Last night saw the return of the burn. The rush of lactic acid filling my calves and quadriceps, the gasping for oxygen, the thrill of the run.
Running is masochistic by nature. The punishment for progression, the wreckage for the regeneration , the hunger for the burn!
It's a feeling that you dread, yet you crave its arrival. If it doesn't appear your not pushing hard enough. Easing off when you should be hammering the gas. So down the pedal goes, nearing the end, searching for the extra gear, striding out, in search of your peak. Then it engulfs you, like a tsunami battering a far away coastline. Endorphins fill your brain, the by product of your brutality.
You crave the burn. You crave it's improvement. You crave the pain that signals your progression. You crave the tightness in your legs, the heaving of your chest, and the ache from the acid. You crave it, cause without it there is nothing. No gains, no losses, a standstill.
The road's gonna make me burn, and I love it!
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
Why?
Lets step back about six weeks ...
My journey to realisation started with my bi-annual needlefest. A ten minute attempt to extract blood from my unobliging veins, whilst desperately clinging to the notion that I won't succumb to the Bryson anti lust for blood. The collapse which is ever so close due the feeling of blood that the overly eager for lunch nurse is rapidly trying to syphon from my tourniqeuted limb.
After a week of looking like a junkie who'd forgotten to how shoot up thanks to the bruising at the hands of the NHS, my results were back. Another year of coasting on by with out the need for application, mirroring siblings minus the need for their level of effort. Wasn't that what I'd always done?
In my mind a constant diet of alcohol, restaurant food and a seeming lack of desire for exercise had been off set by my fifteen hour days racing around busy restaurants. Oh how I was wrong!
The game was up. Not quite the death knell you might be expecting, rather a swift upper cut which had dispatched me to the canvas for a count of eight. For any normal human being a safe reading, nothing to be that concerned about. For any one whose family know all about valves, strokes, triple by passes and the anti coagulating properties of aspirin it was a sort sharp alarm clock which I'd been setting to snooze for the last few years!
So what now? A daily diet of prescription drugs from here to eternity? Or a trip to the gym and a radical overhaul of my post service lifestyle? I think you can guess which one the winner is!
Now after two months of stalled and failed attempts, the engine is finally running. 3 stripes are to be strapped on daily, diet must become a way of life, and 3.5 is the target!
My journey to realisation started with my bi-annual needlefest. A ten minute attempt to extract blood from my unobliging veins, whilst desperately clinging to the notion that I won't succumb to the Bryson anti lust for blood. The collapse which is ever so close due the feeling of blood that the overly eager for lunch nurse is rapidly trying to syphon from my tourniqeuted limb.
After a week of looking like a junkie who'd forgotten to how shoot up thanks to the bruising at the hands of the NHS, my results were back. Another year of coasting on by with out the need for application, mirroring siblings minus the need for their level of effort. Wasn't that what I'd always done?
In my mind a constant diet of alcohol, restaurant food and a seeming lack of desire for exercise had been off set by my fifteen hour days racing around busy restaurants. Oh how I was wrong!
The game was up. Not quite the death knell you might be expecting, rather a swift upper cut which had dispatched me to the canvas for a count of eight. For any normal human being a safe reading, nothing to be that concerned about. For any one whose family know all about valves, strokes, triple by passes and the anti coagulating properties of aspirin it was a sort sharp alarm clock which I'd been setting to snooze for the last few years!
So what now? A daily diet of prescription drugs from here to eternity? Or a trip to the gym and a radical overhaul of my post service lifestyle? I think you can guess which one the winner is!
Now after two months of stalled and failed attempts, the engine is finally running. 3 stripes are to be strapped on daily, diet must become a way of life, and 3.5 is the target!
Start of the road ...
So there it is, a trip to the doctors, one quick needle, that's what it took. Ten years of inactivity consigned to the waste bin. A once pristine piece of apppartus, has been left to decline and deteriorate no more!
The 3 stripes are back, the streets will be pounded and a healthier body is requested. All I need to do now is remember how to run!
The 3 stripes are back, the streets will be pounded and a healthier body is requested. All I need to do now is remember how to run!
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