Weirdly, my mojo also appears to have returned, and, while I’m still worried about the state of the world, and the environment: I am not paralysed with gloom, my feet don’t feel like they’re numb and flying away from me so much, and I think I can actually cope.
Note to self. 8st 5lbs is low enough. And 8st 7lbs is frankly, fine. And more than that is possibly better still from the perspective of conceiving, so KEEP ON EATING AND DON’T BE SO DAMN STUPID AGAIN. Sheesh. I can feel this weight. But it’s OK. There is a reason for this weight (last checked, 8st 5lb….)
I’m now running to heart rate – I’m not aiming for speeds at present (the vicar may have achieved a 1:49:?? half marathon. I have other fish to fry). I’m aiming to stay in the moderate zone, and run about 15 miles a week in total. The idea being to put less strain on my system and, again, encourage the conceiving malarkey. Without going hatstand owing to lack of exercise.
Honestly. If they’re going to put me on pills for this, I’m going to give said pills the best chance they can have: because, IVF is, frankly, scary…
This evening, I’ve had a nice pootle round Boots and spent my Boots Points on a fancy schmancy reduced box of bath stuff from Champney’s, finally printed two letters for the IFA (a 5 minute job which has been put off for about 4 weeks), printed off a couple of knitting patterns, addressed envelopes which have been languishing round the sitting room for days, tidied various items, got stuff out ready for tomorrow’s race, finished the crocheted bunny rabbit, drained off the stock from the turkey carcass (and put said carcass in the bin ready for the bin men tomorrow) and I’m about to upload a couple of news stories for the county website before I sign off.
This is more like being me. I much prefer it. It may be a bit erratic, but this is good erratic.