I understand that when people see me, they see a red-faced, middle-aged woman shuffling along the pavement, with a grimace on her face. Why bother? It looks like no fun at all, barely moving quicker than walking. I swear sometimes walkers increase their pace deliberately to challenge me to overtake (I always do, incidentally, the speed differential may be so miniscule it takes an age, but overtake I do).
I don’t look good running. I don’t run fast. I don’t even run that far. But I do it. When most (sane) people are in bed or relaxing on a Sunday morning, there I am, clawing my way up to 10k. Even when I’m having the shittiest time and feel like I am about to die, I say to myself, “I am here, and I am doing it.” It has become a mantra for those horrible runs that seem never-ending, even though I have run the same circuit dozens of times before. Not very fast, not very well and with possibly the worst attitude in the world, but I have gone to the effort of getting my trainers on, out the door and doing it.
Today was not one of those runs. Today was great, I feel all glow-y and pleased with myself having cracked the “continuous run for over 3.5 miles” barrier. Actually it was 3.55 miles, but I hate to brag… with a nice split pace of 12.18 minutes per mile. Weather was sunny but cold, windy but not as much as last week.
Only 7 weeks to the Lincoln 10k – I should do my entry now while I’m feeling positive and then there’s no getting out of it!