I was supposed to go running the day before yesterday, but the weather had other ideas - turning the heat up to 11. We (the British) are famously a bit rubbish at dealing with heat or cold - although given global warming, we’re getting a bit better at it. Every summer seems to have broken records in the last few years.
I didn’t go running. I told myself it was far too hot to go running. There was no way I could do it.
The next day the sun came out again, and was just as hot. I spent the morning telling myself that going out running would be foolish - that only an idiot would do it.
And then I went out at lunchtime to run an errand with my other half.
While waiting to pull out of the road end, two runners ran past - in the mid-day sun, and a lycra clad cyclist going at quite some speed (I was going to write “a fair old clip”, but thought the rest of the world might need a translation guide for English coloquial phrases).
Dammit. If they could go running, cycling, or whatever, I really had no excuse, did I.
And that’s why I ended up running after work yesterday evening. In the hottest, most humid part of the day (or at least that’s what I told myself).
The run started out difficult, and got more difficult as it went on. During the last few minutes I seriously considered stopping several times - I had no spit left, and couldn’t swallow. I kept thinking how annoyed I would be if I stopped though, and somehow ground out the last kilometre or so. Powered by idiocy, probably.
I guess I proved it to myself though - that I could run in the heat. Even while not that fit yet.
Getting there though. One run at a time.
I just need to keep at it.