Dry January. That went about as well as I could have
anticipated. I didn’t drink for as long as the New Years Eve hangover lasted.
Which was cruelly lengthy.
But definitely not 31 days.
So I decide that I need to get a grip.
With the big 4-0 looming this year and the broken resolutions
ringing in my ears, there was only one thing for it.
Sign up for a 5k run.
Week one of training goes by.
By ‘goes by’ I mean, I think about running but, Christ on a
bike, it’s cold.
So I, instead, buy a new sports bra on line. That’s
progress.
Week two and I sign up to a motivational running app. A mere
£7.99 a month to listen to a woman who is shouty and really fucking harsh.
She’s all, ‘right lets sprint for two minutes and then you
can relax into a revitalising jog.’
That’s the relaxing bit?
Are you shitting me, Rochelle? The last app got me to jog
for a minute then walk/ have a sit down for the rest.
I’m not jogging for a
fricking rest, thanks.
Week three and it’s definitely too cold. It’s been snowing
for fucks sake. No-one jogs in the snow, do they?
I’ve got a much better idea. I’ll sign up to no sugar
February. That’ll do the trick. But keep the sponsorship low because I can’t
really ask anyone to sponsor me to not eat a Twirl when other people are swimming
the Channel for charity and stuff.
It’s week four of
‘training.’
I have been for one and a half jogs. Avoided eating anything
mildly tasty. And thought about how I have one month to get fit for a race*.
It’s going well.
Tonight I’ve watched three episodes of Suits in sportswear. I
missed my window to go out for a run after episode two, so I’ll probably just
get out of my unused sweatshirt and leggings and have a bath.
I feel like 2018 is going to be my year.
*As I’m making a MASSIVE deal about doing a 5k, it turns out my
husband is doing a marathon several weeks afterwards that he’d forgotten to
mention. Slightly regretting making SUCH a big deal about this now.
