sebastienne

In September I moved to a flat overlooking a beautiful park. About a mile away, there's a stunning nature reserve along a ravine, where I went for many an exploratory walk when the weather was nicer and I had the time.

In September, I started a nine-week "couch-to-5k" programme, thinking that in no time (well, less time than a walk..) I could be exploring the nature reserve again.

In October, I sprained both my ankles. In November, I had an ear infection. In December and January (and honestly, still kind of now) I had a depressive flare-up and struggled hard with motivation. It's been cold and rainy and dark for months and months.

Every time that I didn't run for seven days or more, I rewound the programme by a week or two, to make sure that I was always training well within my capacity.

Today, for the first time, I reached the end of week 6 of the programme. I ran for 25 minutes non-stop, and I had finally travelled far enough from home by the half-way bell to take a few steps inside the nature reserve.

It's not even 3.5k, let alone 5k. I'm still feeling very accomplished because I'm persevering with something that does not come naturally to me, and that's a rare enough thing for me to bother with that I feel it's worth celebrating.