Fraudulent running

I've run every day so far this year, and all the way back into early December, without a break. However, recently I've maintained this unbroken series at the expense of proper exercise. Rather than getting out and doing a proper, solid 10k, I'll manage a kilometre (or at most, when feeling ambitious) a mile, before returning to home, smelling perhaps more of defeat than exhaustion.

This is partly because I'm nursing a sore heel from Sunday's over exertion, partly because the poor quantity and quality of sleep I've suffered this week has left me sluggish, and because I've either been thinking too hard, or not enough, and lack the willpower and mental strength to push myself to run a proper distance.

And thus, instead, a kilometre here, a kilometre there, not really enough to persuade my body that it's still alive and not on the road to cheese-flavoured obsolescence, my cholesterol-enhanced cadaver sleepwalking from home to office and back again.

To make matters worse, there's just as much dirty running kit in the house as if I'd run a marathon every day; sweaty socks make no consideration for whether they were used to run a mile or twenty six miles. Although I did a Stakhanovite amount of laundry last weekend, I've lacked the mental ability to put it away, and now hunting for clean socks becomes a confused and frustrating occupation.

If somebody would come up with a ten day week, perhaps I'd have time to get all of this done. Until then, it's just these pretend, plastic runs to take the place of doing things properly. At least this is a recovery week - but that means next week will be even tougher...