Sunday Morning's run with Peter was interesting.  I was feeling old and fat and slow, he must have been feeling great because he bolted like a startled colt and I was struggling in his wake the whole way.  On the run up to the Jack Ferris lookout he had stopped and was swigging from his bottle when I eventually trundled to the top.  The day was perfect, I should have taken a shot of Tibro when we arrived rather than later from Jack Ferris, it was all suffused with golden light and looked like a postcard.

Ten kilometres as P had to pick up #2 son from Hamilton.  I heaved a sigh of relief, I would have had a heart attack trying to keep up any longer.  The run is here.