Run

Off for a run in my weird, almost-not-there shoes. They make me run a little tippy-toed.

My left calf didn't like it right away, but I kept going.

Up the hill and over the creek. One kilometre. All is fine and no signs of any cars. This is not strange for our country roads early on a Sunday. Onto the long road.

Two kilometre mark. Still no cars. I pass cows and horse in their fields. Some watch me, and some don't. The road fades to gravel. Three kilometres.

The gravel and the new shoes do not get along. The sharp stones dig in, and are too numerous to avoid. I turn east, still on gravel.

No cars on the gravel either. At four kilometres I turn into the tree and onto dirt paths. This is much better going. I pass several dog walkers in the trees. Five kilometres. Out of the trees and it's six kilometres.

Back on pavement amongst houses. Where are the cars? I reach the downhill with the stunning, blue-skied ocean vista. Seven kilometres. I turn for home. Eight.

Finally a car goes by. Over the creek. Nine kilometres and I'm home.

My left calf is still unhappy, and not really exhausted. My right calf has decided to match the attitude of its twin.

Overall, I feel normal enough. No joint aches or pains, just my protesting calves.

The new shoes are fine, as was my run.