I woke this morning feeling bloated and unfit again. My recent runs have done me good, but I ate badly yesterday. Up till 4pm everything had been fine. A couple of slices of toast for breakfast, a coffee at lunchtime, confident that I could survive the afternoon until something suitably healthy in the evening to set me up for today’s long run.
But then, just as the second half of the match was about to kick off, a young girl walked past eating some chips and some switch was tripped in my brain. I knew I had to eat. I ran to get a cheese and onion pasty and a hot dog. Oh dear.
Then on the way home, M fed me a series of tasty, but probably high-fat, middle-eastern snacks from Selfridges. Then, when I got home I treated myself to some Singapore noodles from the local Chinese. The latter was an honest attempt to carbo-load, but the food was fried and full of meat, and I knew I’d made a mistake.
Today when I awoke, I could feel these nutritional errors lying heavily in my stomach. I just wasn’t in the mood at all. Despite that I managed to do my 18 miles, though my legs seized up after around 13, and I walked most of the final 4 or 5. When I got home at 4:30, I showered and sloped off to the pub for half an hour to cheer myself up.
It feels bad. I now have 4 weeks left to work some kind of miracle. Will I do it? Of course I will!
