I ran today. About 2 miles in 20.48. Okay not outstanding, but for a beginner (because that’s where I have mentally placed myself), I’m pleased. Especially considering I live at the top of the run down the hill into the village. And the run doesn’t end until I am home again. (“It’s a long way to the top, love,” said the man in his driveway as I started up the last push. You’re telling me.) I am pleased.
I am also really, really tight in the lower back. And hello hips! I can’t even remember my stretching routine, but I did my best. I am so ready to get back on top of this!
And now I am blogging. See what putting things onto Google calendar does to me? It’s amazing. It’s on there, so I do it. I’ve put blog on the 9am spot for every Friday from here until there. I figure once I week, I should have something to say. But really, I’m writing for me at the moment, to try to get back into the habit, and possibly for my mom and anyone else who would like to stop by, but I am not expecting much!
What I really need is a race to train for. That will really help motivate me to run and blog. I still intend to aim for a sub 2:00 half marathon. It’s a goal I had before I got pregnant. It felt pretty attainable then (my personal best is 2:00.27), so I am trying to convince myself it could still be achievable now. The problem is, we are in limbo. In limbo in nearly every important aspect of our life, thanks to not knowing what will happen to Crunchy husband’s job and when. What I need to do is find a nice, inexpensive race (probably a 10k to build me up) to train for so that if the time comes to move somewhere else in England or to California or to Sweden, I will have not invested too much money into registration. So that is my next task. I will report back next Friday.
Stop. Sweden? The conversation went something like this:
Crunchy husband, through a mouthful of chicken and artichoke pie: “We could move to Gothenburg.”
Me: “Where’s that?”
Crunchy husband, still chewing: “Sweden.”
Me: “Swindon, I’m not moving to Swindon.” (In my split second judgment, I misheard my husband and confused Swindon with Slough. Sorry folks, I shouldn’t knock it unless I’ve tried it. I like living in Thanet, after all.)
Me: “Oh, oh, Sweden. Yeah, ok. Well, actually I don’t know. I don’t think I could handle the winters there.”
Crunchy husband: “Good paternity rights if we have baby number 2. But, hmmm, Swindon would be close to Womad…”
As you can see, we have no idea where we’ll end up yet. But mom, I can guarantee you we will not base any decisions on a once a year weekend music festival. (Though, in a instance of role reversal in our house, Crunchy husband has been pushing for Womad this year. I am starting to research ear defenders for the noodle just in case it pans out.)