I hate writing posts where I try to make excuses for malingering, but I haven’t posted for a bit and I suppose that it’s better than nothing (other people may beg to differ).
Miles is glaring at me reproachfully from his shelf in the kitchen. If the radio’s off, I can hear him, whispering. “Slacker” he says. He looks a bit sad. Sometimes he sighs. I try to convince him that I’m giving him a week off for his own good, but neither of us truly believe it.
I’ve not been in a good running routine since my dodgy ITB got in the way and this week I’ve not run at all.
The daft thing is, when I have been out, my pace has been good (for me), I’ve felt pretty good and (most importantly) I’ve enjoyed myself. It’s just that small but important part where I crowbar myself out of bed or shove myself out of the door that is letting me down. I even have a lovely new pair of running shoes to try out (forsaking my trusty New Balance for a go in a pair of Asics), but even that isn’t enough to persuade me. Like the ever radiant Dolly, I work 9 til 5 which means that my midweek runs are guaranteed to be in the dark. I don’t mind running in the dark when I get out in it, but at one end of the day I’ve grown very attached to my bed (the thought of my alarm going off at half five makes me shudder) and at the other, I’m just glad to get home, draw the curtains and have a lovely cup of tea.
I know that I can run consistently during the winter, Janathon proved that, I just need a big kick up the bum.