That was hard.
It had been seven hours and ten days, since... my previous run. Seven hours and ten days of slobbing around not bothering but today I went for Week 5 Run 1 and just about managed it. Wasn't sure I could jump back in where I left off. It was hard.
So I'm back from a little break. Confidence knocked somewhat thanks to the small matter of attending someone's wedding, no wait let me check the invitation, was it actually a cordial invite to the happy occasion of the celebration of all forms of photography - I had more photos taken of me in one day than has ever existed to date.
Even the walk down the aisle was led, not by bridesmaids but by reversing photographers flanked by an arch of outstretched cameras saluting the happy photographer. Everyone watching the photography proceedings via tiny lcd screens, everyone taking photos of everyone taking photos.
I've avoided having my photograph taken for... no, it's more than that... I have some kind of phobia, which means I've avoided, not just having my photograph taken but all social events for the last 15 years! And I class going out for milk a social event.
In addition, like some fat vampire, I don't look in mirrors. When forced, to check I still exist and to pick cornflakes off my chin, I have developed a method of least fatness by subconsciously training myself - when faced with a reflection - to simultaneously breath in, suck in my cheeks and face forward. My best angle, straight on, no depth can be measured from a 100% straight view. I don't know I'm doing it, I don't consciously pull a pose. It's been years in the making, years in the making to avoid the painful truth.
So you can imagine, being in a room with so much photography taking place, I inadvertently had every angle of my body photographed 1000s of times. Stitch them together, like a map of the red planet and almost as big, and we'd have a 3d NASA approved model of every hot red blobby facet of my person. What's worse... I looked at them.
I honestly didn't recognise myself. Neither did anyone else. Unseen by relatives for years, they gazed at me open mouthed. This was before I'd seen the photos myself and, fully loaded on Prozac, b3tablockers and Pimms, I'd camply wave back and say "You don't recognise me, do you?"
They slowly shook their heads, mouths still open. Only now, having seen what they saw, do I understand.
I am much wider than I thought. My face, is much, much wider than I thought.
It's depressing because, Week 5: the original trilogy, I was actually only a few pounds off my best weight since records began (aka Wii Fit purchase date, x years ago). A blow, there I was thinking "thin as rake/fit as fiddle" almost a personal best, when in reality... Jabba the hut. So why bother? Seven hours and ten days of slobbing around not bothering commenced.