I've tried my best to keep positive about the weather over the last few weeks but it has been difficult. With the long hot evenings, the temptation to open a nice cold can or two has been strong. BBQs aren't exactly weightloss friendly and any resemblance of sleeping pattern has gone the way of the Australian top order. Simply put, in sticky conditions, sleep has been at a premium. I'm not somebody who relies on a good night's sleep, but when it because an ongoing problem, life becomes more difficult.
For the last week I've been nursing a very sore neck brought about by sleeping awkwardly. When I feel crap, I don't feel like exercising. When I'm tired, I feel like stuffing my face with sugar. That I've managed to maintain three trips to the gym a week and stay clear of the bad stuff has come as a surprise, though I've rather made up for that with weekend consumption.
On Saturday morning, apathy kicked in big style. I'd had my bowl of bran flakes. My eldest was watching Spiderman. My youngest had his bottle of milk prepared for when he woke from his slumber. It was 8.25am my neck was in pieces following another sleep deprived night. Whoever owns a cockerel on my estate will be getting a visit from Colonel Sanders when I find out who the culprit is. I had virtually talked myself out of pulling on the trainers and heading off to my local ParkRun, but somehow found the resolve to do it. Five minutes later and I was in the car.
My third attempt at the Saturday morning 5k felt like a struggle from the word go. I went off a little more quickly than I was comfortable with meaning by the 2k marker I was gasping for whatever air I could get into my pathetic lungs. On my two previous runs I'd spent a good minute walking to recover my breathing on more than one occasion. Even though I was struggling I didn't let myself repeat this, instead slowing for 10-15 seconds before setting off again. This became frustratingly repetitive as I never really got back to a comfortable rhythm. In the last kilometre I found myself giving an Andy Murray pep-talk as I got more and more annoyed, and muttering Come On Graham seemed to help.
When I crossed the finish line, I was somewhat surprised to see I'd finished 166th. My two previous positions were 247 and 206. There was a noticeably smaller field at Black Park, presumably because of the 10k taking place a few miles down the road at the Dorney rowing centre. I felt somewhat downbeat when I got my time recorded as I thought it was probably my slowest time to date. I didn't have a running buddy to keep me motivated this week and that combined with numerous but shorter slower phases meant I wasn't expecting an improvement on my last run.
Imagine my surprise then when mid Saturday afternoon, whilst flaking out on my bed trying to get my neck comfy, I got my time come through by text. 28 minutes 25 seconds. A full 58 second improvement on my previous best. I went online to check the results as I didn't quite believe it at first, but there it was in black and white. My PB not just bettered, but smashed. Best of all, I know there is still plenty of room for improvement.
So the next time I feel a bit crap and demotivated, I only need to look to yesterday for inspiration. From being perilously close to giving it a miss, to running faster than this overweight unfit bloke has run before. The take away and ciders that followed last night won't have done any good for my weightloss aspirations, but felt just reward for getting off my backside.
It can be very easy to give in to that little negative voice that makes you believe you can't do something. At 8.25 Saturday morning I was convinced I couldn't run that morning. By 9.30 I'd completed the course and demonstrated to myself that I'm capable of doing things that I think are beyond me. When Saturday Comes is a phrase more associated with football (and terrible acting from Sean Bean), but right now I can't wait for next Saturday and hit the course again.
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| Rio 2016 here I come |
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