I am so. tired. There comes a point in every autumn term when I am completely at the end of my tether and desperately trying not to succumb to whatever germs are doing the rounds at work and-since D started in September-nursery. *Touch wood* I’m doing OK at the minute (having fought off a three week long cough and cold and other signs of being run down), with the exception of losing my voice.
I had a bit of an epiphany the other day. I was running Park Run for the first time in ages and I managed to get 2k done in 14 minutes. But then the route changed and it got to the hilly bit. I’d already felt tired and miserable and then, all of a sudden, I just felt my body and brain go “no.” I realised that, in that moment, I couldn’t do another 3k. And I walked away.
Now, this is generally frowned upon in running circles. Why didn’t I finish? Why am I not going back on Saturday? Am I not disappointed with myself? The answer is- no. Something in my body just realised it was very tired and, had I carried on, I probably wouldn’t have done myself any favours. I’m convinced that sometimes it’s best to listen to those voices.
I made a couple of decisions there and then- 1) I hated Park Run and will go back to my little ambles around where I live a few times a week and 2) I would make sure that, in the run up to Christmas, I would be kind to myself. I’m going to rest, have lots of early nights, get some nice stuff from Lush and read. Once I leave work on Friday, I’m not going to think about doing any work until after the festivities I’m going to have a proper break- or at least, as much as you can do when you have a three year old and it’s Christmas!