tougher than old boots

I reckon I must be, after this weekend.

Last night I went out for my friend Amy’s 30th birthday. It was a great night which involved drinking cocktails out of teapots and lots of silly dancing.

When the bouncer at the door of one of the bars we went to asked me for ID, I giggled in a rather middle aged sort of way (I’d had a couple of drinks already) and said, “That’s twice in one night, must be my lucky night!” He squinted at my date of birth, pulled a face and said, “Yeah, it really is your lucky night, love!” I used to hate being asked for ID, now I love being reassured that I’m not haggard yet. Which probably means I actually am.

We stumbled in at about four in the morning and went to bed. After drinking many, many glasses of water, I dragged myself out this afternoon for my longest run yet… 12 miles! On a bit of a hangover. The last few miles were thoroughly unpleasant, but at least now I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to do the distance on race day.

The half marathon is a fortnight away and we’re about half way to reaching our fundraising target. To tell you the truth, I can’t wait for it to be over. I’ve pushed myself far more than I ever have before, and probably more than is good for my body, especially my knees and feet, which are feeling rather violated. The next two weeks will be mostly about gentle, shorter runs, just to keep everything ticking over. I don’t want to get injured before the big day.

And then, as soon as the race is over I am getting on the Eurostar to see Olivier for the first time since before Christmas, and we shall spend an entire week eating cake in honour of Marie Antoinette and being gloriously idle.

Now I’m off to bed in the hope that my legs miraculously repair themselves while I sleep.

Wishing you all a great start to the week!

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