Another evening where I thought my Juneathon run was going to be squeezed out by real life. I was still at work 30 minutes before my book group started. The only way to square the circle was to pick up my book and run to the pub. And although the warm, heavy evening meant I arrived as a sweaty mess, I’m glad I got another run under my belt. Had I got a taxi, the only other option open to me, I would have missed this stunning view of the Taff at Dusk – and I would have let down Harold Fry.
Rachel Joyce’s book, “The unexpected pilgrimage of Harold Fry” was up for discussion tonight, and as it centred on the determination of one old man to walk and see an ailing friend some 500 miles away, I simply felt that a taxi would be cheating.
The book was much like tonight’s run. Pleasant enough. Short, not particularly challenging, but worthwhile all the same.