I'd put off running on Thursday, Friday and Saturday, so by yesterday afternoon knew I had to just stop making excuses and get out the door. Having mowed the lawns (an hour in the baking heat, even with my fab big mower!), I decided that the best thing to do would be to get a drink then go straight out - I knew that if I sat down or decided to have tea first, the run wouldn't happen, again!
So I got changed, pulled on my shoes, ignored the pleading puppy eyes, and headed out solo. First five mins were as uncomfortable as always, but at least I got to walk just before I reached the top of the hill. The eight minute run started, and a fly flew directly into my eye - ouch, but it didn't stop me! I was glad of the walk after that one as I could feel that I was going quickly (for me!), but couldn't seem to slow down. And part of me didn't want to slow down either, as I felt as though I could manage (probably)... Then the last run came. All felt fine up until the last 90 seconds when the combination of a bit of an incline and the realisation that there was still that much longer to go *almost* defeated me. But I knew that there was an entire crowd of people cheering me on, and reminding me that it didn't matter how slowly I was going, I just needed to keep going. And I did!
So that's W6r1 DONE! On a hot and sunny evening