|Definitely not me - not today...|
This morning I laid in bed and thought about running.
On an earlier trip to the bathroom I'd opened the blinds and noted the damp, puddle stained tarmac. I squinted at the grey on grey landscape examining the air for raindrops. It would be nice to explain my failure as the result of weather.
It wasn't raining.
I disengaged my phone from its nightly charge and crawled back into bed anyway. The morning routine of Facebook, BBC news and Guardian mobile was over quickly. Predictably the world had changed very little in the eight hours I spent unpluggled. But an informed runner is a better runner...right?
Whatever you have to tell yourself.
Last night I had all the necessary motivation. I located my underused sports bra (although it would probably be easier just to bandage the ladies down). My running shoes were clean and left by the door. I even sourced some bass-heavy house music from my current music teacher and superstar DJ friend. I was ready!
Now I'm frozen with indecision. I'm not tired. I'm in bed because it is the warmest, most comforting place in the flat and leaving it means I have to start my day. Starting my day means deadlines, requirements, patients, lectures and pressure, all of which (along with cold) are repelled by the almost magical qualities of my duvet. Adding running to the morning clearly is not an attractive prospect.
Why must I torture myself? I'm currently at the lowest weight I have been for years. With very little effort on my part (spending my money at Amazon.co.uk rather than Tescos.com). I'm happy with what I see in the full length mirror ~85% of the time. I have a genetically pre-determined tendency to carry weight on my legs not my belly (thanks mum!), which is apparently healthier (subcutaneous rather than visceral fat) but makes rocking a skirt problematic. But I lack fitness. Running for buses reduces me to a hot, sweaty, wheezing mess.
Maybe I'm not built for running?
It's time to get up...