Here comes the sun… run?
For those of you also sharing time on this island shared by England, Wales and Scotland, you will have noticed that something like summer has descended upon us over the last eight days. Yes, eight days of uninterrupted sunshine, blue skies, balmy evenings and all the associated stuff: barbecues, Pimms, picnic blankets and general lounging in gardens and parks.
That’s right. The parks that I always write about being places to run are now full of sprawled limbs, cans of beer and strawberry punnets. I can’t complain. I’ve been one of those sprawlers.
My mum sent me a text message on Saturday morning: Great to run in the sun! This was before 10am, as I was putting on a bikini, boiling eggs for sandwiches and gathering reading material. We were headed to the park. But not to run. Guilt shivered through me. “Ready?” Martín said. Of course I was. I forgot about the joys of running and went and sat in the park. I turned a blind eye to sweaty joggers bouncing past us.
This was a recurring theme last week. I ran last Tuesday and had time to run again. I just chose not to. Instead, I sat on the patio, in the park, in the garden, on the sun lounger, under a tree. Put it this way, my trainers got a lovely airing.
So, with the guilt of my mum enjoying running in the sunshine and the fact it really was time to lay off the sunbathing, I got up early today determined to go and sweat out there. And I did. It was glorious.
The weather, I mean, was glorious. After six days of barbecues and cocktails, magazine reading and picnics, I really did need a good lay in the sun to recover.