Bedraggled

We went to sleep super early last night, and although I woke up at six I turned the alarm off and slept until seven thirty. That is unheard of: I haven't failed to get up and go for a run in months. Still, not running seemed to have helped my sore ankle, even if it meant I was half-asleep for the whole day.

It's now a month and four days since I last had a cup of coffee. Surely it's time to start again soon.

I took my running kit to work. It's surprising how small a bag is required, but when you run in skimpy shorts, a vest and a pair of minimalist shoes, there's not much to transport. I also took a vast amount of food for lunch, but, ravenous, I'd eaten it all before 10 am, and spent the rest of the day feeling progressively worse as my energy levels dropped.

Clearly the thing to do was to go for a run. Well, that was a silly idea. Although it had rained this afternoon, it was a normal evening in Singapore, which means everyone comes out to meander around Clarke Quay. It wouldn't be so bad if they were all drunk, but there seemed to be every small child in Singapore, running in random directions. At least once I had to do a big body swerve to avoid kicking a toddler into the canal: people need to keep a better grip on their kids.

Or I need to avoid running in crowded spaces. That's going to happen about the time that cyclists observe the signs on every tunnel telling them to dismount.

Wearing minimal shoes, I end up going fast all the time because I can't go slowly; I'm always running on the middle of my feet and that means I feel like I'm continually accelerating. Or continually out of control. I kept this up for three miles, then walked back to the office, dripping wet, and trundled home. And my ankle started hurting again, which suggests it hates the office, or I should never stop running. I wonder if there's a better explanation. I doubt it.