Well, I amazed myself by managing to complete The Big Twenty at the end of Week 5, and commenced to Week 6 feeling pretty positive.
A trip away over the bank holiday meant I'd had a four day break, and perhaps (!) eaten and drunk a little more than is generally deemed a sensible part of a healthy living campaign. But nevertheless, Tuesday saw me back in my trainers, giving Week 6 Run 1 ago. I didn't expect it to be easy, and it wasn't, but I did it.
So last night was the turn of Week 6 Run 2. I went into it positively - after a solid twenty minutes last week, how hard could two ten minute runs be? Quite hard it seems. But I kept going.
And then I was overtaken. First by two happy looking chaps with a spring in their step who laughed amicably as their stealthy manoeuvre (masked by Laura's dulcet tones in my ears) made me jump so much that my feet actually left the ground (which is probably what they should be doing during a run anyway, but maybe not quite that much). And then immediately after that by a woman who would appear to have done this before. Perfect figure (beautifully exhibited by her skin tight lycra running kit), not a wobble or a bounce anywhere to be see, perfect running technique, ponytail merrily swinging with her pace.
All of them were going at such a speed that within a couple of minutes I literally couldn't see them. And there was me, red faced and panting, lollopping along, fadump fadump as my feet hit the ground. I felt fat, ungainly, inelegant, and yes, a bit humiliated. Suddenly I've stopped feeling proud of myself for making it this far, and just feel pathetic for ever having thought I might be able to do it.
And everyone else on here seems so positive. Am I the only one to have hit a low point?
