DAY TWO

Day 2

Epic fail on the ‘whatever I do today is a bonus’ outlook. By the time I completed my womanly chores, edited two chapters of my possible bestseller (Optimism never killed anyone as far as I’m aware) and sorted Fizzabeth (my step dog) out I didn’t feel like running anywhere.

Myself and Scotty boy decided on a walk so I at least got to write; WALKED 6 AND A HALF MILES, on my state of the art chart I’ve tacked to the middle of my fridge. Mainly as a diversion tactic in an attempt to avoid the Aero Bubble chocolate bars Scotty cruelly sneaked in our Tesco trolley last week. Bubbles my arse the things are impregnated with bloody calories.

Yesterday also turned out to be a glorious day so a massive hurdle I had to overcome was popping to the Baili Glas, mouth; parched, arse; sweaty, desperately wanting an ice cold Magners but having to settle with a can of diet boring Tango. The only thing that made this dire situation slightly bearable was the fact the can read; ‘better than liposuction.’  Oh and Scotty boy passed me a straw. When in Rome and all. 

The walk itself was nice, a few slight gradients, a few hair raising estates to pass and a big fluffy beast of a dog lodging its nose up Fizz’s arse but, all in all, pleasant. I will remember the route for one of my six/seven milers.

Anyway back to day two which is technically day one on the running front as Mondays, as I’ve all ready said, are rest days.

The diet went reasonably well today and when I say reasonably I mean I’ve managed to stay under the 1000 calorie barrier.

Tuesdays are also weigh in days and having put a whopping five pound on during the previous fortnight I was happy to have lost three pounds even in jeans!

The run, well, what do I say about the run?

Firstly, I sent Scotty boy out on his posh mountain bike with his even posher app which states exactly how far he’d cycled, whilst I was still in work, to do a recci.

He came back with a lovely 3.37 mile route, which is a tad over what is on my training plan but I 

figured the extra can do no harm.

‘At one point I did nearly twenty seven miles per hour!’ Scotty said waving his fandangle application at me which made me feel quite sick.

‘I hope you wore your bloody helmet!’

I decided to do his route in reverse though as the slight gradient (I say slight, the bike glided down it at nearly thirty miles an hour!) on the latter part of journey would build the old stamina up. (Stamina is a word that gets thrown at runners constantly; I’ve noted in the short six months I’ve been pounding the pavements.) Plus, it’s always nice to get the hills out of the way first.

As a treat, a few weeks previous to D Day I purchased a running belt, which basically consists of a strap with two pockets, one with a zip, one for a water bottle.

Now, the water bottle, to me, is a mystical object I carry with me on every run, filled with water, always in my right hand. However, I never, ever take a drop of liquid whilst I’m running. So in affect, the water bottle for me is what a comfort blanket is to a baby!

I left the house, Ipod on, belt done up and water bottle in the pocket.

I lasted about three foot before I had to remove the bottle. And this is where I made my first mistake, on the first run of my first ever training plan. I left the bottle in my front garden!

I was about half a mile in when psychologically my right hand started crying out for something to hold, which was brilliant really because it stole all the attention from the fact I’d forgotten to put my knee strap on!

‘The Knee Strap’ my sweaty brain screamed. ‘You’re bollocksed.’ 

My knee has been a niggling worry of mine since I was eighteen and I fell off a wall in Blackwood after a night on pints of Murphy’s. Yes, an old drink injury had played a big part in messing with my so called fitness ability but the knee strap took all that away, plus, it made me feel professional.

How the hell was I going to face the ‘slight’ gradient without the bottle and the strap?

My top lip began to really bubble mainly from panic but partly from the run itself.  

To restore order I forced myself to listen to the same Fratelli track on my Ipod for the whole three, point, three, seven miles.

When I turned back into my estate, the tension from my shoulders began to seep out of me. I’d made it, without the bottle, without the strap. Today was a good day.

‘Warm out?’ Scotty boy asked as I came smiling through the door.

‘Bloody boiling.’ I told him happily.

‘Just a bit over half hour.’ He told me which activated some sort of triumphant grin on my face. 

‘Well done.’ He added.

As a reward today I treated myself a Magnum mini for my effort.

Tomorrow is a four mile run.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

Tomorrow will be easier again…