You know that saying ‘she could get lost in her own back yard’? Well that’s me. True story.
I have the most incredulous ability to get lost in a place I have lived all my life. It’s an amazing skill. Not necessarily a useful one but a skill none the less. Run a favourite route backwards and I’m screwed. Cut the trees down from one of my favourite tracks and that’s it, to me I have never been there before. If they close a road I usually take on my way to work you’re guaranteed I’m phoning in sick that day, unable to make it there.
It’s going to go one of two ways. I start off and almost instantly take the wrong turn. I spot a runner in the distance so chase them down before realising they aren’t in fact a road runner and now I’m completely off course so I hide under a bush trying to decide what to do until I see a clown further down the road just staring at me so I take off in the wrong direction again and somehow make it back to the start but the start is the finish so everyone thinks I am just finishing until someone checks my Strava and then everyone thinks I cheated and I can’t handle people thinking I cheated so I stop going to the roadrunners and because I’m not going to the roadrunners I stop running completely and I end up back on the couch never leaving the house.
Welcome to how my mind works – even my therapist is impressed with it.
Or, I put my big girl pants on (as well as my hat and gloves – it’s cold), and I manage to run the 9.4 mile route round the place I have lived for 34years and 11 months and go home happy with the no doubt hilarious secret santa gift.
It will be a good night. The races the roadrunners put on are always good. Everyone’s friendly and it’s a bit of fun. It’s a challenge I’m looking forward to.
But my god I’m convinced I’m getting lost.
Im going to be that person running with google maps on to tell me where to go.
‘At the next roundabout, take the second exit’.
Big girl pants Ella, big girl pants.