OK, not quite. Bit I do feel good after getting back from my first run in ages, my attempt to eradicate the ambient despondency and low-level anxiety which has of late been casting its hazy shadow across my fun-loving self.
The first half hour was hellish, as my lungs evacuated gallons (possibly) of phlegm in a desperate bid to rescue some residual air capacity; my aerobic system must've recruited alveoli that hadn't had a sniff of oxygen in years.
The last half hour was hellish, as my poor, strained frame decided that it wasn't quite so prepared to support the several extra stone in weight that have creeped on since my last fitness frenzy burnt itself out.
But the trance-like middle half hour was bliss. A beautifully hot and sunny day, the fields around Kenilworth Castle and the empty lawns of the Abbey Fields parkland glowing with swathes of greens, and the picturesque back streets of Kenilworth, and the surrounding country lanes, mostly devoid of traffic.
Less peacefully, my endeavours were fuelled by an endlessly-looping internal soundtrack of double-speed renditions of The MBM Dub Edit of Boss Drum by The Shamen and D12's Purple Pills (CAN'T..... MAKE....... IT......... STOP!) And some car-driving stalker seemed intent on keeping tabs on me, popping up every now and again to no doubt document the progress my progess for MI6, and forcing me to go off-road (to paraphrase The Offroaders, sort of). Irk!
But my thought of the experience on the whole: nice! (to paraphrase Jazz Club)
Just me, my trail of phlegm, and a clear mind. Grrrrreat.