I picked that title because it suggests an air of grit and determination. In fact, if you were a fly on our wall what you would have seen was stubborn, pig-headed, mardy foot stamping and self-doubt.
It’s been brewing for a week, ever since I saw that I had to go from eight minutes running to twenty minutes running. The doubt had crept in. In fact, not only had the doubt had crept in, but the tiredness had come too and brought irrational thinking along for the ride. It took me over an hour and a half to get out for tonight’s run. It was too soon after tea. The baby will wake up. My back hurts. It’s too late. It’s too dark.
The excuses became more and more ridiculous until I admitted to Ginge that it was simply that I can’t do it. The conversation turned a bit Keith Harris and Orville – “I wish I could fly, right up to the sky” “you can”, “I can’t”, “you can”. I was only marginally less irritating than that duck and the daft thing was, I actually wanted to go.
Off I went. I knew vaguely where eight minutes running would take me, so I didn’t check my watch until I was well past there. Miles (my Garmin) told me I’d done 0.86 miles. I decided that I could claim at least one literal milestone of my return and do my first full mile.
I RAN FOR A MILE!
After a little celebratory dance, I plodded on a bit and then turned back. At 12 minutes, I thought to myself “well I know I can do eight minutes”. I plodded on. Before I knew it, I’d done 15 minutes and I knew I could do 5 minutes. I kept picking off the landmarks and concentrated on breathing (it was quite an effort by this point) until the clock hit 20 and I hit the stop button with a sigh of relief.
All in all I covered 1.86 miles in 20 minutes. I will win no prizes for speed, but that’s not one, but two milestones tonight. I returned home (as Ginge predicted) with a smile on my face. He despairs of me sometimes.