I seem to start every post with my apologies for repeating myself, as I apparently report most of my life on Facebook and Twitter as well. Ah, social networking cross-pollination, what a wonderful thing.
So yeah...uh, running. SORRY. Running and way too much work at, you know, work, are the reasons blog-reading have gone by the wayside. Well, that and all the power blogger ass kissing that is so rampant these days (cross-pollination again, mea culpa), but that's a topic for another day.
I try to run 20-25 kilometres per week, but sometimes life gets in the way. As I've mentioned before, some nights it's a struggle to do more than a few kilometres, which makes me very pissed off at myself for failing so miserably. However, though Thursday was one of those nights (struggled to get 3.5k done), tonight I pushed myself and ran 12.5k. That's the furthest I've ever run by 2.5k, and it surprised the hell out of me that my legs remained attached to my body as I climbed the stairs back to the flat.
I made a personal best time of 58.53 for 10K, and managed the whole thing in 1.16.00, so I am inordinately pleased with myself right now. Not to go all puppies and rainbows on you, but less than a year ago I couldn't run more than five minutes without nearly collapsing in a heap of sweaty, panting rotundness. I have my first 10K "race" next Sunday, which is almost precisely a year since I started this running business. I promised that I would post a photo of myself post-run, but I'm getting a-scurrred of doing that now, so we shall see. Maybe I'll just put a photo up of my rack in the race shirt, because let me just say, though I may look like a total flooze, they do appear rather magnificent in it. Speaking of boobs, they will not.go.away. I could run straight through to next week and subsist on a diet of celery and water, and those things would not go anywhere. Big boobs 4 lyf. Shit.
What is the point of this, shameless bragging aside? Well, I don't want to get all if-I-can-do-this-so-can-you(!!) happy clappy rubbish, BUT really. I might be one of the laziest people on god's green earth, yet I have managed to stick with this for a year now. The Dude admits that he had no faith in me - I've gone on exercise jags before and quit within a month. I've somehow just reached a place that I needed to be in order for this to work. I'm not convinced that you can just start exercising and get on with it if you don't truly want to do it. It just seems like you're punishing yourself, and if it's going to be a long-term change, what's the point of facing years of self-flagellation in the form of physical activity?
I know that sounded Oprahrific, sorry. I'm just powered by endorphins and some really fine vanilla custard that I had post-run. It just makes me happy to see THAT photo of myself from last summer and know that though I still don't love my body, I'm now only moderately repulsed. I can at least not feel physically sick when seeing it reflected back at me. I'm even hopeful that for the first time in her nearly three years, I consent to having my picture taken with P on her birthday. Small steps.