I’ve had a case of the mean reds for the past few days. I don’t know why. It’s just like a switch was flipped, and suddenly I’m feeling depressed and bored and nervous. I have the urge to eat and eat and eat. (Before you say it’s probably hormonal, my Depo shots generally take care of that.) Could it be because the past few weeks have been so easy and I don’t think I’ve earned it? Is it because I’m actually afraid of getting to goal? Both are possible. I’m also dreading tomorrow’s inaugural workout with the Dove. For some reason I feel really embarrassed about him knowing how unfit I am. I know, I know – this goes against my whole “why hide the obvious?” dieting ethos, but I can’t help it. Sure, losing (nearly) twenty kilos is an accomplishment, but what if he expects me to be able to run faster and do more push-ups than I can? I’m afraid.
I did turn some of this anxiety into a positive, though. I headed out tonight with a vague goal of getting to Centennial Park and actually running the jogging track inside. (Usually I turn around because it takes me thirty minutes just to get there.) I was pretty tired when I finally arrived. The day was hot and my sports bra was too tight, so I had a stitch threatening the whole time. “Self,” I said, “if you can actually make it around the track without walking, I don’t care if you walk all the way home.” So I did it. I paused halfway around to have a sip from a drinking fountain, but it was no more than ten seconds so I’m counting that as a win. I timed myself at 26 minutes and I found someone who measured the loop to 3.7km. With a little mathematical extrapolation, that equates to a 5K time of 35 minutes… which just happens to be my time from the last 5K race I ran. I think that’s good. I mean, I’d already been puffing up and down across Surry Hills for thirty minutes just to get there, so if I’d been starting fresh I think I would’ve taken a good amount of time off it. As promised to myself, I walked most of the way home. It felt pretty good.