It hasn't been easy. Mostly in the last eight weeks I've simply wanted to curl up in bed and read, and that's basically all I've done since Christmas. I've thought about running every single day. It's been a constant struggle between what I want to do, and what I think I should be doing.
I signed up for the Brighton half back in October when I was feeling blissfully optimistic. A lot has changed since then. I don't want to run the Brighton half this year, but I need to. If I don't do this, then I know I'll close myself off to other things this year. This year will be a year of yeses, of seizing opportunities and enjoying myself and my body. I don't want to regret anything. And I certainly don't want to spend all my days off in bed feeling sorry for myself.
Running last year taught me a lot about discipline. Getting up and going for it even when you didn't really want to, pushing on through that last half a kilometre even though my body and mind are exhausted. It's a fine balance between learning to love myself and be kind to myself (and in turn being totally soft on myself) and push myself to work harder or achieve something a bit more difficult. At the moment I struggle with the happy medium. But I'm getting there. One kilometre at a time.
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