Twice this week, on Friday and again on Saturday, I planned to go for a run, ummed and ahhed, and then decided not to bother. I often umm and ahh, but I nearly always go in the end. So what was going on?
Stepping back, I guess it’s obvious. With my goal down, my legs still tired and my body still recovering from a huge amount of running, I’m just not feeling the need to exert myself right now. It was quite a relief on Saturday to decide at the last minute that instead of setting out for a run - I even had my running gear on and my Garmin locked in - I would just get back in my car and drive home and have some breakfast. And then go to the beach. Sweet joy.
I did get out on Sunday, slogging around 21km on a beautiful, sunny, summer’s morning, and I was glad afterwards that I’d gone, despite my legs still feeling like they’ve got a bit of that six-day concrete in them. But I don’t feel bad about the two days I skipped.
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