So, its day one of week two.
Monday; rest day.
And I did just that, in fact, I rested too much, me and my fat arse did very little apart from make some scrambled eggs and getting way too excited over my new shoes that arrived in the post just after noon.
If I’d known new shoes were going to make me this happy I’d purchase more of them!
To say I have happy feet would be an understatement. I was so happy with my bright red Converse I thought I might actually shit myself at some point.
My knee played up a tad yesterday which worried me quite a bit. It niggled all day and by the time I finished work I wasn’t sure whether I’d even be able to complete the hour walk that’s on the plan.
When Scotty Boy collected me from the train station I was feeling deeply sorry for myself not to mention limping.
‘I don’t want it to break.’ I whined not unlike a child. I even pouted.
‘Just take it easy.’ Scotty Boy said, reassuring as always.
Fizzabeth, sensing my discomfort gave my right knee a little lick and some serious puppy eyes. She actually interrupted the pouting as I was forced to give her a smile.
I braved the hour walk which actually took us an hour and two minutes, covering three point seven miles and it also seemed to ease the pain.
‘I think I’ll be OK to go to the pub.’ I told the fifi with a pleased look.
‘I thought as much.’
So, week one was officially over.
I’d run a total of fifteen miles over the four running days and clocked up some extra mileage walking. Only another five hundred and fifty seven miles to go! Yes, in total I’ll be clocking up an impressive five hundred and seventy two miles during the twenty one weeks. Epic! Sadly, I have also devised a chart for these statistics too! I’ve become some sort of chart geek.
This week I’m hoping to incorporate some cycling and possibly a swim but it’s a bit difficult being afternoons.
I’m not overly fussed on afternoons for various reasons. I don’t get to see much of Scotty Boy, my eating and sleeping patterns go all to shit and I’m not fussed on running in the mornings. I like to run after work, I seem to make better time and enjoy the run far more in the afternoon. An impossibility some weeks whilst shift working.
Anyway, it was the Euro finals last night so I participated in consuming a few too many Jack Daniels and diet Cokes and even though it’s not a revelation as such, I have come to the conclusion I much prefer shorts to pints. Yes, this may come as a bit of a shock to any of my drinking buddies but my taste buds seem to be evolving in a rather feminine manner. In fact, I liked Mr JD that much last night the Baili ran out of it so I swiftly moved on to brandy and diet Coke. Classy.
I woke this morning after my first lie in for what feels like ages with no hangover, no dry mouth and no weird bruises or memory loss. As they say in France
Tomorrow is weigh day, and I’m not that worried, which is a completely new feeling for a Monday. Its Mondays that I try to starve myself, remove any hair that may jeopardise the scales, dig through my wardrobe for the lightest garments of clothing and generally panic. But not today, today I’m chilled and not really bothered about a weight loss or even a weight gain. Strange.
Three miles tomorrow and the weathers not looking good. To tell the truth it’s looking shit for the week. I believe the correct terminology is; pissing down boyo.
Running in the rain causes lots of problems for me. Even though you can’t beat a bit of drizzle when you’re pounding the pavement, its always tricky dressing for the conditions. T-shirt only; you get soaked, jacket only; you get sticky, jacket and t-shirt; is just way too bloody hot!
Me thinks I need a ‘proper’ running jacket for such occasions.
That means shopping again.
That means stressful.
Bugger.
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