In a week where London temperatures are bordering on arctic, I’ve been wondering how long it will take for me to fall into a training rhythm. I haven’t quite got there yet.
I seem to have a problem with my running pants (or are they trousers?). This week I’ve managed to leave them at home, shrink them and wear them inside out. And it’s only Wednesday. I dread to think what will happen next.
I did my long run on Sunday. I had planned to go on Saturday but one Friday night wine too many determined that a long run the next morning would be ineffective and miserable. But on Sunday I tore that footpath in half. I flew along at a racey 11 minutes per mile. For 75 minutes. Without stopping. My feet even struggled to keep up with me. There were a few moments when I wobbled like mad (more so than usual).
Then I got home, ate two-thirds of the fridge, jumped in the shower and screamed for New Zealand when the hot water hit my chafe. Oh god. Not that again. And much earlier on in the piece than any other training I’ve done.
So I need new running gear. Fast! I’m not sure if I’m being overly sensitive but I keep hearing the ‘s’ word. ‘Snow’! Am I going to have to run in Ugg boots? A fur coat? Will my MSRC t-shirt fit over the top of all that? I’ve never even had to run with anything on my ears before. Will I cope? Am I being dramatic? Perhaps. I prefer to think that all of this going on in my imagination is exciting.
It IS exciting. I’m excited that I’ve raised my first £20 for MSRC. I’m excited about the thought of crossing Tower Bridge and hearing that crowd roar. I’m excited that MSRC just sent me my iron-on letters that spell out my name for the crowd to cheer me on when I do cross that bridge. I’m excited that next week I will have sorted out my trousers (hopefully). And if it snows, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.