Running blind

I made a compromise with myself this morning. I didn't feel like running the 20-odd kilometres that seemed so appealing last night. In fact, I didn't feel like doing anything. The prospect of sitting on my butt all day staring at the wall seemed like the best idea in the world.

I didn't even want to leave my bed. It was cold, I had a headache, and my mouth was so dry that I was certain I had caught a cold. I wasn't exactly in a great mood, either. A few weeks ago I applied for a very exciting distance course in Sports Psychology; yesterday I found out that I was on the waiting list. Number 30. What are the chances of 30 applicants dropping out? Not that great. I was really disappointed. But really, what did I expect, applying for a course almost two months after the deadline?

I know for a fact that sitting on my butt all day staring at the wall doesn't make me feel better. So the deal I made with myself was that I'd put on my running clothes and I'd head outside for a shorter run. The goal was 10 km. Once I set my mind on it, it wasn't difficult to leave the flat. The sun had hardly shed any light on this part of the world. It still hasn't. A light drizzle accompanied me all the way, irritatingly fogging up my glasses and distorting my view into a kaleidoscope of greys. I ran blind.

After the first couple of rounds, my previously inexplicably tired legs woke up and started doing their thing. You know, moving willingly and propelling me forward. I pushed myself to run a little more, a little further. And when I reached 10 km, I set a new goal. I'd run 15 km. So I did. It felt great, and it felt even better once I got out of the rain, into the flat and into some warm clothes. Now I kind of wish I'd gone for the 20-odd kilometres.