What’s that saying about the best laid plans?
I feel like all I’m doing lately is explaining away my failure to stick to my plan. This week was a doozy. Started off just fine. In fact it started off great. I had good, strong runs on Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday I woke up feeling awful. By noon that day, I was in the fetal position, under multiple blankets, shivering and aching. Even my teeth hurt.
For the first time in years, I was so ill, that I was home from work for two days in a row. My fever spiked as high as 103, before finally going down on Thursday afternoon. Needless to say there was no exercising.
Friday I went back to work and made it through the day before collapsing onto the couch that evening. Saturday was spent playing musical furniture with the kids’ rooms and napping after Anderson was up every hour on the hour the night before.
Then there was today. I was finally feeling about 80%. We spent the morning going to the grocery store and swimming. This afternoon once Josh returned home from his run, I was ready to hit the 11 miles on my schedule.
I was at mile 6.5 when I got a text from Josh saying Anderson, who had been sleeping for three hours (!), was up and refusing the nice fresh bottle I had left for him. Not just refusing but screaming his head off in the process. So I got to the seventh mile and headed home, planning on finishing up the final four after the kids were asleep in our basement.
Our treadmill, as it turns out, hates me. I was a quarter mile in, screeching halt. Blew the fuse, again. And again, and again. I finally conceded defeat and very grumpily stomped upstairs to the shower. There are few things that make me grumpier during training than my long runs being cut short unexpectedly.
Monday – 6 miles
Tuesday – 4 miles
Wednesday-Saturday – Blah
Sunday – 7 miles
Next week better be my week. It’s a good thing I still have two months before the race. I hope you all had a great week in training.