I did my usual running route this evening but was undecided when I started whether to do the usual 5k or push on for 7 - it was hot, I was knackered,
I felt alright coming round to my potential homeward-bound point, but knew that if I decided to try for 7km it would involve running back up a big hill and round half the park again, before the kilometre of Brixton streets I needed to negotiate to get home.
It was at precisely this point, that I came up with an internal dialogue and subsequent challenge in my mind which was either:
a) motivational genius
b) an intriguing philosophical conundrum
c) the ramblings of a dehydrated mentallist who really should learn to keep things to himself more rather than plastering them all over the internet
"Will I try for 7km?"
"My legs feel a bit heavy."
"Yeah, but I'm not feeling too shabby apart from that"
"It is awfully hot though, and I've done quite well all things considered. Plus it's a big hill."
"Yeah, but I can maybe try to get as far up the hill as possible and see what happens....."
"The question is: Do I want to succeed at failing, or fail at succeeding?" (tm)
Succeed at failing?
Or fail at succeeding?
And with that, my friends, I gave my self a metaphorical slap on the arse, flicked my hair out of my eyes in a rakish sort of way, and drove my tired limbs round the corner and back up the hill again, triumphant imaginary orchestral music resounding in my ears.
Couldn't completely block out the voice in my head screaming "whaaaatt did you just say, ya prick?!" Worked though. Who's the cock now, eh?
Like I said, £50 an hour.
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