You’re doing better than you think, trust me.

I’ve made no secret on this blog of just how terrible I am at running. But as treats turn less treaty, more lifestyley, I thought I’d better kick my bum into gear and shove my trainers on.

After a boozy holiday and nearly sacking the whole thing off to go in the chippy as I ran past, I wouldn’t’ve described the experience as ‘successful’. In fact, as a ‘proper’ club swept past me in their matching tshirts, I felt disheartened and wondered why I ever thought I’d be able to do this.

But then I thought, ‘that’s the point, Soph, look at what you are doing’.

I wrote a post a while ago about beating yourself up over what you haven’t achieved, and letting that cloud and darken all the great stuff you’ve done already (and you can read that here). Well, that applies to this situation, and here’s how.

 

cut yourself some slack

 

If you’d told me two years ago that I’d be able to run even 5km, I would’ve laughed in your face. I used to have this dream where I’d put my trainers on and glide across the pavement (I know, my unconscious mind is riveting). So, one day, I just did. But I did it at about 10 o’clock at night, when less people would be driving around to see me (to which my dad gave me the nickname ‘the midnight jogger’, cheers Steve).

Things progressed, I got a bit braver and started heading out in daylight hours (like a normal person). But I still kept to the back streets of my old estate, because I was embarrassed that people would take the piss out of me for going so slowly/being bright red in the face.

After all that, fast forward to today. Yeah, I may have been pissed off that I’d put a couple of minutes onto my usual time and that I’d taken a shorter route (hey, I was starving, girl’s gotta eat). I might’ve been huffing and puffing so much that other pedestrians had their phones poised to ring 999 for me. But I was doing it. I’d put on my kit after a long day (and believe me, this course is full of looooong days) and gone out for half an hour on the main roads, where people could actually see me (shock, horror).

I no longer care what I look like, because a) I know that exercise makes me feel a million times better about myself, and b) I’m doing a whole lot better than everyone driving past in their cushty little cars anyway (even if I was silently begging them to give me a lift home).

I’m not running marathons (yet..), but I’m doing my best and that’s something to be proud of. And it goes to show that even when you think things are going terribly, you’re probably doing a lot better than you think.

Now just to tackle the problem of the the high vis, mesh vest monstrosity my mum bought me for Christmas… please hurry up Summer/lighter nights.

 

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Blurred out the swearing, but here’s a pic of my vest for your amusement xo

Ta for reading,

Soph x

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