My dad used to be a pretty good golfer before an old rugby injury and an iffy back caused him to retire from the sport way too early. We always used to wait in anticipation as he came back from the local golf club’s weekly competitions to see what prize he’s won; and, trust me, most of the prizes were good. He used to drive (and still does) a tiny, red little 1984 Renault around town, and also to the golf course, and I remember him returning home from a golfing competition one day with that little red car literally packed to the roof with all kinds of groceries that he’s won. We couldn’t stop giggling.
|Me and the golf meister.|
Anyway, it was during those glory days of his golfing career that my dad frequently used to say that no-one is golf’s boss: One day you play like a champion, and the next day you play like a shoemaker (Dad's words). And yesterday on my (ridiculously horrendous) run, I realised that running is pretty much the same: You can be a runner for years and years and years – you’ll still have off days when your runs absolutely suck. Like mine did yesterday.
Will and I headed out with both kids in the double stroller after work. Miss K insisted on running alongside the stroller for the first 100 metres or so, and even while jogging next to her at our mama-daughter happy pace, my body loudly protested. I could just feel that it was going to hurt. And it did. After K got into the stroller, I lasted an entire 7 minutes and 20 seconds before I had to take a walk break. Oh, the frustration.
I ended up walking the entire way home, feeling, as you can imagine, extremely disappointed. My goal 10 km race is in less than two weeks’ time… Was it the heat? The time of day? The fact that Will’s been working crazy hours and I’ve been on K & J duty pretty much 24/7 for the last couple of months? I’m not sure. But one thing I do know: Nobody is running’s boss. There will always be off days. Fingers crossed that next Saturday is not one of them for me!