Flamingo - from a free Spud & Chloe pattern

Janathon day sixteen: motivation

I was hoping to be able to blog some knitting today, but I realised that things had gone a little pear shaped and ended up spending most of last night (a) undoing my last few rounds and (b) defending my honour and integrity on twitter. Mostly (b).

Wednesday night is of course is yoga night, so it was an early Janathon run for me this morning. It was cold and dark outside and I wasn’t too keen on getting out there. Thanks to Heather for spurring me on from the (not cold and dark) Southern Hemisphere with the tweet:

This is what she learns at boot camp… http://notarunninggirl.wordpress.com/

I opted for a 3 mile out and back along a route that I haven’t yet run this year; not too slippy underfoot, I got to bellow “MORNING” at another runner and a dog walker, and it was warm enough to let my hands be visible at the end of my sleeves.

And although this isn’t the knitting that I was going to post, I’ve been wanting to show off this little fella who I knitted before Christmas.

Flamingo - from a free Spud & Chloe pattern

Flamingo – from a free Spud & Chloe pattern

Janathon day eleven: damp

Conversations that you really shouldn’t be having before six in the morning (from under the duvet):

“…what’s it doing out there? Is it wet? It sounds wet…”

Having been told that it was “just residual”, I got up, got dressed and left Miles in the garden to get a signal. And then I heard it. Rain. Steady and drumming on the porch roof. Realising I couldn’t leave Miles exposed in the elements and that I would have to at least go out to rescue him, I threw on my hi-vis and set off before I could change my mind.


After that, things were boringly uneventful. I saw not a single soul, the rain slowed to a gentle drizzle, my legs complained a bit and that was that.

In other news – Janathon t-shirts (and other exciting merchandise – dog t-shirt anyone?) are now available from CafePress and can be seen on the Janathon facebook page modelled by the Queen of the Athons herself.

Oh, and if you haven’t got enough blog reading going on in January, have a nosy at Not a Running Girl where H, inspired by all the Janathon posts, is blogging her adventures in boot camp for the next six weeks. Do not be confused by all her talk of this thing called ‘summer’; she is not delirious from the rain, just in the Southern Hemisphere.

Up and at ’em

I had a ready-made excuse for not running this morning. Last night I made my regular trip to donate my armful and claim my reward of biscuits. Unfortunately, the donation didn’t go according to plan (I won’t go into details, judging by Ginge’s face when I told him about it, it’s not a tale for the squeamish or those with issues about needles. I will say that in eight years of giving blood, this is the first problem I’ve had) and I was left with a half completed donation and a leaflet on bruising which advised avoiding lifting, not over exerting myself and waiting 36 hours before resuming normal activities. In my eyes, going out for a 6am run is not a normal activity, but I figured that it wasn’t scuba diving or operating a crane so I might as well get on with it.

This morning there was plenty of cloud cover making it a lot milder than I expected and meaning that Miles had one of his moments confusing ‘clouds’ with ‘ceiling’. I couldn’t be bothered getting into an argument with him and set off without a GPS signal – I feel that this marks a turning point in our relationship, but it was fully justified when he started the “Are you indoors?” conversation half a mile into the run.

Dear Miles, indoors has carpets. Love, me.

Despite what Miles would have you believe, I did actually run about 3 miles and it was marginally faster than the pace than he says, although you will have to trust me on this one. I promise that I didn’t lounge in bed and then dawdle round the car park for ten minutes (because I have only just thought of this plan).

The owl who was afraid of the dark…

I’m afraid that I’ve not adjusted very well to the clocks going back. For some reason or another, I’ve preferred to run in the evenings and haven’t done a 6am run for months and months (I suspect it was during Juneathon) and I’m struggling to get back into the habit. On several occasions, I have managed to set an alarm and get up at 5.30, but on the same number of occasions I have also managed to peer through the blinds, shrug and go back to bed. While the evenings were still light, I convinced myself that it was because I could always run after work ‘because it will be light then’. In the week before the clocks changing I clung onto the dimming tea-time light, trying desperately to delay the inevitable.

If I still had a job where I spent most the day photoshopping safety equipment onto animals, I could run at dinner time. Luckily I am more gainfully employed now.

My issue with the clocks changing is that I’m faced with the majority of my runs being completed in darkness. I either get up early and run in the dark, or I run when I get home and I run in the dark. I don’t mind running in the dark as such, but it means that I have to wear my ‘I’m on day release’ hi-vis bib, don’t take my shuffle and am restricted to running on well-lit main roads which can get a bit dull at times.

On a cold and frosty morning.

I also find that weekend runs take on a new sense of importance. This is often the only daylight run I will do during the week and thus it must be A Good Run. It must be scenic, it must be well run and I must enjoy myself. I become so focused on all of this that the planning, the angst and the self-imposed pressure overshadow the basic need to put one foot in front of the other.

What? No Batman?

Luckily, this weekend the weather was particularly autumnal and I had a spring in my step as I did a 6 mile route that takes in my favourite recharging spot (the local nature reserve). I ran resplendent in my brand new New Balance purple tights (I fear they make me look half-woman, half-aubergine but was pleased to read in that day’s Observer that I was fabulously on trend darling) after revising my bottom-half wardrobe and replacing most of my baggy and wonkily lengthed tights with 50% off factory shop bargains. I can only apologise to anyone driving along the main road who was treated to the sight of me ferreting the scratchy end of its price tag out of my belly button.

I declare Sunday to have been A Good Run

I am faced with an early run in the morning. I remain unconvinced.