June 2012

[Sweder]

A run! A run to report!
OK, a waddle, a sweaty, ungainly flog across sun-soaked hills, self-flaggelation in the long summer grass. My belly, full and round after a week supping Leffe in the bars of Antwerp, strained horribly against my dampening shirt as I puffed and panted for twenty-odd minutes. By the time I'd finished it felt as if it might explode, to pepper the dappled foliage with shredded blubber.

I knew, of course, that this would be a painful outing. Just enough pain to encourage me not to slide any further into the seductive arms of Lady Sloth.
No excuses, more to come.