Alright, I'm going to cut to the chase, and be honest from the very start. That was hard. Having just sat down from my session on the treadmill, as I write this, I am well and truly knackered.
I got dressed into my running gear, did a few stretches, and began the warm up. All was fine, well, what could possibly go wrong at this stage - apart from nearly falling off the back of the treadmill due to not paying attention the the placement of my feet, whilst shuffling through my iPod . Started the first of the 5 minute runs, shins got very warm almost immediately, but all was still fine. Before I knew it, the 5 minutes were up and I'd barely broken into a sweat. A minute or so into the walking 5 minutes, and I was thinking to myself that a whole five minutes for an active breather might be a bit too much, I was even considering cutting this down to three minutes as from tomorrow. Second lot of 5 minutes runs, sweating a fair bit now, must concentrate on breathing. Was glad for the next lot of walking, however 5 minutes still seemed excessive.
Up came the next running session, and at 18minutes, the calling card of an old foe arrived - the stitch. Lodged firmly under a rib, this was clearly here to stay. Tried altering my breathing, had a little gulp of water, even tried burping it off but to no avail. My old foe was here for the duration. I was really looking forward to a walk by the end of it. Next lot of running, and my old foe had invited some friends - a few more little stitches cropped up, but still taking centre place was the main one just under my ribs. I've got to admit, I was considering quitting at this stage, but the thought of admitting to failing whilst writing this wasn't appealing, especially after, in a previous blog, I stupidly and somewhat cockily said something along the lines of feeling "confident" that I could achieve this weeks plan. I even considered a compromise: "I'll just walk the remaining time, at least I'm getting some exercise" I tried to convince myself, but realising I'd have to admit to that too, I plodded onwards, bearing a funny face. Next up, 5 minutes of walking, which was gone by the time I'd managed to regain my eyesight after rather foolishly rubbing sweat into them. Which hurt. Last 5 minutes were coming up, and at this stage, only one thing was going to get me through: The Prodigy.
I was so glad that it was all over, but at the same time strangely satisfied that I'd managed to stick to the plan without quitting when things got hard. My legs felt a little wobbly, and my achilles tendon feels a bit tight, but I realised that all the way through the run, I hadn't thought about my legs once, the stitch family had taken my full attention, so in a funny kind of way, there may be hope for me yet.
OTHER STUFF THAT I'VE DONE
The weekend arrived. I always look forward to my weekends, not just because they end my association what that place which earlier I said I'd refuse to blog about, but because they are mine, to do with as I please. They make it all seem worthwhile. This particular weekend was mainly filled with time spent at my mothers house, working on my Mini. I wont go into detail here, as seriously, I could talk all day about this, so, as to not clutter this blog too badly, I started another here, for those remotely interested. I did take a break from this to fix a neighbours car, which was suffering from suspected seized brakes. Turns out they weren't seized, just completely worn out, indicating that the previous mechanic at a certain national chain garage, whom I shall refrain from naming (sounds like milk oh rotor wave), did not replace them at the last service, as the receipt would suggest. Naughty naughty.
Saturday night brought with it the monthly event that is The Wendy House, a Goth / Metal club night held at the Leeds University Refectory building. Three words can summarise Wendy House perfectly. Leather. Tits. Fishnets. Seriously, check the pictures.
Sunday, more work on the Mini, realisation that tomorrow, normal service resumes. Depression kicks in.
No comments:
Post a Comment