Another Hoolie

I was happy enough to have another rest day. It was cold. The forecast was for rain. It was blowing an absolute hoolie. Forrest reminded me that we hadn't run together all year - I'd picked up a niggle, then he was away, and since he'd got back there hadn't been an opportunity. Nursing a little niggle himself - probably picked up on his long descent to the bottom of the Grand Canyon - he assured me that it was going to be slow. How bad could it be? Fully aware that his idea of slow has taken on a whole new meaning during the last year, I decided to opt for shorts, expecting to have to work a lot harder than I have been while running on my own.

At the outset, that proved to be a good decision. The pace was slow, but I was working hard (and keeping warm) running into a ferocious headwind, with the odd bit of sun (as revealed here) being punctuated by some short, sharp showers. Before this weekend there had barely been any rain for three weeks. After all yesterday's rain, the moor was back in its usual winter saturated state. A bog trotting return with the wind on our backs was a lot of fun - before we got hit by a wild hailstorm, the paths turning white in a matter of a minutes. The shorts didn't offer much protection. My legs felt beaten raw. The last couple of miles were run with everything from the waist down frozen. I could have done without that last bit of weather, to be honest. Forrest thought it was a blast!