As you know, I'm always looking for excuses to get out of running. Last week I almost didn't go just because I lost my water bottle. But now I can't go tomorrow OR Friday - because of work things - and I'm feeling quite panicky. I mean, with four runs I week I can barely lose weight, so what will happen with only two? It doesn't bear thinking about. I've gone over it and over it in my mind and I just can't fit it in - our 'gym' doesn't open until just after 6am so it's not even an option of getting up obscenely early. Arghhh.
The weight is going down but so slowly as to be imperceptible to the naked eye. The drugs definitely aren't working in that I'm still hungry but do seem to be causing me sleepless nights - and nightmares when I do drop off. So at least I don't have to feel conflicted about whether or not I continue to take them, given that they appeared to raise my blood pressure last time I gave them a go. I'm still half a stone off the weight where I'll feel more relaxed about losing at a slower rate (not slower than now though or I'd be in reverse!) - and relaxed is not currently a word I'd choose to describe how I feel about my weight.
Events are conspiring to push me further towards cycling though. Not only is there the exercise thing and that my season ticket runs out at the end of the month, but yesterday I got a seat on the tube going home only for the man sitting next to me to decide to only read the left hand page of his freebie newspaper but insist on holding it fully open - across me and leaning it on my fawn coat. Which I don't want to have to dry clean newsprint off even if I were happy about him and his grotty rag invading my personal space. Today I was crammed on so tight that I didn't even have room to open my paperback. The joys of commuting. Surely playing chicken with a Star reader in a juggernaut can't be as bad? Gulp.