There’s always an excuse why I can’t go for my planned run.
- I went to bed super late the night before and need more sleep so can’t run in the morning.
- I’m in the office during the day, so can’t run then.
- It’s raining or it looks like it’s going to rain.
- If I went for a run when I got home I’d have to wait ages to cook dinner and then eat it and I’m already pretty hungry when I get home.
- I can’t run after I eat because that’s just painful.
- And now it’s too dark to run.
No matter how much I’d like to deny it, I know what’s at the root of all these excuses. Let me explain.
I’ve been avoiding stepping on the scale for a while. The last time I weighed myself was in April. The number was not great—I was only five pounds away from my highest recorded weight ever. But somehow I was able to ignore this threat and continued to live a life of sloth and gluttony. I’ve hardly done anything remotely athletic and I’ve been eating everything in sight, particularly anything made of bread and/or sugar.
I continued to ignore the sight of my bloated face in the mirror and the ‘shrinking’ of my clothes. But on Wednesday of last week I bit the bullet and stepped on the scale and saw what I should have expected to see. I’d reached my maximum weight again. Fuck.
All the work I did almost four years ago to shed 35 pounds has been wasted. I’m a lard-ass again. I’m seriously disappointed in myself.
But on that same day I managed to make myself proud. After a few minutes of self-flagellation and berating the scale for being such a know-it-all, I got off my butt and cleaned out my kitchen. All the junk food went in the rubbish bin. Then I went to the grocery store and stocked up on real food. I dusted off my old food journal and began recording what and when I ate. I concentrated on the positives—drink plenty of water, eat five fruit and vegetables each day and make sure I’m actually hungry before I put food in my mouth.
I weighed myself again this week and I was down three pounds. Well done, me!
But still no running.
The re-accumulated weight has made running an arduous chore rather than the joy it used to be. Running with the extra weight takes A LOT more effort and I feel it dragging me down every single step of the way. I haven’t run with a watch in ages, so I’m not bothered by my time. I was slow before so it doesn’t matter. What bothers me is that running isn’t comfortable anymore. I feel like Jabba the Hut with my fat rolls flapping as I huff and puff, red-faced, down the road.
The half marathon is in just over nine weeks. I have three options.
- Option #1: I can take a loss on the £45 ($73) registration fee and not run the race.
- Option #2: I can stop being such a self-conscious ninny, get back on my training plan of three measly runs a week and run that damn half marathon.
- Option #3: Vodka and Chaka Khan.