Day 5 - Snakes While I Train
I didn't train yesterday. Jack got his GCSE results so I allowed him a day off.
Today was crazily busy at work. Friday's always are, but more so for the last one before a Bank Holiday at the end of the summer holidays. I couldn't have dragged myself 10 yards even if I hadn't arranged to go out to the pictures with Darbster.
I'd missed lunch so I allowed myself a portion of Nachos. Regular, mind. I can't forget my diet entirely.
I needn't have worried about missing any exercise. I proceeded to jump so much throughout the film that Darbster began to think I was doing some capsule circuit training.
Breakfast: Ubiquitous bowl of Shreddies
Lunch: Chewed Lip
Dinner: Regular Nachos with Cheese and Extra Chillies
Day 3 - Mud Mud Glorious Mud
I'm determined to train again tonight, even before Darbster rang me to make sure of it. Jack's at his mate's house so I invite Alasdair to join us.
It's starting to rain as I drive into the village to pick them up. Jack questions whether I really want to go out in such weather, especially as I am wearing a white tee-shirt. I dismiss his concerns but do don the dark storm jacket ( I really do have all the right gear, this was a gift from Mr November who was besotted with marathon training at the time) to save his embarrassment. It's bad enough his mate seeing his Mum in cycling shorts, let alone as a becellulited wet tee-shirt entrant.
Jack and Alasdair have brought along a rugby ball to pass to one another as we run. Jack is over-enthusiastic. Alasdair is not. It ends up in a ditch before I have even stashed my handbag away in the boot. Jack wades in to fetch it. He starts to sink. The water level is remarkable high for this time of year, but then we are next to one of the biggest rivers in the country, responsible for draining over 1/5th of England. It is lashing it down by now. I am relieved when he climbs out, even if he is covered in thick, black oozing, foul-smelling goo right up to his knees.
We start to run. The rain is torrential. There is a crack of thunder so loud it makes my ears ring. I start to doubt whether this is such a good idea. The lane is exposed. All around is flat farmland, broken only by telegraph poles, before us the floodbank, looking squat beneath the heavy sky.
In an instant forked lightening hits one of the poles up ahead. There is an audible crack and the village perched on the hill behind us, is plunged into darkness. The sky is a funny colour. This isn't Kansas anymore.
I immediately turn around and sprint back to the car. It takes almost 2 days for the seats to dry out properly.
Distance: 0.2miles ( but done at twice the pace, particularly the second half)
Time: 20mins looking for rugby ball, 5 mins running
Breakfast: Bowl of Shreddies
Lunch: Tuna salad sandwich
Dinner: Peppered Mackerel salad ( with homegrown tomatoes)
Day 2. Did that really happen?
Not too sore but I can tell I've done something, especially as I walk down stairs ( not up funnily enough). I'm not going to train today. There's no danger of this hippo over-exerting herself.
I am going to try and stick to a sensible eating plan though.
Breakfast: Banana
Lunch: Bowl of Shreddies
Dinner: Bowl of Shreddies
Weight:
sob. I'll tell you as soon as I can regain some emotional control
Day 1. The Catalyst Bride
I spent the morning with Rachel, choosing her wedding dress. She looked stunning. Tall. Tanned. Toned. I looked like a hippo, one of those in a tutu in the Fantasia cartoons, complete with pink face, but minus the gappy smile.
I don't want to look like that anymore. I don't want to feel like this anymore. I've been miserable for the past 5 years, which is just about the length of time that I have also been fat. I was miserable before then but I was still relatively slim so had sex occasionally.
I have absolutely no exercise whatsoever. I drive to work ( it's almost 20 miles, what else would I do?). I park on the top floor of the multi-storey, reputedly because there are always plenty of spaces up there and it's good car-park etiquette not to hold others up trying to get into a tight spot lower down, but actually it's so I have an excuse to take the lift.
My office is on the first floor. I usually get a secretary to take things up to the cashiers office for me. It's on the 4th floor.
The furthest I walk in a week is round Tesco. It's a Tesco Extra, one of the biggest in the country. That's actually quite an achievement. I usually buy cheese and wine. And washpowder.
I love to go out dancing. I last did it in 1998.
I spend most evenings sitting on my not inconsiderable arse, on my overstuffed sofa, drinking wine and reading books. Unfortunately my mind has not expanded at the same rate as the elastic in my knickers.
Tonight I didn't.
Tonight I put on my trainers. The specialist running ones which I bought in 2001 for the Race For Life. The ones that look as if they've never been worn. I also pulled on my leggings. I had to sit down for a second to get my breathe back after that. Forget the sports bra. 34D. It's obviously quite some time since I bought that little number. My ordinary bra would have to do, with the straps pulled as tight as they would go, and a lycra training top pulled down over the top to restrict excessive bounce. I must remember to take my glasses off when I run.
Jack is my personal trainer. I ask him to imagine I am an actual client, someone who needs to be motivated and encouraged, someone upon whom his livelihood depends. He responds well. He does not laugh or point. He carries the car keys, probably in case I collapse and poke my eye out.
I step out of the car and wonder if I'll make it to the first bend in the road. We set off at a steady pace. I'm in this for the long haul. It's not a sprint. I make it to the bend and miraculously manage to keep going, although I am conscious that I might not be able to maintain a conversation should Jack attempt to speak to me. I slow as we reach the entrance to an industrial site. I stand for a few minutes to catch my breathe. I imagine I look very red in the face, about to collapse, but Jack says not and persuades me to continue. I get past the next bend and I can feel my shins starting to burn. I don't want to go too far on my first attempt.
I turn round and declare that's enough for now. We've not gone as far as Jack expected, not by a long way, but it's more than twice as far as I thought I'd ever get, and I still have to get back to the car. Jack sets off at a run. I walk, occasionally varying the lengths of my strides and stretching muscles that had been in perma-hibernation for the last half decade. I make it back to the car without need of a defibrilator. It's nothing short of a miracle.
Distance: 0.3 miles ( running) 0.3miles ( walking)
Time: 20 mins
Breakfast: Yawn follwed by a vase of coffee
Lunch: sausage sandwich with caramelised onion relish, chips, 3 cherry tomatoes
Dinner: Bowl of Shreddies
