Western Algarve Portugal, Beach Running

Photo0020 (2)After five days of rain and wind, the sun shone brightly at seven thirty this morning. What a difference it makes to your outlook on life. Twenty minutes later I was sat on the balcony with a cup of tea watching the sun rise over the cliff.

I can see right to the end of the beach where there is an expanse of black rock set into the cliff face. I have not run seriously for a year or three and received a scare a few weeks ago from the Doctor about wanting to take out my Gall Bladder; well a scare is to put mildly:  he came into the room positively salivating and sharpening his knife.

‘Can do you right away son’ his demeanour seemed to say.

‘I stood and held my hands up high, whoa there partner’, I exclaimed, don’t be so quick on the draw, maybe we need to talk about this first. If this really had been a western I would of course have shot the varmint there and then.

Anyway back to reality. We decided (me actually) that a change of diet and more exercise may be worth trying. So here I am in idyllic surroundings, so Carpe Diem why not, let’s grab the moment.

The little lady gives me an unbelieving look as I head out the door. Round the corner and looking back I am encouraged to see her at least waving me off (or is that goodbye!).

Downhill to the beach like Mo Farah, going well now along the edge of the surf five minutes in, feeling good; mooring ropes coming up, do I jump or head up the beach a bit, discretion wins, fifteen minutes in and I am feeling quite emotional I am actually still running! Not far to go now to the end of the beach.

Here we are, fantastic I am still running! I can turn around now. I kiss the black rock, take a breather say a little prayer and head back. At the mooring ropes I am beginning to tire, the sand is heavy and it feels like I must be running the Marathon des Sables in Africa. Finally back, I collapse into a chair in the sunshine, feeling epic!

Must catch up on blogs generally, been a bit tied up with final edits for the book.

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