Sorry … forgive the slightly corny title, but I feel a bit like that at the moment. Buoyed up from watching history in the making yesterday I ran home again, this time via a slightly different and fractionally longer route. I was hoping to achieve 5 miles/8 km, according to the route planner, but my running watch told me I’d actually done 4.8 miles/7.7 km. Frustratingly close! I should’ve run around the block a couple of times 🙂
The good news is that, as I was crossing Waterloo Bridge (arguably the most beautiful view of the Thames, I hope you agree!) and heading for Kennington, I felt very comfortable about what I was doing. I was in a rhythm, making reasonable progress and enjoying myself. I began to feel, probably for the first time, that the goal I’ve set myself is an achievable one. A bit like Thomas the Tank Engine, the words ‘you can do it, you can do it’ were going round and round inside my head (to the accompaniment of something suitably rousing like The Pogues’ Fiesta, probably). That felt great. I didn’t feel like a very recently ex-fat girl who was wildly overstepping the mark.
I think my positive frame of mind was helped by the fact that I was relentlessly healthy yesterday. Cereal for breakfast, then home-made vegetable soup and home-baked rye bread for lunch, washed down with lots of water meant that I felt good on the inside too. I felt light and not weighed down. I even managed to steer clear of the celebratory hot dogs and Budweiser that was on offer in the agency during the inauguration speech … it would have been so easy to cave in, have a drink or two, and commit to running home another night.
But before you think I’m too smug and saintly for words, I promptly ruined everything by meeting my Dad last night for a curry and red wine … whoops! This is something I need to be very careful about. I can’t use exercise as an excuse to take my eye off the ball when it comes to what I’m eating. It wouldn’t be so much of an issue if I was at my perfect weight, which I most certainly am not! I could kid myself that the scales have crept in the wrong direction because muscle weighs more than fat, but I’d be lying to myself. The fact that my (size 12) denim skirt that I’m wearing today is decidedly on the snug side proves that … it’s not muscle, or the washing machine, it’s over-indulgence.
So, with the running training seemingly taking care of itself, I need to focus now on what I put into my mouth. And that, as we all know, is not something that I’m particularly expert at.