I hurt

I've had a rather productive weekend; since leaving the veterinary field (a week tomorrow) I decided to overhaul my life. I started that thursday with clearing the rubbish out of my life; I ended up with about eight bin liners of random paperwork, clothes I never wear, books I never read, magazines teaching me how to be a size 0 and general junk. The books, DVDs and CDs that were in decent knick I decided to ebay for rock climbing money, the rest were thrown in the relevant recycling bins at the local skip. I found it difficult to fathom how I ended up with so much clutter and reasoned it must have just come about out of boredom, why else would I read Heat or Grazia? All those magazines made me realise was that I wasn't as scrawny as Posh or Angelina or whoever the other flavour of the week was, my hair wasn't as gorgeous as Cheryl Cole's, and that I had a J-Lo booty. I didn't need to spend nearly £4 per magazine to realise this. I refuse to spend any more money of that trash, it just causes a confidence crisis and a pile up of rubbish that I won't clear out for another six months.

With everything cleared out, and ebay stocked up I decided to hit the gym just as the Birmingham v Wolves match kicked off. I haven't been to the gym in such a long time that I checked how busy it was through the window as I walked from the car park to the front door. I dislike the windows being positioned facing the main road, people stop and stare while on their journey through town. It didn't look too busy, a few people on the bikes and one on the treadmill. Sighing I reluctantly checked into the reception and made my way to the changing rooms, the floor drenched in chlorine filled water from the swimming pool. Really there should be separate changing areas for those swimming and those doing "dry" sports. I grabbed the nearest cubicle and quickly changed into my two sizes too big running clothes; I've never felt particularly comfortable in clothing that shows my actual size off when working out. I adjusted my uncomfortable sports bra, grabbed my disgusting vitamin C infused water and headed to the gym, automatically hitting the treadmill. More than anything, this was to see how much work I needed to do for the 10k run. I passed the warm up and started at what I thought was my old pace, it felt like I hadn't stopped running. Feet pounding the treadmill, headphones blaring Sky Sports news into my ears letting me know that Wolves had scored, this wasn't good news for my beloved team being so close to the drop zone themselves. I silently begged for Birmingham to score to equal up, and carried on running. I tried to blot out those around me, tried not to focus on anything on the tv attached to the treadmill because that just makes me a bit sickly, and tried to focus on the tree in the distance (the only advantage to the windows being there).

Thirty minutes in and I realised I couldn't feel my left leg, this was surely a bad thing. It was still evidently working though, and cardiac wise I was fine. It was an extremely surreal experience. I felt the first pang of cramp in my stomach and knew I couldn't go much further. I pushed for half a mile more, then a further half a mile. Reaching three miles I felt sick and faint, I'd pushed as much as I could in this session and decided to cool down. Giving my head chance to clear. I couldn't help but smile; three miles wasn't as bad as I was expecting, doubling that will mean I'll be ok for the run. I have three months to up todays run, a mile a month, shouldn't be a problem if my motivation will keep up. Motivation is where most of my issues lie. Once I'd done the cool down I added a few weights to my tally then headed home, sweating and exhausted. Getting home I braced myself for an extremely cold shower to wash away the start of cramps, then settled in to watch Birmingham win 2-1. A good day, a very good day. My beloved team stayed above relegation!