I’m taking up crochet, or knitting, and some other “sitting on my arse in the warm” activity that doesn’t mean getting up at ridiculous o’clock on a Sunday morning, that doesn’t mean being fucking cheerful (I’m shit at that bit), that doesn’t mean sweating my arse off for an hour (or more) and that doesn’t mean I beat myself up every damn time I don’t achieve what’s on the plan.
There has to be more to this shit than I feel right now, where is my runners high, where is my feeling of awesomeness, I’ve been fucking robbed.
Today I managed a miserable 4 miles, and oh boy was I fucking miserable, so miserable in fact that my good friend Pete actually messaged me to ask if he had annoyed me, “nope, running annoys me” and poor Vic took (as usual) the brunt of my grumpiness, it’s a bloody good job she loves me.
The best thing about today’s miserable 4 miles is that I don’t have to put my bastard trainers on for three whole days, 4 hours, 55 minutes (not that I checked)
I don’t have to think about how much my feet hurt, or how my thigh hurts, how my butt cheeks hurt (yes, they really do) or how far I need to go and how long it’s going to take me.
I can block it all from my mind, I can dream of fluffy slippers and non Lycra trousers.
Sayonara running (until Wednesday!)