Not Juneathon day 15

As has been the case for the past few Athons, I have let myself slide gently off the Juneathon wagon. I had a sudden realisation that I had started to do crap yoga, was writing increasingly boring blogs and that doing yoga in the front room has limited scope for posting photos of wildfowl. So I put my weasel pants on and weaselled on out of there. Worryingly, I actually managed a longer Juneathon last year when I was full of baby.

Ah well.

Today though, I ran. Alright, so it was after the usual procrastination (I tried to declare that my running kit was actually pyjamas. When asked, I explained that it had hi-vis on it in case of emergency. Pressed for further details I elaborated that there was a risk of “a bed emergency”) I hoofed out of the door in the opposite direction than normal. The route that I’ve been doing during the C25K is the flattest that I could think of, whereas turning left out of the front door is a slightly more undulating route.

I’m very proud to report that I managed a whole TWO miles!

One thing that I’m finding tricky is slowing down when I need to recover from a hill or a burst of misplaced enthusiasm. I know that sounds daft, especially as my pace isn’t exactly blistering right now, but all I seem to be able to do is walk or come to a standstill. What I can’t do is just plod on, moving my body in a way that looks a bit like running only much, much slower. I’m not sure if this is important (I think it is) and have a dim recollection of being advised to slow down, not walk, when I was first starting out. Is it important? Are there any tricks to getting your breath back? Preferably ones that don’t involve a nice cup of tea and a sit down (although you do know I would love to do just that).

Juneathon day one – couch to 5k week 5 day 2

Even though I started this year’s Janathon, it was only a couple of months after having Mini-Ginge, I was still banned from doing any high impact exercise and I felt I had a decent excuse for taking it easy. He is now nearly eight months old and I’m slowly but surely getting back to running. I feel that I should make a proper go of Juneathon. I thought that I’d considered all the issues that would make this year more challenging; the tiredness, the wonky pelvic floor, the difficulty getting out for early morning runs, the dodgy hip and back, the potentially still lax ligaments, the tiredness… What I didn’t account for was that even leaving the house would take so flipping long.

With hindsight, it might have been my own fault, but before I left I decided to peek in on Mini-Ginge just to make sure that he was settled in his cot. As I looked in the room, a head popped up and a pair eyes stared out at me in the gloom. His gaze met mine. I tried to back away, but it was too late. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

A few cuddles and a couple of verses of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star later and I thought it was safe to leave. I stood up. His face crumpled. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

At this point I handed over to Ginge but the WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHs continued, punctuated with a few of his hungry cries. This was a situation that I was hoping to avoid because once my sports bra is on, the door to the buffet is firmly locked. If wearing a nursing bra is like nipping to the cash machine when you need a tenner, wearing a sports bra is like getting your tenner from deep in the vaults of the Bank of England*.

I left the boy blowing raspberries in his cot and legged it.

Today’s legging it consisted of 8 minutes running, 5 minutes running, 8 minutes running. This was the first time that the return leg would see me running all the way home and it was both liberating and frustrating not looking at my watch to see how many minutes I had left. Instead I kept on picking out landmarks in the distance to split up the distance until I was home.

My next session sees me leap up from 8 minutes to 20 minutes of running. I have no idea who was doing the maths for this one, but clearly they forgot about all of the possible numbers between 8 and 20. I am a little terrified.

*I originally wrote Fort Knox, which does read better but then the pedant in me realised that you’d really struggle to get a tenner from there.