I'm having a few problems with my running rucksacks. One (the Berghaus Adventure light) is a little bulky. The other (the Osprey Raptor) is neater, but has a propensity to rub.
As I discovered today.
It was early when I ran over to the heath for a swim. Rucksack on back, I was pleased that while most people were in bed, I was already enjoying the autumnal sunshine. Unfortunately, the smugness of my reverie was matched only by the discomfort of my rucksack. So when I got to the pond, I knew it had rubbed a little. But I was shocked to discover I'd been flayed alive!
I had more welts than an extra in Spartacus. And worse, a badly positioned mole had taken the brunt of the assault and was bleeding. I decided a swim in the pond would stem the flow. Which it did. By cutting off my blood supply. It was absolutely bloody freezing. And if I'm to continue this outdoor nonsense into the winter months, then I need to move on from a bikini. Must pack a more substantial costume next time.
And there will be a next time. All the chafing and bleeding and Baltic-temperatures aside, swimming in the pond was a lovely start to the day. And when a chatter of parakeets (yes, I looked it up) swooped over my cryogenically-suspended body, the moment had an almost filmic quality.
(Stats: Forgot my stopwatch, but ran an awkward 3 miles in about 35 minutes; swam 2 laps of the pond, which is about 400 metres; water temperature: 16 degrees - only 0.3 less than Sunday, yet I could feel every absent point.)
(Pic: Temperature dropping.)
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