Somebody tell me why I run.
So, I was told keeping a blog is a great way of keeping people up to date with your training/fund raising progress when doing a marathon for charity.
Until now, if I'm honest, I really didn't have much motivation to put pen to paper - or finger to keyboard - because, well, what did I really have to say? I'm just another person running another race for another charity.
But tonight and the god awful, wet, painful, miserable run that came with it warrants a full blown rant and so, I thought to myself, who wants to hear about this? The whole of the internet of course, whether they like it or not.
I was in a bad mood. The sort a run should theoretically fix, with all its endorphin-releasing, blood pumping goodness, but alas this was not to be. The day had gradually deteriorated from the two seconds of misleading sunshine this morning to full on torrential rain and wind by the evening, and I had been out in it all day with work. The winding, stop-start drive home never puts me in the brightest of moods but it was also not helped by the two overly-cautious, twenty-mile-an-hour cars I got stuck behind.
So I finally, finally arrive home to the stark realisation that yes, I have still got to run tonight because yes, I didn't do it this morning. I usually run in the mornings since it a) gets it out the way and b) I'm usually still half asleep and by the time I've fully woken up it's over (am I painting myself as a passionate runner yet?) Hence the reason it is never, ever a good idea to skip morning run. This was never more evident than today.
One and a half hours after arriving home, having dragged my heels feeding myself and the horses, I'm grumbling about pretty much everything (only long pair of running leggings still damp from the wash, gloves got holes in the fingers, headband won't stay on head, kiniesiology tape won't stay on skin because too cold etcetera etcetera, you get the jist) and I have still to actually start my run. The only change in the weather is it's darker, much darker.
So, with an unimpressed, I'd-rather-jump-in-a-tank-of-piranhas look at mother (who is unhelpfully settling down to watch Coronation Street) I head out the door.
And yes, it really was as bad as I thought it was going to be. There was no endorphin high, there was no clearing of the weather, there was no warming up. It was just hideous. Thankfully (and this is me scrabbling for a positive mindset here, people), it was short run day and I was only out for forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of swearing at my feet which were soaked through within ten strides, and at Bertie, Bertha and the Bertlets (my family of blisters, accumulated on Friday's run from the so called "orthopaedic insoles" which are allegedly supposed to "help my stride", but are now helping the seagulls in a rubbish tip somewhere on the outskirts of Angus). Such is the longevity and impressiveness of these blisters they have been granted names and now keep me company. Also, much grumbling at every aching muscle from yesterday's long run, at every hill going up, and every hill going down with there unavoidable River Thames style torrents of water. The pair of Mallard ducks flying past, enjoying the miserable weather far more than me, and the wild view of Lintrathen Loch from the highest point of the run should really have cheered me...but then again my eyes were closed for half the jaunt I'm pretty sure...
And just so you know - I'm not going to sugar-coat this in an awe-inspiring 'You-Can-Do-It' kind of way - I DO NOT feel better for any of it. I am sitting here, still sore, still cold and these...
...aren't even helping. In fact, they can bugger off because, as per usual after a run I am bloated with the water-retention these ladies appear not to ever suffer from, and feeling sick.
So it's good night from the over-tired, slightly emotional, soon-(hopefully)-to-be marathon runner. Only eight hours till tomorrow's gym sesh...
http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/ShauneyWatson
Until now, if I'm honest, I really didn't have much motivation to put pen to paper - or finger to keyboard - because, well, what did I really have to say? I'm just another person running another race for another charity.
But tonight and the god awful, wet, painful, miserable run that came with it warrants a full blown rant and so, I thought to myself, who wants to hear about this? The whole of the internet of course, whether they like it or not.
I was in a bad mood. The sort a run should theoretically fix, with all its endorphin-releasing, blood pumping goodness, but alas this was not to be. The day had gradually deteriorated from the two seconds of misleading sunshine this morning to full on torrential rain and wind by the evening, and I had been out in it all day with work. The winding, stop-start drive home never puts me in the brightest of moods but it was also not helped by the two overly-cautious, twenty-mile-an-hour cars I got stuck behind.
So I finally, finally arrive home to the stark realisation that yes, I have still got to run tonight because yes, I didn't do it this morning. I usually run in the mornings since it a) gets it out the way and b) I'm usually still half asleep and by the time I've fully woken up it's over (am I painting myself as a passionate runner yet?) Hence the reason it is never, ever a good idea to skip morning run. This was never more evident than today.
One and a half hours after arriving home, having dragged my heels feeding myself and the horses, I'm grumbling about pretty much everything (only long pair of running leggings still damp from the wash, gloves got holes in the fingers, headband won't stay on head, kiniesiology tape won't stay on skin because too cold etcetera etcetera, you get the jist) and I have still to actually start my run. The only change in the weather is it's darker, much darker.
So, with an unimpressed, I'd-rather-jump-in-a-tank-of-piranhas look at mother (who is unhelpfully settling down to watch Coronation Street) I head out the door.
And yes, it really was as bad as I thought it was going to be. There was no endorphin high, there was no clearing of the weather, there was no warming up. It was just hideous. Thankfully (and this is me scrabbling for a positive mindset here, people), it was short run day and I was only out for forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of swearing at my feet which were soaked through within ten strides, and at Bertie, Bertha and the Bertlets (my family of blisters, accumulated on Friday's run from the so called "orthopaedic insoles" which are allegedly supposed to "help my stride", but are now helping the seagulls in a rubbish tip somewhere on the outskirts of Angus). Such is the longevity and impressiveness of these blisters they have been granted names and now keep me company. Also, much grumbling at every aching muscle from yesterday's long run, at every hill going up, and every hill going down with there unavoidable River Thames style torrents of water. The pair of Mallard ducks flying past, enjoying the miserable weather far more than me, and the wild view of Lintrathen Loch from the highest point of the run should really have cheered me...but then again my eyes were closed for half the jaunt I'm pretty sure...
And just so you know - I'm not going to sugar-coat this in an awe-inspiring 'You-Can-Do-It' kind of way - I DO NOT feel better for any of it. I am sitting here, still sore, still cold and these...
...aren't even helping. In fact, they can bugger off because, as per usual after a run I am bloated with the water-retention these ladies appear not to ever suffer from, and feeling sick.
So it's good night from the over-tired, slightly emotional, soon-(hopefully)-to-be marathon runner. Only eight hours till tomorrow's gym sesh...
http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/ShauneyWatson
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