Actually, it was more like a draw.
But I swear I was going backwards at one point, I was overtaken by a parked car. Given that I run in a big circle (albeit one that looks like it was sketched by a drunkard's left foot), you would've thought that for half of my run, it would've been like a Spanish Galleon opening up its main sail in the trade winds. Personal bests should've been smashed like cheap crockery at an epileptic Greek's wedding.
Alas, no.
In one direction, the surface area of my gentlemen's paunch turned me into a spoon being pushed through year-old milk, and coming back the opposite way was equally as bloody futile. I spent one of my runs side-on with one arm stretched out in front of me acting as a splitter. The dog walkers must've thought I was locked in an intense, passionate tango with an imaginary partner. Gripping that rose in my teeth didn't help.
I battled through though...with all the elegance of a Walrus slapping its way along the ice, but last time I checked, elegance scores you nil pois. W2 done! Without dropping a single run. Slap my arse coach!
I got home, stripped off and asked my darling wife to thoroughly inspect me for muscles. I thought she would've been a bit more supportive. Mind you, getting woken up by a slab of bare flesh resembling a giant pink croissant probably isn't the best way to start the day. Maybe comparable to swinging your legs out of bed and stepping on an upturned plug.
There's a certain cockiness that follows completing a run. And exponentially so when completing a week. I was strutting about, catching myself in mirrors and flexing. I evidently need to take the mirrors back. They've clearly warped.
But then the worst thing happened. Fate conspired against me when I was out shopping. I was minding my own business, following wifey in and out of frighteningly similar shoe shops when some selfish, inconsiderate b@st@rd went a put a Burger King in my way. At lunch time as well. I've gone 12 days without even the slightest sin and its all gone to the dogs with one greasy, dirty, delicious burger. I was crying and slapping the table whilst gorging like a starved hamster. Mothers in close proximity moved their kids to a safe distance when I started the wailing, only momentarily pausing when fingers required licking.
It's going to take a hell of a lot of running against the wind to panel-beat that prang out.
Tomorrow we rest and Monday we Week 3. Running for 3 minutes straight? Pah! As easy as kicking a sleeping dog. Not that I'd do such a thing. Again. I'm not a fan of Tetnus shots.
Happy running everyone!
Gone with the wind…..
W7R1, that bloomin' wind!!
The wind? Or the 'wall'?
W2 R1 reflection and confession
