I couldn’t feel as far away from myself as a runner as I do at the moment, but I know that feeling will pass if I just give it time and do what I can to help now.
Tonight the thought of doing anything other than gorging on fucking cheese and sitting on my ass does not appeal to me in the slightest.
It’s at times like this that I wonder how the fuck I ever managed to run a marathon when I can barely muster the energy to stand up now.
Fortunately I know how this will end. Or at least how it has ended in previous weeks. If I just say “fuck it” and eat freely then I’ll just be depressed and bloated again tomorrow.
It doesn’t have to be that way anymore.
I know what I did wrong last week so this week I’m gonna try something different. Instead of having just cheese I’ll be having cheese with Strawberries. That’s right. I’ll be eating some fucking fruit with some cheese on the side.
I will not be having my usual two fucking blocks of Gouda.
I have this insidious little voice in my head that promises me freedom in return for eating like a pig. But there is no freedom in gluttony. Giving into decadence isn’t something to be fucking proud of, no more than sticking a needle full of heroin into your blue veiner is something to list on your resumé.
I’ve long since learnt that the Cheese is not my friend. It makes me feel cheap like a low-rent-whore, so I go for more of it. I will not let it make rent boy of me anymore.
I will not be slinging my little ass all around town just for another slice of Stilton.
At least not on weekdays.
But I know why I feel down today at least. It’s Tuesday and it’s dark, wet and cold outside. We’re nearly at the middle of November and I’m as far away from another race as I’ve been in quite some time.
It might seem bleak at the moment, but tomorrow is another day.
The key to making progress is to improve on the little mistakes of the past, not on sinking into the mire and compensating for my lack of vision and/or self belief with fucking Cheddar. I’ve gotta work through it and stop being such a little girl.
Otherwise I’ll be running the Brighton Half Marathon in a pencil skirt with my hair in pigtails. All hail Mattina the Princess of Wensleydale.
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