Except actually, I wouldn’t. Nor would I run 26.2. I started training for this year’s Edinburgh Marathon, back in December or so. It was a non-starter from the beginning. Running in the cold, dark and wet is not my idea of fun. An unpredictable work schedule and 10 weeks of snow did not help with my lack of enthusiasm. When the weather improved, I started doing a little more. And spent a few hours before each run grumbling about how I didn’t want to go, continued grumbling whilst I was running, and spent another few hours thinking that perhaps it wasn’t so bad. I can be quite a contrary person at times – with no race to train for, I rarely put on my running shoes, but when training for a race I get deeply cross with my scheduled runs, wanting to run long instead of speed work, or only do 5 miles instead of 8 because it’s all I have time for. About 6 weeks ago, I decided I’d had enough. I was spending hours each week, plodding around, feeling fed up and wondering why I was bothering. Not a state of mind conducive to running my third marathon and trying to get a PB. So I quit.
I know. QUIT. Not “got injured and was forced to withdraw”, but QUIT. Because I couldn’t be arsed. And I feel great about it. I’m not forcing myself into doing something because I think I should. I don’t even feel bad that I don’t want to. I’d like to fall in love with running again, and forcing myself to run 26.2, in pursuit of a personal best time that I don’t deep down care about, isn’t going to help with that.
Instead Le Homme and I are taking to the streets on our bikes tomorrow. We’re going to cycle the 46 odd miles from here to Edinburgh, stay at my sister’s, go to dinner with his brother, watch a bit of the marathon kick off on Sunday, and cycle home. Cos that’s how we roll.
Oooofft, I’m busy busy busy these days. I find it slightly bizarre just how much sheer energy work takes from me. I keep trying to increase my exercise to increase my energy but it doesn’t seem to be working. Which is frustrating as I am tired of feeling tired. Compared to this time last year, however, I’m feeling far more mentally energetic.
Blogs posts and thoughts for the future to include:
- Why I’m not running the Edinburgh Marathon
- How I got a bit fat and what I plan to do about it
- What I’m doing at work and my new career change plans
- Why I want a car
- Possibly some resolutions. Too late to be referred to as New Years’
- Why I have an intense hatred of Sheryl Crow
- Other stuff. Probably.
Now I’m off to roll my poor tired wee legs on my funky foam roller, and have a peaceful evening with my book.
There shall be no clever insights or witty comments from me today. We’ve reached that time of year when the morning sun starts sneaking through the gaps in the blackout curtains at an obscenely early hour. Le Homme is resisting eleven years of training in the art of rolling over, burying one’s head in the pillow and Going Back To Sleep, instead preferring to get up, bang around the house and go off to work. He left the house at 5:30 this morning, the mentalist. I am violently grateful that today is my day off, and I could lie in a restless doze until I fell completely asleep roughly five minutes before the doorbell rang, heralding the arrival of the Tesco delivery man.
Now, three cups of coffee later, my head feels cotton wool stuffed and my eyes are sore and tired. I have loads of stuff I wanted to get done today, but none of it has the urgency that sitting on the couch gazing blankly at the telly seems to hold.
So nothing deep and meaningful from me today. I wrote an amazingly fun poem as I was waiting for the Tesco man, but put nothing on paper and have predictably forgotten all the best lines. Perhaps they’ll come to me at 5:30 tomorrow morning.