Just before bedtime the message came in: The town of Bordeaux announces the closure of all its parks and gardens tomorrow because of the forecast high winds and heavy, foul, miserable, depressing, driving rain.
Humph. Mrs Davey got to run on Tuesday morning in beautiful, crisp, frosty sunshine. I would run on Wednesday into the eye of the storm.
"Oh well. If you're too weak to take it why don't you just die and let the fitter survive?" I thought, to encourage myself.
And yes. It was foul. I started out at a faster pace and covered more ground in my first ten minutes. So far so very good. But on the return where normally it is easier I just gave up in my head.
But after a few metres of faltering, I ran on.
OK. From now on the amount of walking diminishes until it's 35 minutes of straight running.
We got this. We can do it.