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It was one of those nights, when after finally settling into a well deserved deep sleep the bedroom door opened and there stood a zombie (otherwise known as my daughter, Ffion) not only did the Zombie wake us but she also expected an immediate solution to her inability to settle down. There was nothing for it but to throw back the covers and cram her into our standard sized bed, hours later when no one but Ffion was sleeping I pondered the sense of our actions. Luckily she returned to her own bed, at some point in the early hours which left enough space for Paul and I to catch a few winks.
The morning was a beautiful one and I had planned to do a long run (that’s 7 miles for me at the moment, quite some way off the 26.2 miles I’ll be running in April, OMG 26.2 miles, insane springs to mind).
I did make it outside the house after several attempts to vacate my bowels (I know this is something you might not want to know about but can you think of anything worse than getting caught short when your nowhere near a real flushing toilet?) For some reason running gets my bowels moving which is not a good thing, now I have no problems with wild weeing but wild pooping is another story, it just doesn’t appeal to me at all. I’ve heard those horror stories from friends who have been caught short, managed to find what they considered to me a private spot, found suitable substitute toilet roll (normally moss or leaves, but I have heard of socks being used too), prepared themselves and started the job at hand, only to have several beefy marines pop up from their hiding place in full camouflage and catch them in the act. For this reason alone I am paranoid about leaving the house for a long run without having fully prepared.
It was bloody cold out there, and with the cold came the ice, now I can actually ice skate but running and ice skating should not be done at the same time. Sense kicked in and I had to walk in places to avoid that embarrassing fall. I did survive the run but really did begin to feel wary of the distance I need to cover in the led up to April. Running isn’t just about the ability to put one foot in front of the other, it’s the mental battle of believing you can do it. My mind likes to put obstacles in my path, if you make it past that tree you can walk for a bit, or better still If you run this without stopping again you can drink wine or gin. For some reason, that one worked.
I have now settled down for the evening, the correct atmosphere created by burning one of my Wild Wreath wax melts (my current favourite), fire is lit and of course I feel very righteous as I open one of those bottles of wine mentioned yesterday and counteract the 950 calories I burnt off on my run this morning.
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