Run Sweeney Run: Day 90

And so it begins. The Paris Half Marathon is in 90 days. Three months. 


I'd been running and working out pretty regularly until a couple of weeks ago, when I caught the dreaded Office Lurgy. Hearing about other people's illnesses is just as dull as looking at other people's holiday snaps, only grosser, so I'll save you the details. Basically, the Lurgy took me down. I spent two weeks comfort-eating and whining instead of eating my greens and at least keeping my strength training up.

Flickr image from soopahgrover's photostream

 

When I surfaced from my germy pity party on Thursday for a PT session, I'd clearly underestimated just how feeble I'd become. The lovely PT took it easy on me, but even so, I was awful. I had well and truly fallen off the fitness wagon. PT instructed me not to run until I'd lost the really attractive cough I'd been sharing with the world, which hampered my plans for a cheeky - and very slow - 5k on the weekend. 


So having spent most of the weekend pottering about at home, making and eating Thai food and thrifty soup for the week's lunch, I've finally shaken the cough. I was very excited - yes, that's lame, but I haven't done anything exciting in weeks - and planned a treadmill interval session for this morning. Packed bag, set out gym clothes, alarm set for 5.50am, early night. 


The god damn alarm didn't go off. I woke up at 6.26am, firing expletives at my phone and the stupid fancy alarm clock app I'd installed (it tells you the weather so you don't have to use your eyes to look out the window). 


In summary, Day 90 = FAIL. 


The training starts tomorrow. Day 89 will be better, I promise.