Aint no mountain high enough

This morning I went for a run. I went yesterday. And the day before as well. When I say run, it goes like this: walk, turn on iPod, and listen to ‘Aint no mountain high enough’ and start running down Peck Avenue. Peck is a ‘not made road’ it runs all the way down the Merri Creek and is crossed by five or six busyish suburban streets. By the time Marvin Gaye gets to the first chorus I’ve hit my stride and I feel like Cathy Freeman. Well, a goddess sized Ms Freeman. Without the gold medal. You get the picture.

This morning it was raining lightly, I love the rain, so this is me; running, early on a Sunday morning, streets quite, iPod blaring. I stop for a bus on Fenacre. The bus is pulling into the stop to pick up a few bent Italian ladies for the 8am Latin Mass at St Monica’s. The driver smiles at me, I wave at him. We are good friends; I caught this bus to and from work five days a week for the past six years. The driver waves me across and I give him a salute. Then I come nose to nose with a maroon Commodore. I can’t hear the screech because of the iPod, but I can smell the breaks.

Four things I learnt on my run this morning.

1) It gets easier. Getting up at 5.45 was really tough for a while. My personal trainer, the lovely Luke, suggested I sleep in my running clothes. I tried this, and it worked because I couldn’t sleep all night with my shoes on so I got up at 4am. I have a love hate relationship with the morning. I love the idea of it, just not the practice. But after running few mornings a week for the last month I find I get the 3pm tantrums if I haven’t done some huffing and puffing in the morning. Mind out of the gutter people

2) Lemon Scented Gums smell amazing after rain. It’s like inhaling a lemon meringue pie. Or for the benefit of Luke the Diet Nazi it’s like smelling lemons. It just doesn’t sounds as pretty that way.

3) Crazy maroon Commodore drivers that pull out around stopped buses need their own special warning sign. Wanker. He was surprised that I went over and tapped, ok, banged, on his window and gesticulated wildly. I blame Marvin Gaye and the elevated serotonin levels. Double Wanker. I nearly flashed my badge and asked him to blow in the bag, then I remembered I wasn’t a cop. Triple Wanker.

4) The Strathmore News isn’t open at 7 on a Sunday, but Gusto is and they make these amazing raspberry ganache tarts that for some reason can’t last until I get home. Block your ears Luke, chocolate is the new banana.

So, in my first blog I promised you three things tomorrow, and you ended up getting four things six weeks later. No promises this time, just the offer to entertain you every now and again with am amusing story from a girl, who when faced with the eternal question ‘do you want fries with that’ says ‘bloody oath’.