First of all, week 7. Bye bye walking, laters recovery breaks, it's run some, run some more, then a little more running rounded off with.... oh.. erm.... running!
As it goes the programme is trustworthy and despite my early opinions has prepared me to do exactly that, the idea of which I haven't quite got used to yet. This wobbly-double-post-partum-plus-chocolate-and-chips body can run for nearly half an hour. Awesome.
Today's run was tough due to fighting an unexpected urge to go to the toilet (no, not a pee) from 5 minutes in. Add to that the first day of the fun stuff that ladies have to put up with (just to clarify guys, the first day is always the WORST) and you can conclude I was not biologys biggest fan at this point. At about 15 minutes in I was fighting off gremlins left, right and centre and was desperately thinking of topics to mull over in a bid to ignore those miserable gits. So I was thinking about the impending race day (next Sunday) and what it will be like running alongside my niece (12 years old) who is running because her best friend is unlikely to see her 13th birthday (emotional thought no.1). I wondered how she will get on in the run as she hates all things exercise but has been training so hard for this and is likely to make me one very proud auntie (emotional though no.2). I then imagined seeing my kids (2&4 years old) cheering me on and then waiting at the finish line an boof! (emotional thought no.3) I was welling up, my little ones faces all proud of their mummy and cousin was just too much and my breathing was all over the shop. I cannot recommend sentimental thoughts to any runner, it plays havoc with the heart rate 😆.
The important thing is I didn't stop and nobody saw this emotional mess plodding past Tescos at 6am. I have decided to think about my next meeting agenda for work on the next run.