Since August last year, the running has been going badly. I got a bad cold in mid August and took a few days off, but not as many as I should've, because the Great North Run wasn't far away and I was aware that I was already behind on my training. I did it, but it's taken me until now to realise that I really shouldn't have. That I should have made a decision not to run for a few months afterwards, to do something else instead. To give my body a break.
I've probably been out less than ten times since last October, until this weekend. And the times I have been out I've forced myself to keep on. Done 5k and then been dead on my feet. Not wanted to make the effort. Not been able to get myself back into a routine. I've put on fat around my stomach. Watched as D started an exercise routine and started to get fitter than me for the first time ever.
It only occurred to me a few weeks ago that what I need to do is give myself a break. To get back into the habit of going out three times a week, but just for short runs. To enjoy it. To realise that I need to build a solid base again. I've been out twice this weekend and will be out again tomorrow. And suddenly, I'm enjoying it again. I won't be able to run the whole Cancer Research 10k I'm doing on 7th September at Alnwick Castle, but who cares? I'll run as much as I can and walk the rest. I'll take my time and not make myself ill. I'll build my stamina back up over time.
The breakthrough in how to make myself write again still eludes me.
Things that might help:
- if we had a cleaner
- and a secretary to deal with all the paperwork
- and someone to list all the things on eBay that we don't want to throw out because 'they might be worth something'. Ha. Not if they're not listed, they're not.
- if i stopped being such a control-freak and got D to deal with some of the house stuff (house insurance, stuff like that)
- a half time job for full time pay
- an extra day a week to read on the books on my TBR list
- someone to sort out all my photos on the computer
I've applied for a nine-day fortnight in work, which might actually help. Full time hours, still, but a day clear every other week in a quiet house. But the rest? I'm drawing a blank.
And I hate myself for it.
I hate myself for being too scared to Just. Do. It.
But the only way around is to Just. Do. It.
So I will.
(I've added a counter-thing to firefox. Tells me how long this session has lasted. 24.50 so far. I really should go to bed. Tomorrow is another day, untainted by failure. I can do this.....)