The first ultra-runner took the washer bottle, saying 'when I get really hot, I can pour the water over me to cool off.'
The second ultra-runner took the back seat, saying 'when I get really hot, I can crawl under the seat and get some shade.'
'I'm taking the driver's door,' said the triathlete. ' When I get really hot, I can wind the window down.'
Today, I am, of course, wibbling about the weather; this is the curse of everyone who does outdoor activities. I'd love about 16 degrees, dry and cloudy, but Rule 4 applies: it is what it is.
To this end, I've got complete body waterproofs, sunglasses, a peaked cap and my wetsuit on standby, so I can cope whatever the conditions. I will nevertheless spend all day obsessively refreshing the web pages of several different weather forecast sites, before choosing to believe the one I like best.
I may take some time out to find my boomerang; I can't remember where I left it, but I'm sure it'll come back to me.
I shall take myself out for three miles of light jogging, do one last session with Kia-ora and her yogalates; never before have my facial muscles been so relaxed or my jaw so soft.
All that then remains is some more faffing and wibbling, followed by a very early start tomorrow.
NEY Dave (and maybe one or two other people!) may appreciate the irony of a present given to me my my dear wife recently. For the rest of you, it's an in-joke, fully explained in this blog if you're eaten up with curiosity: