Training and motivation

Tonsillectomies are not fun

I thought I’d start this brand-spanking new blog of mine with an obvious-ity: tonsillectomies are not fun.

They are pretty horrible in fact, and I’ll tell you something for nothing, it’s not all jelly and ice cream neither. There was an absolute jelly void. When I was coming round I was offered toast about six times.

Ironically, for a blogger calling myself The Messy Runner, it’s meant I’ve actually not been able to run for over two weeks. Instead I’ve been knocked out with painkillers for a fortnight while my body goes, ‘hey, hey, what-the.. what-the-hey just happened?’, and I whimper for an hour at a time while trying to eat carrots.

So how have I spent those two weeks? I’ve slept a lot. And, unable to beat out my running frustrations on the tarmac, or in a sticky mud-clogged field, I have become an obsessive back-seat runner. This has manifest itself in me staring at new running shoes on Amazon and SportShoes.Com wondering which will give me the best support, lightness and fashion points for my meagre monies. I have been spotted urgently and enthusiastically trying to tell my anesthetists all about an amazing Runner’s World mouthwash tip before passing out. I’ve started reading Born to Run by Christopher McDougall, a bare-foot running classic recommended to me by an amazing ultrarunner, and then wondering if I should be bothering with shoes at all.

Then yesterday I signed up for the Great West Run – for nearly £40! Flouting my better judgment but excitement winning over yet again.

So why have I started a running blog with a tale about not being able to run? Because I want you to know from the start that this blog isn’t just about running. It’s about scattyness and hopefulness, and yes, [my] messiness; the electric mornings when I can dart out of bed at 5am, and those days when I really struggle. It’s about my running, how running helps with all of that, how I’m trying to be better.

And it’s also about my continued pursuit of the Holy Grail: the one where I can stop myself eating 30 fingers of shortbread in one sitting. Or entire bags of oat and raisin cookies. Or a giant Toblerone. Because the wisdom tells us that these will not make us run farther or faster, dammit, and I want to see where my post-tonsillectomy running will go.

But then, I am a mere 5″2 humanoid, and not a clean-eating goddess…

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