The gym during the day is an awful place. It’s busy. I don’t just mean that as in it has people in it but the very daytime gym scene is ‘busy’.
Today I did 4.14k in just over half an hour. I’ll be honest, I wanted to do 5 but I had gone too late and had class at 1 (I finished running at 12:30). I couldn’t go after class because I had a dinner date so conceeded to the lunchtime slot seeing as I was on campus.
It’s awful having the time constraint put on you, unsure how much you’ll get done because you have other plans. I much prefer rocking up at 7pm when it’s dead and having time to just run as far as I want.
I have decided I will make up for this with 6k tomorrow. My reasons being 2 fold.
1- make up distances lost to the daytime pit
2- there’s a 5 mile race I have my eye on soon and I think I can do it as long as I push harder. It’s like 8k. I can do it… maybe.
Either way, more on the 500 total and now into double digits. Let’s keep it up!
I wasnt sure I’d do today. I spent the day editing words and helping my sister, plus I didn’t feel like it. But miles don’t do themselves.
Change. Shoes. Wear that top I don’t even like. I don’t put on make up (having come to the realization Meg Ryan moments don’t happen in the Strathy gym). I stop caring about my crop trousers/long socks combo. I just need to do the miles.
I gym. I push. I give myself a higher minimum and a lower maximum and much of my time is spent thinking ‘eff it, just run’. I ignore my notifications, don’t change song, keep going.
The result is a faster time than yesterday:
So yay! But unfortunately my face is the colour of my top, kinda why I avoid wearing it.
Keep going eh?
I’m not big into new years resolutions, I never keep them. Facebook and instagram were littered with ‘new year, new you’ which just sounded a bit Chuckle Brothers if you ask me.
But I was in the fortunate position that if I was going to make a new years resolution I wouldn’t be starting from scratch. I wouldnt be starting out in cold January trying to learn 5k (good on those who do, you’re braver than I) I could start from a mental position of ‘I can do this’.
I’ve spent some time with someone who does triathlon. I was both impressed and intimidated, was I really ‘sporty’ enough to even have the running conversation. It felt a bit lame saying 5k when he was talking about casual half marathon.
But he was right, I was still going. Still off the couch, still managing it and keeping my laces strung.
I was never going to be a speed demon but I was going to have stamina.So I decided I was going to have to come up with a stamina based goal.
Luckily the Patron Saints of Scottish Drunken Singing, The Proclaimers, came up with the ideal workout plan.
I would run 500 miles.
Well, walk but still.
I didn’t set a firm timescale really, by the end of the yearish.
So today was my first 3.1miles of 500. My time is just comparable to my September time, but I was a bit fitter then.
Times, distances ah well. It’s going to be a long way but I look forward to it.
So I’m getting to terms with the weather, the cold, the morning rather than the night run but today I faced a new foe.
After months of pride, track, speed, distance increase and general good stuff I was hit today with a whole new ball game. There were kids playing football on the track so instead of risking being hit in the face with a speeding orb I decided ‘bugger it! To the pavements!’
How wrong I was. So. So. Wrong.
I wasn’t used to slight hills or dips. What was this mud track? Weaving puddles? No! This was a very different course. In my head I mapped out a fairly flat route but even then there was increased elevations. It was murder.
In my head I became sad and angry. Who did I think I was calling myself a ‘runner’ when I could barely cope with this simple route. This was the real outdoors, away from the fakeness of the track, and I was struggling. I wasn’t sure if it was the physical change or the mental change of having to map a route and think distance rather than time, but even while running I was acutely aware than in a race you won’t always have the grace of track. I’m not bloody Dame Kelly Holmes.
In the end I died at 20 minutes, my shortest run for a long time. In truth I’m disappointed in myself, I feel like I should have kept pushing. In reality I was close to throwing up and it was raining, so I should probably cut myself some slack. My true feelings lie a little in the middle.
Keep at it. It always gets easier.
That said, real running still sucks.