In what is starting to become a worrying trend in 2015 I’m blog posting more frequently than usual (that won’t last I can assure you) and I’m starting to flip between posts that have the slightest link or reference to running and ones that are clearly completely unconnected to running.
Today’s post is, on first reading, the latter but if you stare into the middle distance and wonder about the meaning of life then you’ll see that it’s the former.
Today the Sundance Kid turns 7. My trusty companion in all things subversive is starting to grow up.
Like every dynamic duo that ever existed; Batman and Robin, Pancho and Lefty, Torvill and Dean, Laurel and Hardy you can’t have one without the other.
He’s the one I turn to to tell me I’m doing a good job, the one who confirms to me that my parenting skills are better than I’m lead to believe. He’s the one who tells me I’ve got big muscles. He’s the one who always has a “Well Done Dad” card ready for me when I come home from a race.
I’m his hero and he’s mine.
As long as he thinks I’m OK then not much else counts.
Happy Birthday Tom!