By Claire Hammon
Yesterday morning I was rudely awoken by my screeching alarm and blasted out of a dream where I’d knicked a red and white Ducati from an old man in an underground parking and was racing down the highway at full tilt. I wasn’t a happy camper (for being woken up). So I saddled up the dachshunds and dragged their ‘yelpinessness’ around the block to get a bit of air, arriving home with just enough go-go juice to get me through to lunch time.
Lunch time proved a little testing what with the 2 eggs I’d decided to lazily nuke, instead of boil on the stove, exploding, resulting in the interior of the microwave looking like a very floggable, authentic Jackson Pollock. Spending the next third of my lunch break exercising my finest domestic executive skills (the term skills used very loosely here), I reverted back to my morning decision that I’d much rather have stayed racing stolen Ducatis than face Wednesday.
By closing time at the studio, I’d managed to pick up a sore throat and a stomach bug.
After racing the little “dachscatis” around the block for good measure, dissolving 2 eggs into a protein shake, and over-dosing on anti-bacterial throat spray, I lay down on my bed with a book and read. (This sitting still for a long time stuff I need to be practise more often…)
This morning I woke up with the energy levels of a limp lettuce leaf discarded on Clifton by a hamburger consumer realising that the drivel of healthy that the portion of green represents is inconsequential… I scraped my shoes on and Ducati’ed myself down Company Gardens leaving the furry ones aghast in my silenced wake, and then considerably more confused by my speedy return.
I’ve found it. My new “just get out there” mile (don’t get technical, I know that it’s 2.1875 miles). It’s the same lunch time trot that I did the other day, motivated by a tweet from Runners World “have you done your 20 minutes exercise today?”. I’ve had a bad week of training (oh gawd, is that 2 in a row?) and needed to find the little something that keeps me going. *tick*
I’m back with that ‘train like the world’s going to end’ attitude: just when you think you’re falling off the bus, you realise that it’s just that you’re leaning so hard into the road against the windows that are crystal clear clean. It’s all an optical illusion. A mind game. You just have to want to play. Any takers?
Follow Claire on Twitter: @rushinbear