Motivation for Fatcats and possibly for Fatcat chumlies.
You know how normally I'd put up a detailed daily report as to my hard work and exercise commitment and I can then sit back a read it content in the knowledge that no matter what ever else was falling down about my ears, at least I knew I'd been pulling my weight in the 'I'm training for a marathon' process.
But the last few weeks have been so unrelenting hectic and filled with bunged noses and blocked ears and quirky fevers that left me weak, shivering, sensitive to light and dribbling with snot, that somehow, the training to do a bloody marathon that is really only 6 weeks away(!!!!) has trickled to nought.
From a training high of an almost 30k run a few weeks ago, this week's LONGEST run was 10k, and there was only one of them. That's right, one sodding 10 kilometre run. A 10k run that left me feeling tired and a little breathless. And down in the dumps. Blue, even. Deflated. I was the meringue that you shouldn't have checked.
Then I went traveling and working and talking to folk and had to have meeting, and I hate meetings. I kept saying, 'Just put your bloody runners on and get out there.' But the flesh was weaker than a soggy kitchen towel and so, filled with self loathing and inexplicable exhaustion, I found one reason after another to NOT do what I KNOW I should if I have any hope of running this year's marathon in the style I had originally hoped.
I have no excuses, yes I've been sick, yes I've been disgustingly busy, but don't I ALWAYS pontificate that folk should find time to train, to look after themselves? Don't I?
I do, but I've had to stable my high horse this week and use the shetland pony of self assessment.
Bah. The week was grimly dribbling to a halt when somehow yesterday I found the fortitude to alight from my ladder, put down my paint brush, shake out my aching limbs and drag my husk off to kickboxing.
And lo! Though I sense a new Memnoch in the making, I came out of class almost rejuvenated. I felt keen, mean, lean, and er...full of bean..s. There was pep in my step, groove in my moves, my head was held higher, I had twiddled my gazebo and unfurled the banner of health.
'Huzzah' I cried as I traipsed across the car park. Then I waved and said hello to a chap in such a demented cheery manner he looked afraid.
'Huzzah.'I thought, you SHOULD look afraid. I have six weeks. I can pull it off. I know I can.
Back to the field with you Shetland. Hakuna Matata!