L crawls into work on Tuesday, her words. She’s one of those people who won't skive off work even when they're actually really unwell. Just like me.
She can't even muster the will to utter the universal untruth of saying she’s 'fine'. So she must be bad and she's even cancelled her PT.
She doesn’t improve much over the next few days and can't face a cup of tea for days. Though it’s probably best to keep off the tea in the circumstances. I’ve never trusted it myself.
MD’s training is off on Tuesday because the trainer is in bed ill. There’s a lot of it about... but the Lad’s training goes ahead.
On Wednesday, L manages to go out for a pre-arranged lunch and even runs with Daughter in the evening. I opt out because it’s still icy and I’d probably break something. She says it will only be a jog but I’m not so sure Daughter ‘only’ jogs anymore. If she has the Lad, she certainly won’t be.
My work colleague informs me that January is now over. So we go for a pizza and a pint. Phew.
L makes it to her tennis on Thursday but, as expected, my squash is off. So I run instead.
I run all the way to the Tennis Centre where L will be playing. She leaves coffee, clothes and the dogs in the car for me. Disappointingly it turns out to be only 22.5km, just a little longer than a half marathon. I head home for a hot shower and then return to pick L up at 9pm.
(Thursday 24th January)