I usually run around 10k for my mid-week run but I wanted to be sensible. Seven kilometres sounded sensible. Walking up hills also sounded sensible. And running at a really, really comfortable pace sounded sensible too. And so I had a plan.
And that plan worked great ... for the first 3k. At around 3k there's a kinda nasty hill which I'd promised myself I'd walk up. Of course I deluded myself into thinking that because I was feeling pretty good that I could run up most of the hill. So I did.
Have you ever watched a documentary about zoo animals given birth? Picture the baby giraffe that's just been born and is trying to take its first few steps. Well, that's how my legs felt when I finally got to the top of the hill. Good-bye gross motor control. Hello wobbly legs.
Luckily uphills often come with a matched downhill and this route is no exception. I didn't need too much motor control going down the slope as long as I didn't hit any pot holes or have to change direction suddenly. My watch beeped over the 4k mark and I decided then that 5k would have been an even more sensible first run back. Didn't stop me from running up the second hill though. I am nothing if not stubborn.
It certainly wasn't my prettiest ever run. And I did need a mid-morning nap. But I'm happy to say that a week of virus hasn't set me back too far.
I received a birthday invite the other day. From someone I haven't seen in years. From someone who used to tease me and my friends about being fat. From someone who groped me during a Christian music concert. Funnily enough I don't really want to go. And even funnier than that - he's grossly obese now and when we made contact on Facebook for the first time he commented that I looked scrawny. Seems like some things just never change.
Toby and I have been training together. Not running training - eating training. Toby is a magician when it comes to food. You put the food bowl down in front of him, say abracadabra, and the food vanishes.
He finishes nearly every meal with hiccups because of the speed that he eats and woe-betide anyone that gets between him and his plate.
Because I want to have grandchildren one day (not yet, boys) and Toby may still be alive, he needs to learn to eat in a less frantic manner - with more restraint. We need to be able to touch him while he's eating and even be able to take his bowl away from him mid-meal.
So we've been doing a lot of work - patting him when he's eating, removing and replacing his bowl and, most importantly, making him wait once we put his bowl in front of him.
And he's got it ... almost.