A friend at work reminded me today that I have a running blog. Oh yes I thought! I remember that.
So janathon..another commitment broken eh? And as I drove home, alternately wincing and twitching ( I am a bad driver, you have seen the evidence) about various issues, I realised that like M. Hollande I need to come clean, admit my dalliance with slobdom, and reaffirm my vows to my love.
So I admit I rested, got flumpy and nose-dived in my motivation and my exersteem (my new term for that fleeting type of self-esteem that you have when you exercise regularly: you are an ATHLETE, which turns sad when you stop for 2 days: you are a SLOB & DESERVE TO CHOKE ON YOUR OWN DOUBLE CHIN) plummeted to zero and I hid away in the office, consoling myself with the assumed importance of work.
But I need to be an adult and take a leaf out of Andrew’s unnavigable blog and just get back on the horse (it is well worth reading as he is funny, just difficult to find the post I want) and ttfu as triafferletes say. So I shall, tomorrow
Tomorrow will be the day that I (as I hope Monsieur Hollande has already done) will go cap in hand to running and apologise, tell it I love it, have always loved it and cannot stand the sight of that slut Slobdom. It just tempted me when I was tired and down, and you know the softness of the sofa, the lure of the duvet.. STOP STOP I will stay true! Forgive me mon amour…je regrette tout x