I am determined to keep running but while running, I derive absolutely no joy. Sorry all you passionate, fabulous runners, it’s just not my jam – yet.
My running routine generally involves spending more time choosing my playlist than actually running.
Nothing has changed, those first 10 seconds hurt. The second 10 seconds aren’t any better. How can ten seconds feel like ten hours?
If my playlist sucks, I feel the need to stop. Music is motivating. The pain of my lungs exploding, my muscles yelling and the agony of “I have so much further to go” is not motivating.
There is that little voice that speaks to me and says “walking allows you exercise your hip flexors which is a good thing“. I like that little voice. I like it more than my muscles yelling at me. I stay stubborn and ignore the yelling. I have been a mother for 23 years, I am used to people yelling at me and ignoring them.
How can 30 minutes surfing the net go by so fast and 30 minutes running feel like eternity?
I keep running. It still hurts. I don’t know which is better. Should my goal be to run 5km or should I set a “time goal”? If I run 5km, I run faster so that I can get through it quicker. If I set a time goal, I tend to slip in more “walking”. Longer could help me burn off that second glass of wine. Sprinting through the experience gets me home faster and still a “check” on the “to do list” but only a small taste of dessert. First world problems.
I keep running. I like dessert. I also like wine. I find it depressing that I push through pain and I still have not burned enough calories to compensate for either of my vices. This of course means I need to run longer (with less walking). Ugh.
I run where no one can see me. The joy of living rural. If I do see someone, my ego takes centre stage. I pick up the pace to give the impression that I am an awesome runner. At least I hope this is the impression that I am leaving. There is a good chance that my idea of a “fast run” is a turtle sprinting. If I am running fast enough, they might not see the look of pain on my face or the fact that my hamstring has seized and I may never walk again. Ego is not a healthy habit.
The good news is that I can run and my belly bulge has not yet heaved up to hit me in the face. I am making progress and running is getting easier. The “hate” is still there but I reluctantly admit that I feel better after doing it. Maybe it is relief that I didn’t have to call for an ambulance. I’m not sure.
I will keep at it. I ponder that running is like Vegemite…. an acquired taste. We’ll see. In the meantime, I didn’t have to call for a ride. Success is relative and incremental. Here’s to one step at a time.
Love,
Shelley
And Then I Jumped...... 