I know there are worse things in the world - war, famine, Justin Bieber - but when I don't get out for a run, my whole being is thrown out of whack.
My recent workload - and the fact that the day has its PJs on by 5.30pm - means it's now too cold and dark to run after work. No run for a few weeks = Shazzy close to a slaying rampage.
Today, one of my working from home days, the sun came out and I was determined to run until my legs burned and my heart felt ready to pop out of my ribcage. And, later, to embrace the runner's high that, I swear, gets better with age.
Alas, the time management gods conspired against me: there was waiting around for the phone guy, two deadlines to meet and about eight million emails to send and respond to. The day slipped through a crack in the floorboards.
I finally got out around four, as the shadows started to lengthen and there was no longer a need for sunglasses. Bristol and I ran up the hill, feeling the familiar but good burn (me, not him) and about 10 minutes we met a friend and her dog, so we stopped to chat. Five minutes on and we ran into another of the Mt Vic Dog Walking Crew we hadn't seen for weeks; she had injured her foot so couldn't run so we ended up walking. It was lovely to catch up, but it meant saying goodbye to the runner's high and the calories I'd hoped to burn.
Oh well, there's always tomorrow...
Today's visuals are of the Wonder Dog who is surely better for the soul than all forms of exercise combined.