I’m often away with the fairies. This doesn’t mean that I’m busily carrying out some depravity with a series of gay men, but explains my mental processes when I slip into intellectual neutral. For no reason I just start to think about all sorts of inconsequential rubbish rather than the task at hand. I’m often enjoying some instant head-fiction for instance – enacting some story out in my brain.
Such was my concentration this evening when I went out for a run. I was only intending to head out for a quick ten minutes so that I didn’t knacker myself out for the weekend, but my housemate Nicole thought that I should do at least 20 minutes. I foolishly decided that I’d head out on my old three mile excursion which should have taken me about 25 minutes in my current state of fitness.
Unfortunately I was incapable of following the right route. Rather than turning left down Bramcote Avenue at one part of the run I was “elsewhere” mentally, and just carried on down the road into Chillwell. By the time I realised I wasn’t in the right place I’d managed to add another mile, in total, to my run. I ended up running for 45 minutes and nearly arrived in Derbyshire.
Naturally my muscles are complaining about this excersion. I shall be suffering this weekend for sure.