I think the title might give you a suggestion of my mood. (And I'm not even hormonally challenged!)
However, I'll try and catch you up before ranting.
Went away with TheO's brother, and sister-in-law for a 5 day whiskey tour round Scotland. We were fortunate: The sun shone, the roads were quiet, the accommodation and planning put in by TheO made everyone had a wonderful time. I discovered a liking for whiskey - but only the finest single malts, with a good age. (Oh yes, another expensive habit - that's what I really needed.) It was brilliant. Far better than expected and as always those with a desire to read more can find all you need at :
Life of a Wastrel.
Whilst we were away I did use my trainers. An heartfelt thank you goes out to the groundsman/woman of Dornoch FC who provided a lovely pitch for me to run round and round in circles to complete my 5k on the
28th. It was 32min of trudging through long grass and enjoying the sun setting over the sea, whilst a huge rainbow formed and the RAF jets flew underneath it. Really quite spectacular. Also had both dogs with me on leads - they behaved impeccably - bless.
As soon as we got home on Friday
31st I had to get out there. We'd done a lot of driving and my body felt antsy. I think it was this copped up feeling that lead to me pushing the pace. It was a hilly route and 5K wizzed passed in 30.17... haven't done that in a while - was delighted.
After such success (hmmphff) I got a little too optimistic. On the
2nd I tired a *new route* which was mostly trail running (damn Runner's World for putting such alien thoughts into my head). I did a good first mile on tarmac then headed off through some woods - up hill; through a field - up hill; then, amazingly, up a hill. There was lots of walking. 2.25 miles in 30min. A good workout but not a fantastic run. I hate trails, I hate not being able to relax and just run, I hate having to look where I'm going, watch my step, avoid branches and puddles. Pah.
This all cumulates in
yesterday when with only a little attention from TheO and a cattle prod I was convinced to go for a swim. Indoor, yucky, busy, chlorine, was not quite as bad as I remembered. I slogged through 58 lengths (it would have been 60 but they kicked me out) doing 4 crawl, 2 breast-stroke in manic repetition. There was one pause to adjust goggles at about 10 lengths and a 2min break at 40 lengths when TheO went off to the gym. I was delighted by this as it's the furthest I've swum since I was a kid. (Still feels nothing like a run though.)
But my gloom (apart from being woken-up before I was ready) stems from stepping on the scales. 12st 7lb (175lb for those in the US) - this sucks. Holidays and highdays have lulled me into eating out and eating too much. At my half-marathon lightest I was 12.1 and I maintained 12.2 with relative ease. Now I have another 5 lb to lose
again - and for all those in doubt -
it pisses me off. I try to regale myself with tales of my strength and continued exercise regime - but I know the extra weight is just fat. DAMN IT.
With apologies to Robert Frost - a rewriting of a runner's favourite.
Whose breads are these - I think I know.
The shop is in the village though.
They will not see me eating here,
To watch my tum fill up with dough.
My little legs must think it queer,
To eat without some hunger near,
Between the lunch and dinner time,
The longest hours of the year.
They give themselves a sturdy shake,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep,
Of crispy crumbs and chocolate flake.
The Mars is lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I eat,
And miles to go before I eat.