I sit in a bland and uncomfortable airport lounge. Surrounded by free snacks, drinks and already well fingered, crumpled copies of the Daily Mail. I've travelled from Manchester on the early flight to spend the day with a bunch of Lawyers on the South coast. It has cost a small fortune, been entirely tedious, I'm absolutely cream crackered and am only resisting setting about the complimentary vodka resting idly in the optic by virtue of the fact that i can't summon the enthusiasm to stand up and walk over to the bar area.
It's now 1740 and after the hour long flight ahead, I still have an hour to drive before i get home, having not eaten since my seemingly healthy yet ineffectual M&S superfood salad was demolished at 1300. I should get home at around 8pm. This time will be critical. The initial two minutes after walking in through the door. I must be entirely focussed on the task in hand. No pleasantries with the better half, no being goaded into parenting of any kind, by any emergency, perceived or otherwise. By any arguments, squabbles or impending siblicide or spousal pressure, no matter what the degree of severity. Above all, I must resist alcohol and food until the tick is slotted squarely into the box, until the fat lady is singing. This is the first test of the new plan, the first tentative poke at my resolve. It would be so easy to sit here, in this atrocious atmospherical black hole of a place and gorge on the bounty before me, before slipping uncontrollably further into sloth, gluttony and excuses. I could always delay the plan and start tomorrow instead.......
The plan (which I was so publicly complacent about yesterday) states that tonight I need to run 3 miles gentle fartlek. Doesn't sound that tough does it? Please remember my affiliation to the multiple decision maker club, which will invariably begin to infiltrate my thoughts at almost the very instant I think about the logistical process I need to undertake to actually get outside running. If only there were a couple of extra hours included today to enable my motivation to be salvaged, or summoned from wherever it is hiding.
Excellent bloggo Futchster - hope you make it out for your fartlek. Now you have a 1/2 marathon schedule, you'll need a half marathon? or fell run to aim for like the good old days?
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