What was that about "I will not fail"?

End of Week 1 - The Summary
As you may have gathered, I failed. After taking a much needed rest day on Thursday, and missing a day on Friday due to "conflicting appointments", I believe I may have foolishly said something about getting up early on Saturday and making up for what I'd missed. Yeah, that didn't quite go as planned.
Saturday morning arrived in the form of an 8:15 awakening, and feeling the effects of drinking a lot of the various flavoured vodkas that Revolutions have to offer, I decided to sleep a little while longer, just 15 minutes I told myself. After what felt like a delayed blink, it was now 11:30. I was at this stage an hour late for picking up my father for another day of restoring the mini, so whilst running around the house in half asleep / half hungover fashion, I nailed some ReadyBrek, and uttered something to myself about doing it in the evening instead.
Arriving home at about 9:30 after a relatively successful day of making a lot of noise and mess, I pulled on my running gear, picked up my iPod, and jumped on the treadmill. It was at this moment I knew instantly I'd made a mistake in typing my final words of the previous blog. It was hard from the very beginning, so knowing in full certainty that there wasn't to be a bloody chance I'd last the hour I promised myself, I decided to just run for as long as I could at 11k/h without stopping. This lasted for a rather poxy 9 minutes, and it wasn't even my legs or lungs that let me down. It was the return of my old foe: the stitch. This one was an absolute killer. After the 9 minute mark, I just couldn't take it any longer, so I slowed down to a brisk walking pace. The stitch continued to hurt even through this. After a few minutes, I decided I'd try and run it off, which didn't work at all. I've never been exactly what you'd call soft when it comes to a bit off pain, but the only way I could remain upright when running the last five minutes was to press my fingers firmly into my stomach, and hold them there. There was no way I could keep that up for long, so with one hand pressed into my waist and the other clutching my iPod, looking somewhat like a teapot, I turned the treadmill off, kicked my trainers off, and swore a few times whilst limping downstairs for a fag, feeling somewhat defeated. The pain remained in my gut for a good hour or so after I'd parked my arse in the dent in the sofa.

I had intentionally planned on not doing any running on my weekends as I'm a fairly busy boy, so I'd rather not make any promises to myself which I can't stick to, and Sunday was no exception. Initially planning on spending another full day on the mini, I got called off to go help a friend knock down and rebuild a garden wall. The original wall was succefully toppled all over the footpath in the time it took to make a coffee, and after laying the inital bricks of the new wall, I decided that I was in fact rubbish at bricklaying, so left said friend to it. Being knackered from swinging a big hammer around all day and lugging rubble around, I had no intentions of trying to challenge my stitch to a rematch. The score at the end of week one was officially 3 - 1 in favour of good days.

So, the end of week 1. I have mixed fealings of how the week went. I'm quite pleased with the fact that I managed the first three days without too much fuss, a little dissapointed that I had to take a rest day, and truley pissed off that I succumed to defeat on the Saturday.

I'm not too sure what the plan is going to be for week two, but I better hurry up and decide, as this begins tonight.