It was the best of times; it was the worst of times and then I was in a state of chassis. I had a personal breakthrough over the St. Patrick’s weekend and hit the ground running. It was something I had been putting off for a while. I was managing the circuit really well and I knew it was time I stretched it out a bit but I was digging my heels in. The Grit Doctor would not have been impressed with the excuses I was coming up with. (The Grit Doctor is your hard as nails inner self who takes no shit and does not accept any excuse not to get out there and run!) I had fallen into the comfortable state of bombing out the door, running solidly for the 25 minutes (sometimes 23!) it took me to complete the circuit. A longer lunch time circuit would make it impossible to be back in time for the school run. That was the first reason/excuse I made not to extend the run. Plus I wasn’t relishing the thought of starting again, literally running for a distance and having to slow to a walk, building up my stamina again for a longer route. Second excuse/reason not to go further. But I knew it had to be done so I put the timer on my phone and got going. Every now and then I surprise myself and this was one of those times. I discovered that running in the rain is quite enjoyable. The roundabout, my first oasis in the desert, was just up ahead and I still had plenty of puff left. I was feeling very pleased with myself indeed until someone stopped and asked me for directions. A small part of me (my inner bitch!) almost directed her to Kilkenny instead. It took 40 minutes to complete the run, stopping to walk briskly only once. The buzz was unreal. A couple of times I was this close to entering the zone the Good Book speaks about. There was great music in my ears but my mind was clear. My feet felt light and my breathing was slow and steady. It was a great feeling. Like I mentioned; the best of times. And then I fell off the wagon. It didn’t take much in the end, a simple bar of chocolate. Turkish Delight to be exact. A large bar. The squared one. My favourite. Then I had a Wagon Wheel. It was a good thing Mister Husband was gone with the car because the secret stash of chocolate in the glove box would have been hunted down and killed next. I had been vice free for three weeks and I reckon it all got too much for me. A treat was in order. A celebratory one, I might add. I didn’t feel too guilty about it. My body, after all, has been using up lots of energy over the last couple of months so it was only to be expected that I would have to put more fuel back in the tank. The fact that the source of said fuel was chocolate is just semantics. Anyway, I was fully determined to get back up on the wagon the next day. It should be noted that I made a decent stab at it, but my foot caught on the hitch at the last second and I fell, face first onto four slices of toast liberally spread with Nutella chocolate spread. I think there is a new addiction coming on. I’d seriously better get my finger out now and get cracking. There is precisely two weeks left to the 5k with Ray and Spar in the Phoenix Park. Gulp!
Foot note. Literally. The Good Book (Run Fat B!tch Run, in case you’d forgotten) is not a fan of accessories when you are out running. Not for the Grit Doctor, those bottles with straws coming out of them, pulse-ometers or whatever they’re called and the like. But I have found a little gem!!!! Socks! Who’d a thunk it? I happened upon a pile of socks in the sports section of the supermarket (Special offer Thursday in Lidl) They looked fairly innocuous even though they had all sorts of science symbols and pictures displayed on the wrapping. I needed some new socks and at just 3 quid a pair, they came home with me. It was like running on air. Great yokes altogether.
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