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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