Alternative title: The day after my dad’s funeral I showed up to the local C25K … Guinness and Jägermeister sloshing around in my stomach, Anxiety prickling at my skin and clawing at my insides, my brain very much half asleep and lost in foggy Mirtazapine induced dreams … I should have still been in bed. But I wasn’t … And I threw myself at the ice covered tracks as though I’d never been away.
It’s been 6 months since I last attempted the C25K … And it’s probably been about 6 months since I last dusted off my running shoes. I know, epic fail right? I was so full of good intentions, I was determined to complete the C25K last time … But slowly my Anxiety managed to get in the way, I started to make excuses for not going to the running group meets and eventually my sports bra was used purely to support Pinky and Perky during Yoga inversions.
In case you’re curious, week 2 of the NHS Couch to 5k is a “five-minute walk to warm up, then alternate 90 seconds of running with two minutes of walking, for a total of 20 minutes” which, as you can imagine, was amazing to do in the freezing cold with alcohol swilling around in my guts after approximately 4 hours sleep. Quite frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t chunder my morning oats all over the hilly aspect of that ‘beginner’ course.
With each step my brain started to wake up and realise that we weren’t still huddled under the duvet sleeping off the stress, booze and exhaustion that comes from dealing with a funeral and subsequent wake … It started to realise that instead we were outside, in the rain, doing a fairly decent impression of Bambi every time my trainers hit ice.
My brain, as it turns out, was pretty pissed at the fresh hell it was suddenly faced with and started to whinge about how ill equipped we were to deal with the Northern weather (despite being Lancastrian born and bred) and how “at any moment now” it predicted a cramp would occur and I would end up rolling in the mud waiting for it to subside while crying about jellybeans.
My brain (as regular readers of this blog will know) is a bit of a shit … And (once again) my brain was wrong.
I trudged through the final run, breath catching in my throat, fingers numb (toes not so numb), stomach telling me it was no longer sickly and was now demanding food … A determined grin plastered on my face.
So yeah, guess this means my marathon before I’m 40 thing still stands! … What’s so funny? I’m being totally serious darn it!
Also I’ve been asked if I want to take part in Tough Mudder this year … What do you lovely lot think? Should I just go with a “heck yeah! Where do I sign? Gimme that pen right now!”
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