The run was 4.7km, a long uncomfortable struggle. The black dog loping along behind, panting, panting, loud rasping in the muggy air. After three days without a run, the joints refused to oil themselves, ankles, knees, all the many bones of the feet, all seemed to be aching. And still are.
After three km, I found I had slowed down so much that I was just trudging along, barely running. So I picked up the pace for the last couple of rounds. Psychologically I do really well in the last circuit, because I know it is nearly the end, so my body is happy for my mind to push it, because it knows the end is in sight, rather like riding a horse. They're always faster on the home stretch.
As the mother of four, I am convinced that children are born with their own characters. Emma has always been right out there with her emotions. She has always let you know exactly where you stand, what she feels. Jess was entirely different, she observed, she thought about things.
One evening the murderous hunter cat Rumpleteaser brought a rat inside. The girls managed to distract the cat and rescue the rat and then refused to allow Tim to kill it. So, being the good father that he was, (and almost always allowing his girls to wrap him around their little fingers), and even though the rat looked wounded, he captured it in a bucket and released it in the furthest corner of our garden. About half an hour later Tim noticed that the rat was back kind of butting into the wall of our house, obviously brain-damaged and suffering. The girls were horrified to hear us discuss and agree on the fact that the rat needed to be put out of its misery, that he was actually going to kill it!.
Emma raged against us, pleaded with us, even suggesting that we take the rat to the vet to fix it! She cried and shouted and eventually was sent to her room to calm down. And then it was bedtime, and everyone settled down, there were explanations, reasonings, acceptance.
Later, Tim and I went up to bed ourselves, and at the top of the stairs, Jess had carefully placed her statement, their little easel-blackboard, and in careful chalk writing, I love rats.
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