I could barely run this morning. I blame the weekend - Northern Lights, Eurovision, barbecues and breakfasts; I’m three-quarters red meat and disappointment.
It’s been hot too. I’d say it’s been the temperature you wish it actually was when you’re in one of those heatwaves that make you stay indoors - just the right side of what the English call ‘too hot’… but also hot enough to be verging on uncomfortable, but not over the line. One of these days I’ll do a temperature scale according to British people, but I’m too tired today.
I’m sure I used to have more energy. I feel as though I’m here but not really here, sort of translucent like Marty McFly at The Enchantment Under The Sea dance. Inside, I could vault a fence and run to China, but in the real world… well in the real world I couldn’t run very far at all without it feeling like my legs were weighing me down and there wasn’t enough puff in the tank.
The older I get, the more I think there might be a widening gap between what I think I can do, and what I can actually do. That is okay by the way, as long as I also know there are things I don’t think I can do but actually can. Now if I could just know the difference…
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