Bad Date

I got up with every intention of going for a run. But then bad dreams woke me up early and I felt a tickle in my throat. Ick.

On Monday night I’d made the judgement that it would be raining Tuesday morning and set my alarm for “sleep in”.

So I knew this morning I should run today, but I decided I didn’t want to run in the morning. I decided I’d… “go in the afternoon”. The theory in this was that my Saturday race is in the evening, so it’d be a good idea to get a feel for evening weather before then.

Ha! “I’ll go in the afternoon” is a euphemism. It’s like when you’re on a really bad date and you end it with “I’ll call you.” It ain’t gonna happen, sweetheart.

But surprise and surprise again! I did go out on a run! I was motivated by the thought of my race on Sunday. Or maybe it was the three cookies I wolfed down in the afternoon*.

And like a bad first date, this was not the happiest of runs. The first km my legs felt like jelly. I wondered if I looked like spaghetti woman, wibbly wobbling my way along.

Then the stitch hit. As if I wasn’t having enough fun already, a side stitch hit within 500m of starting. And it stayed on me like mould on bread for the next 4.22km (yes, I checked my watch). And again like a bad date, I was checking my watch every few minutes wondering when it would end and contemplating whether I should end it a little early.

But then – to move away from the bad date analogy – magic! At that 4.22km mark of my 6k recovery run my stitch eased, my energy soared and I really settled in to my pace. But despite it all, I enjoyed the scenery. I rarely run beside the river in the evening. Seeing all the other cyclists, runners, and walkers out there was inspiring. Especially the commuters. Awesome job, active commuters! We could use more like you.

As I dragged myself along the first 4k (and even the last 2k) of the 6k run, I couldn’t help but hope that this isn’t a precursor to what to expect on Saturday’s race. I don’t think I’ll have it in me to warm up for 4km before the 10k race. And I certainly hope I don’t have wibbly wobbly legs!

*Note to self – don’t eat cookies on Saturday before the race!