Out for my run this morning at the crack of "daft o'clock".
Hi-viz bib over the jacket, head torch firmly attached to the old noggin and off I tootled.
Decided that a moderate 9 miles would be today's task (bit of a tough session last night at the club).
The great thing about going out early doors is that the normally quiet roads round here are positively deserted.
Normally I can go out very early and not meet a soul.
So why, the very morning that I take a left turn a bit too sharply on an icey road and end up clattering down on my side and knocking my knee, is it that old club stalwart John Landels just happens to be driving out of the same turn? Ended up flat out on the deck about two feet away from his car!
Honestly, when you make an arse of yourself the last thing you want is an audience. And the very last thing you want is an audience of fellow runners.
Luckily there was no real damage - just a bit of bruising and road rash (oh. and a hole in my [previously "good"] running longs). Just bounced back onto my feet and headed off again. Think the mixture of shame and andrenolin kept me going.