IT’S BACK!
ITS BLOODY BACK! The running mojo, so to speak, is well and
truly back.
You've all seen 8 mile, right?
Last night I had a long hard think about what the hell I was
playing at. I’ve spent the week justifying not running and basically, moaning
about getting out there.
After I posted the blog yesterday I decided to get a blood
grip.
Running has made me smaller, running has made me happier,
running has given me healthy challenges and something to bloody do. All in all
running, believe it or not, is making me a better person. Day by day, mile by
mile, I am becoming more confident, more content, far more level headed
(honest) and more important, I’m becoming a person I never thought I could be.
When I told a friend of mine this morning that I read four
million motivational quotes and was now ready for battle, I wasn’t lying.
This evening I completed a lovely eight miles and boy oh boy
did it feel good. In fact, It felt better than good it felt effin marvellous,
so marvellous I was quite emotional…again!
Seriously, I’m turning into such a girl its frightening.
Anyway, let me tell you about my run. I had planned it from
seven this morning. I Googled it, I AA auto routed it, I even street viewed it
until I was more than happy in where the hell I was running.
I knew I wanted to do a relatively hefty mileage; after all,
I’ve spent the week talking myself out of doing anything.
I wanted to run a route, no laps, a proper, quite a way
route.
So, I started out from work in Pontypridd and basically did
a seven mile loop landing me back in the old faithful that is, Ponty Park. Once
I got to the park I had to do a little lap of it to just define my eight miles.
(I don’t want to become one of those runners who run a seven and a half but
tell everyone it’s at least an eight! I can lie with the best of them but I
cannot lie to myself.)
I got back to the hostel, all be it red faced but completely
unscathed.
I was elated I suppose. After a few days of such negativity
it was nice to be back on track, back on the road, back sweating like an idiot.
Also, it was the debut of the new daps and like my confidence,
boons and knees, my feet were also in pretty good shape after the EIGHT MILES!
You do understand that I ran EIGHT MILES, right?
As I've said, I got back to the hostel and I was all smiley
and happy that was until I checked my phone.
Scotty Boy!
I forgot to tell Scotty Boy I wouldn't be on the sixteen twenty seven so my poor long suffering
husband was waiting, like a tool, at Merthyr train station. Images of a lemon
had sprung round my mind whilst I tried to text as rapidly as possible that I’d
be on the next train. I added way too many kisses to feign innocence.
In my defense on a pretty much daily basis I always let
Scotty Boy know what train I’m going to be on; granted that train is usually
the sixteen twenty seven but he
always gets a customary text. Is it my fault he’s become to diligent?
The cock up in timings then meant I had to tackle Twyn Hill
after a half hour train journey, a full day in work saving the homeless people
from their sins, an eight mile run with a very heavy kit bag.
I believe the kitbag was heavy having not eaten my planned tin
of soup at lunch. I mean, no one wants to carry tins of soup up Twyn hill,
right? The two handbags, old trainers, boots and work outfit had nothing to do
with the kit bag strap digging into my shoulder it was solely the tin of soup.
So, I’m spending the night catching up on the various administration
that comes with trying to write a best seller…actually writing and watching
Scotty Boy get excited over fully grown men kicking a ball round a very green
pitch…TWICE! (That’s two games of the ‘beautiful game’ to me and you!)
Happy Thursday!!
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