Sitting here basking in the red-faced glow of post-run smugness, I have come to a conclusion. That conclusion is that there is a direct correlation between running and happiness (okay, not total happiness – but it certainly helps).
I have decided this because it had been (until about an hour or two ago) exactly two weeks since I last ran, or actually did any kind of exercise. But it’s felt like months rather than weeks. I have been in an ever increasing state of grumpiness throughout these two weeks, culminating in this evening – I only ran because I couldn’t stand my own company any longer. I’d got too miserable for even myself to bear. I needed to get away from my thoughts.
I don’t want to sound too British about it, but I have no doubt that the fact it’s pretending to be October outside is having an impact on my mood. I’ve been soaked through on plenty of runs in the past few months, but with no half marathon to train for it just seems like so much more of a chore.
There’s a couple of other things dragging me down, but the laziness hasn’t helped. This week I’ve felt down, tired, unfit, lethargic, just not my usual self. I’m not a mardy person, in fact it’s one of my least favourite traits in a person. But this is even more reason to get off my butt and run. Or walk. Or go to the gym. Or SOMETHING. Anything to let me get some perspective, get lost in my own thoughts (or just lost in no thoughts).
Four and half weeks ago I signed up for a 10k race at Chatsworth House in Derbyshire. Then I did no training. I had six weeks to build on my fitness, and thought it would be a good opportunity to bag a new PB. Even my parents are coming to be my cheer squad, and will see my run for the first time ever. Kinda screwed that one up. Now I’m dreading it, am convinced I’ll never get round 6 miles and will definitely get nowhere near what I could’ve done.
But after tonight’s run I’m feeling a bit less worried. And I’m gonna stop only blogging when I’m moaning. Running success stories to come.