OK, I've made an effort these past couple of weeks. And here's why. There's this ridiculous thing going on at work, where collectively those who've signed up are getting fit for Christmas and loosing a few pounds. So every Friday we submit our stats for the week. Of course, it's not ridiculous. It's great...for them. It's ridiculous that I've bitten. Another game I've been suckered into. And the other reason it's ridiculous, or I'm ridiculous is because I've been diligently charging my Garmin and head torch each day.
I 'fear' I may run and not record/verify/contribute to my weekly stats. More ridiculous yet, on more than one occasion I've found myself running past the bottom of my road. My beautiful scenic energising soul awakening run up to Alderley Wizard appears to be 5.7 miles...so I run by to make it 6. The bypass run, 8.5, again another run-by to make it 9. The morning airport perimeter run 8.4... and so it goes! I don't like myself for this. It's not why I run. But my stats are impressive, and I sort of like that, but keep it to myself.
We're meant to submit exercise calories burned and weight lost. Other stats are welcomed. Thing is, I need to put a few pounds on, so my agenda is somewhat different. Eat as much as I can. And simply log and record what I do anyway. I've definitely skewed the results. I'm almost sniggering at what I'm eating when all the talk is of dieting and denial. It feels like a prison camp. Exercise is punishment and food is rationed. I'm lucky, they say. Maybe so, but then I've done the graft. Cold, wet and windy nights on the road...that's my reward earned.
