None of those running people are me. They’re all going too fast.
Day four of not drinking. When I stop drinking two things happen immediately: I get not-drinking hangovers where I wake up and it feels like I have been drinking, and I get a break out all over my face. While these things are obviously good – the body getting rid of toxins or something? I don’t know, I’m not a doctor – it is discouraging.
I can remember when I first got pimples. I didn’t have them really badly but I had them. At the time I remember taking comfort in the fact that I would only have them for awhile. It’s thirty years now so awhile has stretched out a bit longer than I thought it would. The only times I’ve really been free of them has always coincided with my best health and weight from which I conclude that I would have had rocking skin if I had been a monk of some kind. Too much prayer though.
I levered myself out of bed and went for another two kilometre run this morning. I’ve decided I will do ten minutes of yoga one day and a two kilometre run the other. Probably the most shocking thing is how much the yoga hurts afterwards. Looked at from the outside I would be a man not doing much for ten minutes. I do a set of moves that involve stretching up, then bobbing down, then into a kind of push up, downward-facing dog, then up again. As a consequence of this gentle, slow movement over ten minutes, my shoulders and chest and arms hurt.
When I run around the park four times to achieve two kilometres this is roughly how my thought process runs:
- I made it to the park so that’s pretty good because I didn’t really want to do this but don’t congratulate yourself too much slacker because you haven’t done anything yet
- Better start running
- This isn’t too bad
- I wonder if those magpies will start to dive bomb me?
- This is quite unpleasant
- The grass is bloody dry
- If I stopped would anyone care?
- Shouldn’t a healthy(ish) man be able to run two kilometres without wishing he was dead?
- I don’t like the look of those magpies
- This is agony; is my breathing supposed to be like this? Should I breath in through the nose and out through the mouth? Or the other way?
- Every time I run past those pigeons they burst into the air in a wave of poop and warbling which is extremely off-putting
- I’ve done three laps now so there’s no point in stopping
- What’s the damn point of this?
- I hate being a man with a little pot tummy
- The magpies have gone
- Why is it ok for the council to water the soccer field for the Pheonix every single morning?
- Fucking pigeons
- Christ, I’m going to make it
- The whole of that bank of trees is full of rubbish
- God. What’s best about this? The smugness. Definitely the smugness.
The wind has gone and the few clouds above seem becalmed. Two sleeps until Christmas Rosamund assures me.