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Wednesday, 3 February 2010
Tempus fugit moronicus, By Stevie, Fleeting Haston.
High risk of avalanches four out of five.
Talked to one of my running mates, just now. Usual boring running stuff, it’s incredible how boring these conversations sound when played back, and yet they are medicine, food, a panacea. The essence of the conversation was that there are so many good runs or walks to do, but only so many running days left in your poxy life. Obviously the same applies to climbing, but I always get more passion from my running, or caving mates, than I do climbers. So the upshot of the chat was that I put my on running shoes, and instead of going back to work, I went for a run. I live in a civilised country and lunches are as long as I bloody-well like! It wasn’t a big run, an hour, but it was in the snow, against the wind on the way out, and fairly bitter. I followed a fox’s trail, the fox was then joined by a deer. I turned around at a frozen waterfall, but stopped to look at the frozen blobs, and golbs, and globbers, dancing and sparkling in the winter light. It was a typical jog, nothing earth shattering. It did the trick though. I went back to work, and decided to hand in my notice. No more work soon. And enough money to do a couple of months climbing, with maybe a few double day hill walks. And all because, the lady loves to lace her running shoes, thanks for the phone call princess, and good luck with your running and climbing this year.
Boris is a big boy but has crossed teeth so I might have to put him down