Croaky and creaky.....

      The temperature was well below zero when I left the Yorkshire Dales yesterday and I couldn't help feeling I should have stayed and gone for a run through those beautiful riverbank fields - though I'm not sure my wonderful partner would have agreed with me. For over a week now I've been coughing and aching and talking with a funny, croaky voice, as have quite a few others in the village including the majority of our Church congregation. Three runs in the past seven days, amounting to a mere twelve miles, resulted in me collapsing through the door drenched in sweat and my heart rate up in the 150's.

Togged up for a cold winter run....down Postman's Steps..

      On Saturday, after a six mile jaunt round Appletreewick on leaden legs at a sick snail's pace, I decided enough was enough. It's time to rest and allow the old body to recuperate and regain a modicum of strength before jetting off to La Palma on St Valentine's Day. I'm saying 'I decided' enough was enough, but a certain other person had some persuasive words too, remembering the terrible state I was in last year, confined to our hotel room with the daddy of all colds and unable to move my head from side to side after my neck locked solid. Ibuprofen and paracetamol formed the main part of my diet.

      So, I was ever so good on Sunday, never

And never make the excuse you're too old....

stirring from the house, except for filling the coal bucket to keep the stove well stoked. I'll admit to getting a bit restless in the afternoon but forced myself to stay put, diverting attention from physical exercise by indulging in more mental pursuits of solving crosswords and codewords. I'm not sure which is the more exhausting! I slept well after it, though it could have been more to do with the rather large dram of malt whisky that rounded off our wonderful evening meal. However, when the sun rose on a sparkling white landscape. the old legs started to get a bit twitchy and restless again.  As they do.
      After stocking up on meat, yogurt, fruit and vegetables I returned home  to find a quarterly fuel bill lying on the mat that gave me a bit of a shock - to say the least! There was another irritating letter too stating that having turned seventy (by almost twelve years), it was time to renew my driving licence and questioned whether I was still fit to drive. The cheek of it.  I needed no further incentive to slip into running gear and tootle off for a recuperative three mile run to prove, if only to myself, that I'm still fit for most things - albeit some take a wee bit longer nowadays!  Well OK, a lot longer, and especially when it comes to signing cheques or answering impertinent questions from vehicle licencing authorities!