Morning sickness.

Sunday.  Day 42

Checking out of the hotel today so sadly, no time for training what with all that packing, organising and hoovering up of the breakfast buffet to be done.

I console myself that lugging cases, coats and  wellies back and forth probably burnt off 100 calories or so and helped build my upper body strength.  I check the Garmin 10 (which I have become obsessed with) and note only a measly 21 calories!

Clearly, it is malfunctioning.

Monday. Day 43

V has an after work meeting so I’m on my own.   You’ve heard it all before.

It is freezing……..please enter here any negative and uninspiring text you can recall from the huge range available in any other post I have published…..I arrive home and cry, vowing that after 10 May, I will never run again.

Tuesday. Day 44

V sends me a text heavy on the words ‘cry’, ‘couch’ and ‘rain’. My resolve wavers as it so often does, and I check the wine rack to see what we have in stock, just in case I need to go round there and, *make sure she is ok *. Unfortunately for her, there are only 7 bottles of champagne, a mulled wine from 2 years ago and N’s birthday bottle of Cloudy Bay.

I consider the mulled wine.  Even V, who is wonderful in every way, is not worth Bolly on a wet Tuesday.

Instead, I sigh and pull on my running tights.  By ‘pull on’ I mean of course, lie down, panting, as I squeeze my over large calves into lycra.

It seems that running four times a week does not offset 4 cooked breakfasts, three 4 course dinners, a case of wine and several whiskies.

Who knew?

The results of our run are slightly better than expected given the conditions and the horrors of Monday’s solo effort. I am feeling positive. I say again…

Who knew?

Thursday.  Day 46

G is as usual, drafted in for support.  We set off and it is soon clear to me that something is very wrong.  I feel nauseous and dizzy.  I press on anyway but a couple of miles in I confess that I feel unwell.  When questioned, (G is a medical professional and always ready with good advice. But on this occasion I know what the problem is and fear a ticking off.) I admit that for various reasons, I have failed to have any breakfast.  G tutts.  I decide it is probably unnecessary to add fuel to the fire by mentioning that I only had a half portion of some indiscriminate leftovers for dinner the night before. Or, that despite having insufficient time for food, I did manage 2 large glasses of wine last night and vacuumed the whole house this morning.

Skewed priorities.

Not where the wine is concerned, naturally.

I spend a couple of horrifying moments at the side of the trail choking back bile and hoping that none of the golfers on the fairway opposite are known to me.  My symptoms subside enough for us to carry on – walking.  Just around the corner we meet C walking her dog who is so supportive and complimentary about this whole endeavour, I feel like an utter fraud.

On the upside, lesson learned. In every sense, Weetabix is more important than hoovering.  A philosophy I promise faithfully to live by from now on.

Sunday. Day 49

A beautiful, bright spring day with the sun reflecting on the loch and a dusting of snow on the distant hills. Undoubtedly a Persephone day.  But, as usual, I’m stuck with good old reliable Doreen.  Even she however, cannot drag down my high spirits. It is cold, dry and clear, ideal conditions for our longest ever run. I’m feeling really good about today.

N has worked out a route for us based on his cycling expeditions and it’s only when we set off I realise that it is very likely a hill you run up, will appear steeper than one you cycle up. I decide not to share this groundbreaking observation with V.

We are off at a good pace and although the route is much more challenging than the well-lit flat pavement pounding we are stuck with during the week, we manage the hills like (horrifically injured) pro’s with no stops and very little in the way of foul language.

At 12k, we are close to a potential end point.  We’ve given ourselves several options on that score with final distances ranging from 12 to 16k.  At the beginning we were all about 16k. By now, our feet and legs really hurt and we decide with very little discussion that 14 will do it.

During the last 2k I check the Garmin every 90 seconds and feel every footstep.  However, we complete 14k in 1hr 32 minutes and are absolutely delighted with our achievement.

Endorphins! We’ve missed you!

I get home exhausted and starving.  I check the fridge and plan a delicious deli plate of leftover nibbles from the dinner party we had last night for my cousin L and her husband N. Visiting us on a whistle-stop tour of the UK from Zante, where they very sensibly live an idyllic existence in a sun-drenched paradise. In my eyes at least.

I have chorizo, artichoke dip, humus, marinated anchovies, crostini and those little hot peppers stuffed with feta.  I decide to have a long, hot shower and then prepare myself a delicious mezze platter while I rehydrate with lots of water.

What I actually do, is stuff the whole lot onto a slightly stale baguette and eat it standing up at the sink before I fall asleep on the couch.

I don’t even take off my trainers.

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