“No running; only walking” I promised myself as I headed out the door into the fading sunset. 

I’ve been sick all weekend. Not dying or severly incapacitated sick, but a cough/cold, the dreaded lurgy. I have a fairly high pain threshold and I’m not usually one to complain, but when I get a cold, I am miserable company.

But I was getting cabin fever after being cooped up and was so frustrated not to be able to run, so I thought it would be a good compromise to go for a gentle stroll. It was such a beautiful day, and daylight was fast fading. 

Thirty minutes in, jeans falling down and snot dripping everywhere, I realised that I’d accidentally somehow started jogging. How did that happen?! I guess when you are passionate about something you can’t hold back from it and even do it automatically, even if your body has warned you not to. A few months ago, I would have laughed at the idea that I was running without realising it when I was sick! 

I survived the run, barely, and made it home where I made myself a lemon and honey and fell asleep. The end.