100 days of running?

I sat on the edge of my bed this evening, willing my body to get moving. Last night had been another one of those sleepless nights: the Significant Other had snored lustily and, just when my shattered self managed to shut down and sleep through the din, the dogs wanted to be let out. Three times during the night they wanted to be let out. I don’t know what was out there but it needed their attention. And it was no quick visit either. They would wake me, or prod me into moving if I was awake anyway, and then shuffle ahead of me, slowing me down, as I tried to make my way down the passage in the dark. Then I’d have to search for the keys, fumble to guide key to lock, open the front door, struggle with the security gate, open that and then … Wait … Wait … and wait … while the dogs peered out into the darkness, deciding whether they felt like going outside after all. It’s at times like these that one wonders why one is an animal lover …

Anyway. Another sleepless night. Another zombie day. By four o’clock I was so tired my head was spinning and I couldn’t keep my eyes open. It was time for a nap. When did I become a person who naps?! Of course, I don’t really nap. I lie there, wasting time feeling guilty about lying there. I mean, honestly, if you’re going to lie down, use the time effectively and have a damn sleep! Otherwise get up and do something more useful. Unfortunately, I get into a state of being too tired to do something remotely useful and feeling too guilty about my uselessness to sleep.

But I dozed a bit. The dogs took the opportunity to show me exactly how nap time should be utilized. In my next life …

And then I had to start talking myself into going for a run. I missed yesterday’s track, so I had to get out there this evening. But … Grief! I was so tired! It took a whole lot of pep talking. But once the pants and the shoes were on, it was most of the battle faught and won.
And so I headed out the door.

I took it easy. I ran 7 km. No huge shakes, no great speed. But what was important is that I did it. What was even more important was that I learnt yet again that you are never too tired to go for a run and, unless there is something severely wrong with your health, there is no kind of tired that a run can’t cure. The person sitting at the edge of the bed undoing her shoelaces was a very different person to the one who, an hour earlier, was reluctantly strapping her running shoes on.

It was cold this evening – 17 degrees. Cold enough to give this running nonsense a skip. But not really. Because 17 degrees Celsius is a balmy spring day for some of the running bloggers I follow. They have been out there in sleet and hail and snow over the last few months while I have been loping along in glorious sunshine. They don’t even know me, but they inspire me to move my wussie arse out there. If they can do it, those milky white, soft skinned North Americans and Europeans, then so can I.

So I went out there in the dark and the clammy sea mist and the biring cold, and found that it wasn’t so cold once I got started, the sea mist is very pretty at night, especially where it glows in the street lamps, and running in the dark is rather magical. And I devised my next challenge: 100 days of running. Starting tonight. One hundred consecutive days of getting the shoes on and getting out there and running. As an added challenge, I think I should run with my gym membership card on me, and go past the gym at the end of a run to do a few sit-ups and some weights. It’s all looking a bit soft and flabby and saggy above the leg region.

So: one day down. Only 99 to go. I love a goal and I love a challenge.


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