I went for a run with Mr Starke this morning. We haven't been running together since I cracked my rib about six weeks ago. We used to aim to run together twice a week before work. Running on the Sea Point promenade (see photo) is a great way to start your day - I highly recommend it for all Capetonians.
Mr Starke and I have a routine: he'll sms me the night before to confirm, I'll confirm back, like this:
Mr Starke: Run tomo?
T-Lo: 710am. Rod Stewart.
At 710am, I'll rock up in TheNotTheBullet, Rod Steward blasting out the stereo. We'll hoof it down to the promenade, have our little run (where I usually OWN him about 2 kms in. OWN!) then head home. He usually jests that the music of my choice assaults his eardrums on a regular basis, but I see his head bopping along. I know he is a closet cheesy 80s and disco fan. Don't deny it, Mr Starke!
Well, today, all started off as normal. I rocked up at 710am, Michael Jackson blaring (who doesn't like Billie Jean?!). We started off on the run, Mr Starke pointed out his bling new trainers. Then it happened. I hit my wall about 700 m in.... wheezing, gasping, huffing, puffing...then the stitch started (granted, on the rib spot, but still)...then more wheezing, more stitching. Phew! This.Cat.Is.Out.Of.Shape. We'll see how the runs go next week.
1 comment:
Have just read your post to Mr Starke ... he'll no doubt send you a comment or two soon. xx :-)
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