Third run/ 96 days to go
Ok, now I’ll tell you a truth.
It was my third run, same route. So I kind of figured/ assumed/ hoped, based on what people told me, that this would be easier. Houston, that is a negative. Lies, people, lies. Hardest run yet. But one foot followed the other without break. Except for the second time in row I had forgotten to tie my shoelace properly. Yeah, another fine art I seem not to have mastered.
Thing that really bothered me wasn’t the running. Although, it is probably quicker for me to speed walk as I am that slow but good news was twofold. I did the full three miles without a whimpering break. And I did it in under 40 minutes. Actually another development was the emergence of a degree of resilience too.
In 2 paragraphs I haven’t bitched about the fact that I really really really didn’t want to go. That is was raining, cold, stinging London rain, that it was dark, that I had a crap journey home from work, that I had a stitch the whole way. And I didn’t bitch about it while I ran. As a matter of fact I was even able to have a conversation with Matt on the last leg of the torture training. About dinner and how I was going to make the green curry by frying up some toasted sesame oil, adding the diced chicken, then the sliced ginger, then the curry paste until it makes you cough and splutter, then add the coconut milk and then the veg. (you’re welcome Kymmie) Finally doctor it until it’s just right and voila a meal to make a torrid, cold, miserable run actually successful.
Only problem now is that it is my third run and my feet hurt. My inner heel part- like the arch part on my left (or is it right) foot. Think it is from my brown boots. Damn fashion statements. But I find myself (in all my 5 days of experience) really questioning the choices I just make without thinking. Like having a big lunch on Sunday, meant that I was really uncomfortable running that afternoon, by wearing those boots I might’ve hurt my foot and then worst of all was today, it was Michelle at works birthday and I actually found myself pondering whether I should have that extra piece of cake. It was a horrifying moment which I quickly banished by eating a passing Percy Pig (or 5) and having the cake. For those non-UK, Marks and Spencer deprived people, Percy Pigs are a taste revelation. Little morsels of pure, pastel pink pleasure. Little spongy pig faces of dense marshmallowy goodness and fabulous gummy ears. *Sigh*
Thing is, it is really really dawning on me that it is those little pink faces I’m going to miss, if I really really want to achieve this because it has finally dawned on me, how hard (genuinely nigh-on-impossible) this task is. I am an idiot. Foolhardy and insane. And I don’t even find something funny or witty or disarming to say about that. I just really really hope I can do this. Oh, and Matt mentioned in passing on the run, that his legs seized up and he had to walk when he did a marathon last year. He didn’t tell me that part. Run number 3 and I’m already overwelmed, doubtful and scared. Great. Just great.
And that in a nutshell, is my promised truth. It isn’t getting easier and it’s only just begun.