On Friday night, I went out at around 6pm for one of my Couch to 5k “run walks”. It’s getting to the stage now where I’m predominantly running, with only short recovery breaks. I was so proud of myself on Friday. I felt like I really smashed the run, and ran for an extra seven or eight minutes than the program directed and I clocked a full 5.5km. I pushed really hard. It was a good run. I never thought I’d say that.
On Saturday morning at about 11am, I tried to go out and run another run. I was still kind of on a high after Friday night’s trip out and I was feeling good that I could do something to make me equally as proud of myself. But as soon as I started running, my body got cross with me. My shins hurt. My legs didn’t want to move. Chris reassured me that it’d get easier and I’d start to loosen up a bit as we carried on. I didn’t. It just got harder.
It was raining. It was incredibly windy. It was cold. It was a struggle. My six minute interval run seemed like an eternity (which I know sounds ridiculous to many). I was frustrated. I was angry with myself. I hadn’t had enough breakfast, I was running on empty and I knew about it. But still I finished the run, despite a few momentary pauses and missing the last memo that it was time to walk because the wind was howling too loud.
I spent quite a bit of Saturday mulling over the fact that I’d had my first bad run, but after a while, I started to realise that despite the fact it was a bad run, I hadn’t given up. Yes I was slow and yes I got annoyed with myself but I carried on until I finished. And that’s something that I can be proud of. A friend Tash said to me that the weather was so bad I had to “feel pleased and virtuous — not nice weather to do anything in, let alone run.” And she was right.
So I decided that I would go swimming yesterday and do a KM to give myself something to be proud of again. And on Wednesday, I’ll get back to it, and push as hard as I can and just keep running until that 5k is MINE.