Focus, ready, start the clock and skip, jump, go … 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 21 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60!
It doesn’t seem long does it. That is what echoes and repeats around my head as I keep a fast walking pace preparing myself and my wobbly squishy muscles for the next repetition onslaught.
Deep breath and push through. Get to 50, muscles scream at me to halt.
You today join a truly frustrated Short and Dumpy one.
Everything bounces joyfully and eagerly, almost performing a Mexican wave of wobbles at my every stride. Why oh why then is there no spring in my step.
My motivation is holding strong like a little fortress under siege of self doubt. Self doubt seems to have upped its arsenal of weapons in a surprise attack.
Grrr grr grrr hehehe. Today is hard. The frustration comes not from a psychical barrier, but from within. If I look at it, I can feel that my body can go on, do more, but my mind seems to be holding on tight to the reigns. Last nights ‘Heel to the glute!’, my ignoring of the little cries of pain and resistance in my thighs has today resulted in a revolution, the rebellious muscles are having a tantrum with every stride as I run today. However it is my mind that is stopping at the soreness. At some points I ran through it, I completed my 30 minutes, endured the struggle of recapturing the wild bosoms as they vaulted for freedom. Because 'D' sized breasts can bounce an average of 6-8 inches when running! Ouch!
They decide to spend about as much time going up as moving forward. especially the jolting, downward movement. A pair of D-cup breasts weighs between 15 and 23 pounds! Weight lifting as I run heheh.
I even remembered to breathe for at least half of the time.
Today in my infinite wisdom I chose to do intervals of hill and incline running. Choosing a path that required my pounding feet to negotiate corners and different textures. Concrete, grass, woodland path. Without breaking stride. Little short dumpy arms powering and pumping away to urge my feet to carry me that 10 more seconds.
Limping back my mind chose the time to strike. ‘’What is the point of this?’ ‘You do realise you will never be a runner?’ ‘Look at you! Wearing three bras to stop them bouncing.. You can’t stop the rest of the wobbly lumpy bits bouncing though can you. What a sight you are!’. ‘Will take years to change!’.
Then it happened, as my foot took one more step forward, the tired burning calf muscle contracting. The ache, felt good.. .. Felt good as it reminded me it hurts for a reason, it has been used, it is rebuilding, repairing and reawakening.
How good does this feel. Yes this is going to take time, but most importantly MY TRAINERS ARE NO LONGER WHITE. I have proper runners trainers. Ingrained with dirt and mud. Stones trapped in the soles. Creases in the toes.
So today shall be called ‘The Friday of the Wobble’ (physically that’s obvious, as well as mentally)
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