I'm a rather ambitious person in that I try to do my very best at everything I undertake - be it work, fitness, diabetes care, cooking, blogging or whatever.
That being said, I'm not exactly famous for doing more than I said I would do. I do what I say I'm going to do, and I try to do it well, but I don't overshoot the target.
I've written before about the mental block I seem to have when I'm running, for example. If I have to run 10k on a given day based on my training schedule, I can run 10k. But the thought of running 12k is enough to make me stop at 8k. If I'm supposed to run 10k, I'm running 10k, period.
I love running but really. Enough is enough.
Which makes my behaviour on Sunday morning more than a little bizarre.
See, on Saturday morning, it was bloody awful out. The temperature was only -8 but the wind was howling, the snow was blowing and the Weather Network said it felt like -20 or something ridiculous.
I couldn't take the idea of running into a freezing cold headwind so I headed downstairs (again!) for a trainer workout.
On Sunday morning I woke up to see the trees standing stock still outside my window. And the sun was shining (kind of) which is more than it has done in weeks and weeks.
Doug checked the weather and it was -17C but hardly any wind.
I immediately thought "that's freezing! Maybe I'll just do some yoga stretches and take the day off".
Before I could voice that, Doug said "are you running?".
So I stubbornly said "yes" because I didn't want to wimp out or babble about one excuse or another. Doug had run the day before (on a treadmill) so I figured he'd be hopping on the bike. I didn't want to do nothing if he was doing something. So I said yes.
I got dressed which took about 15 minutes because of all the layers. We're talking three long-sleeved shirts, two pairs of pants, two hats, gloves and mitts, socks, shoes and YakTraks.
During the getting dressed period, I convinced myself that it was perfectly reasonable to make this my easy week and run 10k instead of the 16k I was supposed to. I would just switch with next weekend's easy run and no one would know or care.
I went down to the kitchen, checked my BG (8.0), ate one date which was enough to get me through 10k and got ready to go. As I did, Doug came down in...running clothes.
"What are you doing??" I demanded.
"Going for a run" he replied.
So now I'm torn. He's running 16k. I've just settled on 10k. Once I decide on a distance, I'm pretty committed. Plus I only ate one date and didn't drop my basal insulin.
Did I mention that I'm stubborn as all get out?
I sighed, ate another date, and told myself that I would run straight down a major road into the countryside. I could turn around at 5k, 6k, 7k or 8k...but I knew I'd turn around at 5k. Because who wants to run 16k when you're only planning on running 10k?
I headed out. It was freezing and I felt 15 pounds heavier because of all the clothes I had on. I was warm enough...but just barely. I ran 3k, and then 4k and was starting to feel pretty good. Surprisingly good actually. I hit 5k and only about 10% of me wanted to turn around which is 90% less than normal by the time I hit the turnaround point. So I ran 6k and still felt good. I told myself to run one more k and then turn. But at 7k I decided it was only 6 and a half minutes to do another one and then I'd be able to say that I ran 16k too. So I did.
I turned around and bounced back home. I passed Doug on his way out because he had left after I did. We stopped for a second, assured each other that we were fine and carried on.
The last few minutes of my run my energy started to fail and I walked into the house with a BG of 4.1.
Two dates, 11 pieces of clothing and a wee bit of a stubborn streak = 16k instead of 10.
Why the hell not?