Getting back into things is hard. I’d love to tell you that we had an amazing run at Bolton Abbey this morning, that it felt effortless and easy, that everything came together and that I loved every single second, every single light, fast step. But that’s obviously bollocks.
I hated it.
From the very first step I hated it. I was out of breath before we’d even made the first slope. I never really settled down. It went something like this. The ‘Me’ segments were of course all in my head other than where it says (out loud).
Me: Two minute running is a long time!
Me: can’t breathe
Me: walking’s good, I can walk
Me: how can I be this tired after 2 x 2 minutes?
Me: Oh FFS
Me: Don’t like it
Kath: Look a woodpecker
Me (out loud): hmph
Me: Wow not even half way, nowhere near half way
Me: I’m sure something hurts
Me: downhill, yay
Me: Wanna stop
Me: Might ask Kath
Kath: Make sure you’re taking it all in, it’s such a gorgeous day
Me: Fuck off
Me (out loud): Yeah
The Aqueduct comes into sight…
Me: Yay, half way but oh fuck stairs
Me (out loud): I’m really struggling
Kath: Do you want to walk a bit longer
Me(out loud): no
Me: yes yes yes yes yes yes yes but fuck off and stop being so bloody reasonable and nice
Me: there’s that bastarding hill soon
Me: oh look there it is, the fucker
Kath: do you want to try this in sections?
Me (out loud): yes
Me: I don’t want to f-ing try it at all, I’ll just curl up and cry here thanks
Me: I’m going to puke
Me: or pass out
We manage the hill and the downhill and the end is suddenly in sight
Kath: Coffee and bacon sarnie at the end?
Me (out loud): Yes please
Me: Race Ya!
So yes, I hated it but I have enjoyed having done it ever since we finished. It was a hard won 3.34 miles at a painfully slow place but it’s a start (again) and Kath was right, it was a gorgeous morning to be out.