Over the weekend I located my sports bra; it was in the wash. Relieved as I was to find it, there was still a problem; it was wet from being in said wash, and we students do not have tumble driers. While I waited for it to try I decided it would be best for health and safety reasons to refrain from walking without it, so I had an impromptu weekend off. This morning I drove back to London from Kings Lynn where I'd been to see Marty for his birthday, and Monday morning traffic well and truly screwed me over, leaving me not enough time to walk before uni. I nipped home after class to get my walk in before rugby training tonight.
So reunited with my sports bra todays walk could be described as a walk of two halfs; initially when I set off I cursed Dad and his shin spints, as my own lower legs began throbbing and twanging. I was less power walking and more crippled style hobbling along at a distinctly slower than usual pace when I heard "ROSIEEEEEE!" I stared round bewlidered (which is fairly hard to do whilst keeping moving at reasonable speed) "Ophelie..?" I called into the street (luckily recognising her french accent) but still didnt see her. I like to think that you wouldn't be able to imagine me stumbling around yelling into the middle of the road, but I sadly suspect it comes all too easily to you. Soon after Ophelie texted me explaining that she was hanging out of her window yelling, and that I should keep going as she was bringing cookies to training tonight. Strangely my legs began to hurt a little less, and spurred on by the thought of cookies I finished the 6 miles, but my legs are not really my friends now...
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