Despite soreness and general uselessness, I have a fantastic degree of obsessiveness and rank stupidity when it comes to injuries and exercise.
I have a sore leg, some sort of pulled calf in fact. So obviously the best thing to do is try running on it JUST TO SEE DAMMIT if it will stand up to it. The day or so after you bloody hurt it again. I'm stupid. Stupid stupid stupid earthling.
So yes, the intention was to dress up warm and walk the brisk winds to the far end of Devon Park and then back through the sconce and along the river a bit. But no, despite being dressed for the tundra seemingly, as soon as I got into my brisk walk the urge to jog took me, took me further into the realm of the extraordinary, as Ewan Magregor would say in his punchable advert.
Well, I guess my jog didn't take me anywhere extraordinary, it just took me to the path where a vigorous woman was being taken for a spin by an alsatian. My leg wasn't hurting yet, oh no, that was saved for the day after.
But it got me along the River Devon, and evidently to a non striking museum, where I got an underweight pot of tea, and having watched a grey wagtail the day before, merely heard wagtails all of the time just out of shot of the view through the window. The sort of two tone whistling you get as they fly.
On Riverside park, running now abandoned for taking in the sights, I listened to the various high pitched tseeps and tsipps that to my untrained ears are starting to indicate the presence of tits of some kind. Sure enough, amongst the willows and bushes by the river, a number of blue tits were cavorting about as Sparrows less delicately crashed about on thicker twigs.
A pleasant run, but, yep, my leg, sore again. Such a fool eh?
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