I woke up yesterday morning with thousands of butterflies in my stomach. What was I thinking when I signed up for the semi marathon of Paris? Me, the fair-weather jogger who had just indulged in two weeks of holiday diet and last ran exactly four weeks to the day, never mind the fact that I’ve never yet completed a distance further than 12-13K, top! I nearly crawled right back into bed and stayed under the cosy duvet with my Kindle.
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At the end of September, I rather impulsively decided that F and I should sign up to do a semi-marathon. A bit of a wacky idea considering I am hardly the model jogger/runner, while F would dutifully head out once a week for a good hour or so; I’d do so about once every 2-3 weeks, not to mention I’m also more likely to do a shorter route. Honestly, I’m really not great at self-discipline when it comes to sports/fitness-related activities. Just ask C about my “standing pool date” with her…
In any case, I have time to work at training, no? Afterall, March seems so far away, even if I’ve started drawing up all kind of potential training programme etc. And the sheet of paper is now sitting right underneath a big pile of papers that I’m supposed to read for work. Training three times a week – hah, who am I kidding? Instead, time is ticking away and I still manage to weasel my way out of weekend jogging sessions with F.
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