12 kms this morning! With Nicky. Along the Hutt River, then winding our way back through the leafy streets of Trentham and Silverstream.
Sunday morning, and I'm running. I don't have to run. I could stay in bed. But somehow, the grit that I discovered that I didn't even know I had, gets me in my running gear, in the crappy old nissan primera, and driving to Nicky's house.
I talked a lot on this run. In fact, I'm pretty sure poor Nicky didn't say one word for the entire 72 minutes. Somehow, babies came up. And it got me talking. Talking about being a mum for the first time in lonely old London. And I told Nicky about when Jesse was just a week old and not feeding and not sleeping, my husband got whisked away by his Dad to Holland for a family trip. At the time it seemed completely okay and of course I wanted him to go ... a once in a lifetime opportunity ... all his family together in his Dad's homeland. It wasn't until I was telling Nicky this story, that I realised I was holding on to something that didn't feel that good. It kinda had the whiff of resentment. I realised in an instant that I had been holding on to that dark slither of resentment ... And it was on the run this morning that I threw it away and cast it off and left it in my dust.
I had no idea that it had made a home in me.
That was a good run.