Sunday's run was advertised as a live-hare effort by Robocop, but he returned before we started, looking remarkably cheerful considering that it was hammering down rain. There are those who will say that this was the finest run of the year (especially when reporting it to Stick Insect, who hates hearing about the great runs he misses). Those people however would be clinically insane. The first three-quarters of it was a miserable up-and-down-and-up-and-down traverse of a single steep, wet, nasty hillside. Only the last 15 minutes offered a chance to stretch our legs, running home on the flat along the base of the hill. The runsite, on the even busier Old Hatyai Road, was perhaps marginally less muddy, though it's probably the wrong time to year to keep complaining about that. The circle carried on through a tempest of rain, apart from one eminent farang hasher who fled in his electric blue Vigo, and another and his gf who took refuge in their silver Nissan March. Wimps!
Monday, December 24, 2012
I'm dreaming of a wet Christmas
Sunday's run was advertised as a live-hare effort by Robocop, but he returned before we started, looking remarkably cheerful considering that it was hammering down rain. There are those who will say that this was the finest run of the year (especially when reporting it to Stick Insect, who hates hearing about the great runs he misses). Those people however would be clinically insane. The first three-quarters of it was a miserable up-and-down-and-up-and-down traverse of a single steep, wet, nasty hillside. Only the last 15 minutes offered a chance to stretch our legs, running home on the flat along the base of the hill. The runsite, on the even busier Old Hatyai Road, was perhaps marginally less muddy, though it's probably the wrong time to year to keep complaining about that. The circle carried on through a tempest of rain, apart from one eminent farang hasher who fled in his electric blue Vigo, and another and his gf who took refuge in their silver Nissan March. Wimps!
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