‘Ere we go then.
Yesterday, which was a Sunday, I went for a run. I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want to feel guilty about not going. On Saturday night I ate a whole Domino’s pizza to myself with a side of garlic pizza bread (yes, double pizza), washed down with a “Green Monday”, which is Rob’s answer to a Blue Hawaii – incredibly sweet and alcoholic, but not very nice (sorry Rob). For Sunday lunch I had cheese and pickle on a toasted bagel, washed down with a bag of salt and vinegar McCoys. For Sunday dinner, I wanted to eat a massive Sunday roast, with a Galaxy Ripple for afters. So you can see that to avoid obesity, it would be necessary to go for a run.
4km in 26 minutes, which isn’t great, obviously, but is better than nothing. Plus there was at least one hill involved, and I didn’t stop and walk for a bit like usual. So actually, it WAS bloody great… It was reasonably nice to be back on my “home turf” (i.e. Brislington).
Now I’m trying to convince myself to go for another run. I’ve just finished an intense day of writing, so a run would probably do me good. I’ve literally never hated running half as much as I hate the thought of running, and the feeling afterwards is always better than the feeling before, which should be a good enough incentive… but, ugh, running.
Off. I. Go…
In. A. Bit…
5km 🙂 I am a sweaty mess now