So…tomorrow was yesterday and guess what I did?
Sod all.
Nothing.
Zilch.
At this rate I may as well give up the entire idea of completing the half marathon in a matter of eight weeks.
Eight weeks!
That’s a mere 56 days.
54 if you don’t count today and the actual race day.
Holy crap I’m in trouble.
It’s funny because I’ve already spent a copious amount of time planning how I’ll wear my hair and whether I’ll buy those nice pretty trainers I’ve seen especially for the day. I’ve even decided that myself and Scotty Boy will get smashed after the event and have an Indian on the way home.
The only thing I haven’t really accounted for is the actual bloody running!
In my defence I can whole heartedly justify my lack of running.
Firstly there was the whole secret wedding malarkey. Now, believe me if you will even when there’s only four of you involved with planning, orchestrating a wedding ceremony…it is still bloody stressful! I mean, really, really stressful.
To start the procedure off we had to visit the registry office which pretty much involved an SOS plan of getting in and out without anyone seeing us and that was just to give notice for the bloody thing. Then we had to get interrogated. I said it was simple questioning but Scotty Boy took it to heart and panicked when he couldn’t remember his future wife’s date of birth.
‘Don’t worry about it.’ He had mumbled to the registrar. ‘We’re not that bothered to get married.’
‘But you’re very close.’ She told him. Eventually she had mouthed and mimed my date of birth. When he came out he looked like he’d endured some form of Chinese torture.
‘Not good with numbers, this one?’ she said tapping him on the shoulder, like you would a stray dog. I nearly wee’d.
Then came the ring picking where we had a blazing row because I had told the girl who cut my hair, a girl I had never ever met before, a girl who still to this day does not know my name, that we were getting married.
‘But we said we wouldn’t tell ANYBODY!’ Scotty Boy had shouted at me in the middle of Cardiff.
What am I doing? Had sprung to mind but then he promptly fed me in a way of an apology so I forgave and commented on how much I liked dessert.
The wedding day itself went by in a haze of Champagne and cider and lager and whatever else I could ram down my throat…no time for running.
Then it was hollybob time and I’ve already crossed that bridge with you.
My second justification for not running…the jet lag. Yes, I know everyone who’s endured a long haul flight will sympathise with me. I mean, it took about five days for my head to reunited with my body. Literally, my matter was in Mexico whilst my lump was in Merthyr.
Thirdly, my wifely duties. Yes, believe it or not I’ve taken this wife role/ nonsense quite seriously. Take today for instance, Scotty Boy not only has a clean and ironed uniform ready for tomorrow…yes, for twenty four hours’ time, but, he has clean and ironed pants, with a pair of matching socks all ready for him to just slip on tomorrow at his convenience. Matching socks! If you know me, you’ll know this is unheard off. It’s almost as close as me saying; ‘Yeah, I just ate a strawberry!’
Hannah does not eat/drink/consume/like any red foods or drink. Hannah, under normal circumstances, cannot stomach a matching pair of socks…but…Hannah is now a wife and Hannah is determined to be a good wife. And let me tell you now, as soon as my oven stops leaking water, therefore making my chicken wet, I am going to learn to cook properly! Whilst wearing an apron!
Mrs Phillips if you please.
I won’t be putting anything red whatsoever in my mouth though. Let’s get that cleared up right away.
Right, so back to the running. Actually, before I get to the running let me tell you about my new running club!
Yes, you did just read that correctly. I have joined a running club. Not a real one, just a load of us from the Baili joining forces to raise some money for a good cause. Cute or what?
This is a good move for me to be truthful.
It’s now impossible to give it all up.
‘Gonna’ have to get your arse into gear now, H.’ my loving husband informed me, not unkindly, last night.
‘I know, I know, I know!’ I had snapped back, panic starting to creep into my ever decreasing muscles. (When you think about it, it really has been quite a while since I’ve done any form of exercise, unless you count swimming with that dolphin thing, or lifting a glass to my mouth.)
Tomorrow.
And I mean that.
I’ve ironed and packed up my running stuff to bring to work to get a cheeky little three miles in before I go home to tackle a six mile power walk with husband and previous step dog. (She’s now my fully fledged dog!)
Let’s get this show back on its road to running glory.
You can’t say my intentions are not there, it’s just they seem to be hidden under more chubbiness and quite an impressive sun tan.
I’ll leave it there for today; I actually had an epiphany in Mexico and have started drafting some writing that I think could be worth a read. Fingers crossed anyway. So, that’s my afternoon sorted.
Writing and thinking about running.
Happy Sunday.
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