The wonderful thing about this site is that by looking ahead at the problems other people have encountered in you can prepare for them yourself.
Of course Week 6 will be harder than Week 5, and judging by all the comments here it is, but not for the reasons you’d expect. Everyone, on finishing Week 5, feels a rush of pride, apparently followed by frustration that the first run of Week 6 is back to walking and running. Most people seem to hate it, and I know I will too. (On reflection I think I found Week 2 the hardest week so far because the first time I did it I had no idea how many of those interminable 90 second runs I was expected to do.) At least tomorrow I know what to expect and I won’t be fiddling with my Blackberry thinking there must be some technical foul up. So in preparation for tomorrow's run I’m pondering how to deal with it.
Here’s what I’m telling myself…
You have to trust the plan.’
After all it’s got you this far hasn’t it? Why, at this point, would Laura want you to fail? Does she want to bring you down a peg or two? Show you who’s boss? Of course not. She wants us all to succeed and flourish and run like the wind and write glowing recommendations on here to encourage others.
So what’s with the short runs, Laura?
I’m sure there is some perfectly good explanation, either physical or psychological, and though I’d like to hear it I also know I’d probably switch off halfway through and start wondering if I’ve remembered to set Homeland to record tonight.
So I’ll stick with, ‘You just have to trust the plan.’ (Oh God, is that what Tom Cruise has been telling himself about scientology all these years?)
I know that during the run tomorrow I’ll probably feel like a grumpy, seven-year-old child at the unfairness of it all. I will want to stamp my muddy foot.
‘But, Mu-um. Yesterday you let me cross two motorways, a shifting glacier and a rope bridge over a crocodile-infested river, and now you won’t even let me go to the sweet shop on the corner. Don’t you trust me? It’s just not fair.’
Tomorrow, I’m going to let my inner seven-year old sulk and rant at the bloomin’ unfairness of it all as I stomp through the five and eight minute runs, but I will also allow my grown up self to gently remind me that Laura has my best interests at heart and so far it’s all gone rather swimmingly.
I might just bribe the seven-year with the promise of some sherbet lemons and a Beano on the way home if she behaves herself.