Post viral fatigue or something similar had struck me low. My whole body ached and a chest infection that was the legacy of a wet week in the lakes lingered on. I was short of breath and without drive.
The clocks went back and, as always seems to be the way, my enthusiasms waned.
Another 5.45am alarm call from the boys and as I blunder to their needs sounds of wind-lashed rain on windows permeate a soup of still half asleep thoughts.
Tentatively I ease my stiff limbs out through the sleeping estate and onto the fields, following the footpaths up to Lecky Hill.
On the top the rain comes in sheets, each stinging droplet travelling parallel to the ground. I take a photograph, just about touching the moment, before cutting the planned route short and running for home.