This weekend we're off to Callander for the annual Garscube Harriers' training weekend. I say training in the loosest way possible. It's usually a bit of a messy affair. There's traditionally a lot of late boozing, a Singstar competition and very dodgy morning runs. Actually one year I was so ill, I pretended I had a stop to tie my lace...waited until everyone was out of view and went back to bed.
This year I'll need to be a little more sensible. Not only will be have Cairn on tow, but Coach Lesley will be there to keep us line. Plus, I've probably been drinking too much for a gal who's supposed to be exclusively breastfeeding. There seems to be more bottles being introduced. Bottles of wine for me. And bottles of formula milk for Cairn. Thankfully Cairn - like Sonic - doesn't mind where his food comes from. As long as it's frequent and in abundance. I swear he would suck milk off a dirty cloth. Cairn that is, not Sonic.
So I've had two girlie nights with my Sis and Sharon, which have ended less than graceful. And I was at the Scottish Press Awards at the Radisson last week: In a dress, with make-up, lady shoes and a very, very small bag. It felt a little strange going out with light luggage. Anyway like all awards ceremonies, there were a lot of audience quiet moments, which unfortunately meant too much of the complimentary wine was consumed. I did laugh when the invite said the bar would be open until 3am. I'm pretty well-known for my inability to function after 10pm. The only way I would see 3am is if I needed a pee of a pillow fluff-up. I did think 11.30 would be do-able though. But I texted Sonic at 10.30pm asking if he would come and pick me up as I was "tipsy and tired". In reality I descended the marble staircase like I'd just been shot. I probably only had the equivalent of 3/4 glasses of wine - which were diluted with soda - but I gibbered utter p*sh all the way home and suffered from the wrath of the grape on Friday. Every time I half-heatedly sign the pledge never to drink wine again, but it's just too good. Pity the love is unrequited.
Anyway. Running. Let's talk about running. This evening I went out with the club. Not without precise planning though. I meet Sonic at his office and picked up his gear, whilst he went on a six mile run up to Bearsden. I drove up to the club, feed Cairn and then handed the parental duties over to Sonic. Reminding him not to throw him in the air as he's only three months old. Sometimes is best not to know what they get up to. When I came back from my run on Tuesday, Sonic excitedly informed me: "Look! He's eating banana". Help me, Boab.
I'm digressing again. Tonight's run was an "out and back". The plan was to run out (along the f-king canal!!) for 25 minutes and then turn and run the same distance back in the same time. It's supposed to be about even pacing, but I felt pretty rubbish when I set out, so I did the return journey in 22:50. I was tempted to hide behind a tree and spare the wrath of Coach Lesley, but I was willing it to be over. I only averaged 8:30m/m as I felt my legs were so stiff and heavy. I might need to reintroduce speed work sooner than planned.
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