I decided I would not drink for the month of January.

I know this sounds like a good thing, but it backfired spectacularly.

I made this decision in late November. I was, after the moment of decision, carrying the knowledge that, come January, I would be going on a one-month alcohol cure.

You don’t realise the restraint you exercise on a daily basis until it disappears, and that’s exactly what mine did when I knew I would be on a health kick for January. Like the binge before the diet, I started to indulge.

And it was good.

Unfortunately, I am now supposed to be in training for a half-marathon by 2nd March (56 days from today).

Well, no mountain’s worth climbing that ‘ent steep ‘n tall.

Yesterday the whole gym and running thing kicked off again, and I brought my gym kit to work today with the firm intention of exercising during my lunch hour, only when I got to the gym I realised I’d left certain particularly important items of clothing at home and would therefore not be able to partake of the lunchtime torture, what with my not having and exhibitionist streak, and not wanting to get thrown out of my gym.

To recover from the embarassing waste of a lunchtime break, I called L again and arranged to meet at 8 this evening for a run. Apparently she’s not been exercising much over the last month or so either. Part of me is looking forward to going for a run even though it’s cold and I’m unfit and it’ll be dark.

Inside I’m screaming.

While my organisational skills may bring to mind the Charge of the Light Brigade, you can’t fault my willingness to get my foot back in the stirrup… at least these last two days. Long may it last.