I was determined to fit in at least one run on holiday in France for a week - and that's all I managed! It wasn't even a very good one (I blame the hills, and the elderly French gentleman who watched me the whole length of the VERY LONG AND VERY STEEP HILL of a road that went past his house as I slogged past) - by the time I reached 25 mins I was ready to drop :(. Well, it was hot too. *sigh*
So, on return to the UK I was feeling a little demotivated again, but decided I'd head out along my favourite route along a disused railway line near us. Felt ok at half way, so knew I'd manage the 30 mins this time, and then thought I'd carry on just a few seconds more, and maybe a few seconds more, and maybe just to the next lamp post etc. etc. - you get the idea. Before I knew it, I'd done 39 minutes (the next lamp post was just going to be a lamp post too far). Funny what the body will and won't do depending on the day you pick!
My daughter, out later with two of her friends told them about my running.
Friend 1: 'yes, we've seen your mum run along the sea-front, haven't we?'
Friend 2: 'erm, have we?'
Friend 1: 'yes, you know, the lady with the purple face...'