Gorgeous Toenails
"Sometimes people can be in denial about things. And it takes seeing it from another perspective to make them see things as they are," states my oh-so-wise brother as he stares in disbelief at my toenails, simultaneously clicking open the camera on his phone.
"What?! These are in pretty good nick!" I exclaim, quite miffed he can't see that my feet are in spiffing condition at the moment. "Look, I've got all five toenails on that foot!"
He snaps a picture and turns it to me. "These are you toenails. These are not normal."
"There's nothing wrong with them!" Admittedly, they don't look great, but they're almost (almost!) a completely non-black colour and are all present.
"Oh God, you're further gone than I thought," he shakes his head. "You need a therapist."
And I'll tell you why my toenails were in spiffing (ish) condition, my good people. Because I'd been doing jack-shit for 8 weeks, that's why. Not one teensy-weensy run, not even an iota of a run, not a jot of a jog. And. I. Was. Going. Up. The. Walls.
As it turns out, scientists may actually be right in their statement running is good for your mind with its endorphin-bubbling-adrenalin-whizzing fabulousness. I've been a grumpy bitch for two months straight, much to the chagrin of...well, everyone around me.
BUT I'M BACK!
With the bone in my heel hopefully fully healed, I logged three very pootle-licious runs this week. I spent the majority of my time back in trainers wondering why I'd adopted the legs of a 60 year old who had never exercised a day in their life. Actually, I spent a lot of time out of trainers thinking that as I hobbled down the stairs each morning, hips, back and ankles clicking and cracking away.
It's a tame start but the countdown for Vietnam - the next step towards the Jungle - is now on! T minus 75 days.
For now, over and out, the Ovaltine drinking runner...
"What?! These are in pretty good nick!" I exclaim, quite miffed he can't see that my feet are in spiffing condition at the moment. "Look, I've got all five toenails on that foot!"
He snaps a picture and turns it to me. "These are you toenails. These are not normal."
"There's nothing wrong with them!" Admittedly, they don't look great, but they're almost (almost!) a completely non-black colour and are all present.
"Oh God, you're further gone than I thought," he shakes his head. "You need a therapist."
And I'll tell you why my toenails were in spiffing (ish) condition, my good people. Because I'd been doing jack-shit for 8 weeks, that's why. Not one teensy-weensy run, not even an iota of a run, not a jot of a jog. And. I. Was. Going. Up. The. Walls.
As it turns out, scientists may actually be right in their statement running is good for your mind with its endorphin-bubbling-adrenalin-whizzing fabulousness. I've been a grumpy bitch for two months straight, much to the chagrin of...well, everyone around me.
BUT I'M BACK!
With the bone in my heel hopefully fully healed, I logged three very pootle-licious runs this week. I spent the majority of my time back in trainers wondering why I'd adopted the legs of a 60 year old who had never exercised a day in their life. Actually, I spent a lot of time out of trainers thinking that as I hobbled down the stairs each morning, hips, back and ankles clicking and cracking away.
It's a tame start but the countdown for Vietnam - the next step towards the Jungle - is now on! T minus 75 days.
For now, over and out, the Ovaltine drinking runner...
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