I’m not sure how permanent the “running during swimming” is going to become, but if other people are going to come out and join me –like what happened today– then this may become a recurring theme.
For the third Thursday in a row, the Kid was left in the care of her swimming instructor (who apparently found it odd that I was hanging around watching anyhow) while I went out for a run. Leon and Erin arrived promptly, and about two minutes after the swimming laps were being kicked off inside, we were striking up our watches for a tour of the local neighbourhood.
Of course, much to the chagrin of my dad-brain as I frantically kept one eye on the time, our run didn’t stick to the immediate neighbourhood as I’d done in past weeks. We dipped into the river valley, crossed a couple bridges, climbed a great big hill, and toured along some of the more scenic vista-riffic places that the area has to offer.
Where I’d been running alone –seriously alone– in the winding and broken sidewalks of the neighbourhood the previous weeks, suddenly I was not only in a trio, but that trio was passing other running groups, dodging cyclists, and weaving around pedestrians. Apparently I was running in the wrong place.
And after all that, we made it back to the pool with five minutes to spare. Dad-brain-meltdown averted.