Yah, so I’m mentally five. I can’t get the children’s rhyme about Boston, France and underwear out of my head this week.
My husband is very close to touching French soil. I’m really, really regretting that I am not on the boat with his crew. I won’t see him reach his major achievement. I’m feeling seriously left out (because it’s all about me, you know).
I’ve kind of been a wreck the past 11 hours. Waiting is not my strong suit. Waiting to be sure my husband is safe? Ugh.
I’d planned on running this morning, but all I can do is hit “refresh” on the iPad to check his status.
On the plus side, I survived my first foray at driving in England. Of course, it was 2am and no one else was on the road. Don’t ask how long it took me to get the car properly parked in a space.
A couple pictures from yesterday’s run and one more (plus the one above) of my husband’s channel crossing crew. In the first boat photo at top, my husband is on the far right. He had to ride the boat to Shakespeare Beach, get off, then start the swim from there.