I did the mini marathon. It was hot. My feet are throbbing, tenderised, and sunbrowned in the patches where there is no sandal. Nice.
I must have sweated off my frequent suncream applications too, as bits of me a slightly redder than ideal shade of brown.
I graciously accepted the heart shaped medal in the envelope saying money voucher inside! - heh, 60 cent off a tub of Flora.
I accepted it despite the fact that my walking companions and I might just have taken and executive decision to hop the median just before the UCD bridge and head back the other way - in our defense we'd been standing waiting for the toilets for half an hour, enough time for everything to stiffen up and start aching. I was on my feet: it counts!
Yes, it does.
And it was really made necessary by the three impassive lads standing at their gate with glasses of spirits and long hair and waistcoats and god knows, maybe even paisley shirts, saying 'You're the last ones' on that special oh so funny boy way (and we weren't, and anyway it was only because of the toilet queue, and it was too lonely and demoralising, so we rejoined the herd out of necessity :)
Woo, though, I'm tired. At the end, when my friends were being met by husbands and babies with identical nose scratches, to head for pizza and chat, I got a text from Axel promising a bottle of wine and an Indian tomorrow evening. Nearly brought tears to my eyes, in my weakened state.
I've week's work to do in two days though, as usual, so see you all in a little while.