Like our common fears.
Apart from the valid ones about our family, Hubby and I both fear the
D.N.F. (Did Not Finish.)Each year, Hubby competes in the Avon Descent and other paddling/ surf events around the place.
If you do not complete the race due to injury, damage to your craft or just sheer lack of guts, beside your name and race number appears a DNF.
He has never acquired one of these in the years I have known him.
Standing on the side of a river or on a beach finish line, I can absolutely guarantee that if my man started the race he will cross that line.
If we owned a greater proportion of our home than the bank does, I would happily bet our house on it.
Unlike Hubby, I loathe the DNF in all areas of life, not just my sport.
I can't handle a mental DNF next to my name - even in terms of doing the dishes!
Mental being the operative word here.
I really didn't fancy having to take maternity leave halfway through a school term - a bit too similar to a DNF for my liking.
When it comes to running, I would (stupidly) rather drag my sorry self over the line and pay the physical price than suffer the personal humiliation of a DNF. I can feel my cheeks burning at the thought of it happening. In the lead up to the marathon, the notion plagued me.
On that morning, before I had crossed the start line, let alone the finish line I knew I was, without a doubt, completing a marathon that day.
Stubborn trumps pain. Every time.
|Must. Not. Stop.|
What's this? Yet another damn marathon reference?!
Not so much because I don't believe I'll finish it, but because I wouldn't finish it with pride.
A DNFWP, I guess!
I am running at the moment. I'm loving running at the moment.
But I'm not training.
Q :What sort of 'runner' doesn't run their own city's City To Surf when they're
perfectly capable of doing so?
A : A runner who's head is not there.
I'm not committed. Not focussed. Not particularly interested.
Right now, I'm running for pleasure.
After all the pressure and intensity of training for the marathon a couple of months ago, I'm hitting the road happily, listening to tunes, accidentally singing out loud and enjoying the feeling. No analysing my run, no setting goals, no overthinking - just running. I've been forgetting to start my lil Baby G. Because my time doesn't matter.
Bewteen our recent travels, getting back on top of work commitments, attending to a neglected homestead, manic birthday party season and pulling my little family back to the happy place we were in six months ago, I've got other priorities right now.
Yes, the sentence above bears a striking resemblance to a list of excuses.
I feel that I've had my quota of 'selfish' time for the year and have been
And that's ok.
I will feel a twinge of something on the morning of the City to Surf.
Buuut, I'll run my own run early and be back to take Magoo to a friend's birthday party.
Where I'll try to look ambivelent while trying to gently cajole and coerce him into having a ride on that damn pony they're having!