My 5k journey : After three weeks off..

Compound_chocolate…and too much chocolate.

Getting back into running training was something I was dreading. I’ve not exercised for over three weeks now what with work, holidays and other commitments, so I was not looking forward to the day when I ran out of excuses. That day was yesterday.

In deference to my lack of exercise I opted for a ‘short’ run which under normal circumstances, I can complete. It totals at around 3.5km so a little over halfway towards the end goal.

I am pleased to report that actually, it wasn’t as bad as I feared although I didn’t run the whole distance. I did intervals as and when my body dictated – or rather my breathing dictated. When I could breathe, running was fine. When I couldn’t breathe, not so much.

Sura Nualpradid

Sura Nualpradid via freedigitalphotos.net

I have asthma and I have discovered that I can’t take in as much breath as I would like to when I am running, which I think is where the difficulty with breathing comes from. I have decided that I am going to do alternate days running and yoga in the hope that I can gradually improve my breathing and get to that all important goal.

So, all things considered, not too bad a return but I am not going to lie – this is really, really HARD!

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Stuck for inspiration? Try thinking about spaghetti hoops…

depositphotos_4767508-Spaghetti-Hoops-in-Tomato-SauceSpaghetti hoops.

Makes me think about a girl called Deirdre – or Dege as she preferred to be called.

We met at school when we were fifteen and became friends, purely because we were the two new girls.

Dege lived near the school, I did not so I cycled to her house every morning to change. Reminds me of the very first day when I forgot to do up my belt. I had a rather embarrassing length of tan leather belt dangling down my back and over the top of my new grey skirt.

homer-simpson-duh

At lunchtimes we would go to her house – in the days when you were allowed to do that – and she would always have spaghetti hoops on toast. I ate my sandwiches. It became a kind of ritual.

After a few months our paths divided although we still sat next to each other in form class – opposite a girl called Kirsten who is to this day responsible for my one and only (non-family) nickname.

Dege became a cool kid. I did not.

Dege joined the trendies. I joined the music crew.

I used to hang out in the music rooms – in the days when you were allowed to do that. Dege hung out wherever cool kids hung out. I still have no idea where that was.

Dege listened to Prince. I did not.

I listened to Rick Astley (well, he’s cool-ish now..). Dege did not.

One day the school went into lockdown following the escape of a prisoner from Broadmoor hospital which was only a few miles away. We could only leave when our parents arrived. At fifteen it was both scary and exciting.

After a while I walked to school and stopped leaving my bike in Dege’s garage. We rarely saw each other outside of form class.

Female legs jogging on a trail

That was over twenty-five years ago and I have no idea what Dege is doing now – nor do I really want to know. We were in each other’s lives for a time when we both needed to be – and then we moved on.

All of that from a tin of spaghetti hoops.

(For the record, I made spaghetti hoops on toast for lunch today. My eldest son didn’t want any as he had not long dragged himself out of bed for breakfast and my youngest flatly refused to eat it. The birds had a feast though.)

Ah, well. It was worth it for the memories.

Wonder if Dege still remembers spaghetti hoops at lunchtime….

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