking forward to a rainfree day when I woke up.

It carried on raining.

Not running sucks. Literally, it sucks the energy out of me, leaving me feeling sluggish and dull. I bumped around the flat, incapable, wanting to do nothing but sleep. Breakfast didn’t help. The rain continued, and continued to sap my spirit.

At eleven, there was a break in the precipitation and we walked up to Ronin for a second breakfast. Filled with eggs and coffee I felt better, but as we returned home it began to rain again. Our child gave a few anguished cries and then we put her down for her morning nap. Then I began to fall to pieces again, the restorative effects of the eggs being short-lived, and lay back down on the sofa.

Two hours later I woke up. Happily, La Serpiente Aquatica Negra slept even longer (highly exceptional for her) so I had a bit of time to tidy up and attend to administrative matters that normally would be impossible. The rain continued. Not drizzle, but full on pouring, accompanied by occasional thunder and lightning. The day was leaking away from us. When the high point of Boxing Day is organizing all the running shorts in your drawer, things are pretty low.

At four thirty, we left to see friends. Still the rain bucketed down. About six, while we were giving our child an ill-advised dose of ice cream, the rain finally ceased, but by then I was full of beer and prosecco and thus in no state for an evening run. So instead we came back, rinsed the child and put her to bed, then collapsed onto the sofa once again, broken.

After that, all we managed was a game of crib (I lost by a single point, which rankles) before sleep. Not that it matters: I have the Parkrun tomorrow morning, so its good for me to be asleep. But perhaps this is my fault, after wishing yesterday for inclement weather to make things more Christmassy.

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