This is not an auspicious start. At 2am, I am still awake, beset by a mysterious insomnia. Alarm is set for 6am for my run. Clearly that is not enough sleep - don’t be an idiot, Kate. Reset it to 6.15am. Much better. 😳
Alarm goes off and I am basically a zombie. Drag myself out of bed, pull on my running gear, and lurch downstairs in search of brains. I mean, I clearly don’t have any of my own if I’m really going to run on 4 hours’ sleep.
I leave the house, discover it is wetter and colder than I thought, and immediately return to the house to pick up my running shell. On the plus side, this means I have pockets and do not have to muck about with getting the phone in the arm band holster, which feels beyond me in my sleep-deprived state. Somehow persuade myself to leave the house again.
Sarah gives me her week 8 spiel for the third time. She’s still here, so am I, she’s proud of me, yadda yadda yadda. I’m beginning to think she’s not as invested in this as I am.
I set off. There’s no way I am doing the Brutal Hill this morning - I am already feeling undead, but that would properly kill me. I opt to return to my week 5 comfort zone with a lap of the local park. That takes me to 10 mins, and then I slingshot out down the hill towards the cemetery. For the first time in ages, my legs start suggesting that we could *whisper* just walk for a bit. I have no truck with this lollygagging and continue on, trying not to look longingly at benches, or even flat tomb lids, as I pass them.
Back up the hill. What possessed me to go downhill in the first place? Probably the zombie brain - no ability to plan ahead, zombies. Legs now really quite urgently suggesting that we just slow down and walk for heaven’s sake, you moron. I check my C25K forum list: not in pain, not exhausted - on we go. I pick up the pace for the last ten minutes - at the moment I’m miles off a 30-min 5K, and it would be good to get a little closer. Crank up the music, find the tracks with the fastest rhythm, attempt to push it to the end. And suddenly it’s over. I slow to a walk. 28 mins done and dusted for the final time. Sarah says she’s proud of me. I am a bit proud of me too.
I do the brisk walk, grateful that it’s finished. I can head home for a lovely breakfast of brains and coffee, like any good zombie. Then something weird happens: I decide to run another few minutes. It’s fun; I enjoy it. I am no longer the walking dead - I am now the running dead. Make way, humans!
Week 9 next. The podium is so close now. I can’t wait, but I honestly don’t want to finish this - it’s been so much fun.