Here it is hump day if you are gainfully employed or the day before a climbing day if you are not. After my dismal, but luckily, mostly private disgrace on Friday, I skipped the Park Run on Saturday and strolled around the bushland near home. June is the month I decided, on a whim, as most of my decisions are, that I would walk (or run) at least eight kilometres every day. Barring death, taxes or hospitalisation, I needed to walk eight kilometres.
Feeling delightfully recovered on Sunday Doug and I went rock climbing and, on a whim, I tried “THE project,” a route I have tried off and on for a couple of years – mostly off in the last year – but in total I’ve probably tried it 30 times. At the second crux, I could hear Doug but as if in a tunnel, his voice seemed far off, and he seemed to be saying “you’re gonna do it!” And I did. Totally gobsmacked and not expecting that at all but one of those rare times in life when you really are in flow.
Monday, a kayaking friend organised a paddle. Doug and I paddled south from our home beach to meet the other three and we paddled around a couple of islands, out to sea for a while, into a beach, and then, while the others went back south, Doug and I booted home. As part of training for a paddling assessment, I’m using a flat blade now instead of a wing, which normally means I’m slower than Doug but working on speed and technique I managed to crank my speed up to 8 km/hour on the way back. Recovery is a wonderful thing.
Just four more days of my minimum eight kilometres a day and I’m thinking what July’s daft goal will be. I might make it climbing every day of the month, which would be fun, and possibly a little painful.
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