Just when I hoped the jogging hoodoo was smashed, yesterday’s 30-plus heat brought out the worst in me. After 4 kms, gazing up the hill to Yarra Boulevard, I turned around and then, even more ignominiously, after another kilometre, I stopped. I recorded 5 kms and walked home.
Last year such a lapse would have torn me apart and I’d have plotted a catch-up run. This year I find I have a different perspective: the Writing Big Year is manifestly more important. A nagging chest muscle issue, now over a month old, tells me not to push matters. So . . . I decide to focus on the year-end numerical goals: cycle 5,000 kms, jog 1,000 kms, and attend gym 100 times. I’m behind in all three but have options and time. Plus I remain committed to exercising each and every day. So . . . yesterday’s paltry 5 kms is, after all, good enough.