Running has fallen out of favour with me, but I’m trying to work things out. We had such good times together — surely I’ll get back into it?
Remember that glorious Saturday evening when we ran 12km as if it was nothing, Stephen Fry reading HHGTTG to us? Wasn’t that lovely?
Today I woke up at 5, dismissed yoga (another once beloved friend of mine now repeatedly snubbed), slept till 7, thought about running, decided not to as I still don’t want to. At all. Pottered around the place, made breakfast and today’s snacks and meals according to my my new “diet” and thought about stuff — how I didn’t get my driver’s licence yesterday, how I’m leaving in 6 weeks and 3 days. How I have found a great person to take over my job, how I am going to teach James French somehow.
And once I’d stacked up my tupperware and cleaned the kitchen, I decided I felt smug and strong enough to go for a run.
Shortest run ever!
2km in 12:53. I walked about 2-3 minutes of that, but I ran harder to compensate for the fact that this was a single loop of the park. I can’t deal with the frustration of how slow I am. I should probably try doing a training programme again… It’s so hard to go back to the start, to ignore what came before. I did it once already last year, and within a couple of months I improved significantly. But there’s no denying the fact that I’m now back at the beginning once again. Not that I was ever terribly fast anyway… Sigh.