The trouble with Janathon is that it starts in January, splat in the middle of Christmas. Yep, there are Twelve Day of Christmas after all, meaning we`re only Half Way There.
I realise, in some of your countries, Christmas is a dim distant memory, and that`s only if it ever existed in the first place. But here in Ireland, we`re still celebrating. Or, at least, half way back to work, and half way in holiday mode.
And, here at the Chook House, we`re in fully committed to holiday mode. There`s a little Christmas cake left, one and a third boxed sets of Downton Abbey to watch, and three quarters of a bottle of Chateauneuf-de-Pape to quaff. (And I`m damned if I`m keeping that for vinegar.)
But, Janathon, as those in the know will tell you, involves pain and sacrifice. For every day of January. Participants are meant to jog and blog. Or do another exercise of their choice, and blog. Every day. Yeah, even New Year`s Day.And even, right through the second half of Christmas.
I woke with a groan and a hangover this morning, looked out at the band of rain marching across the rain sodden lawn. No work for me today. Nor tomorrow, or Friday. So I crawled back to bed with Downton Abbey. Can life get more exciting than that? Hmmm,hopefully…
Anyway, I chickened out of a morning run.
Evening run was dodgy too. After all there was more Downton Abbey to watch. (I swear, in the space of two days, I`ve morphed into a Downton bore. Can you believe that? No, please don`t save your answer for comments…)
By nightfall, I was pretty safe though.
I`d actually stopped watching Downton long enough to go downstairs to prepare dinner for the Teens. The Teens are quite aristocratic in their ways, being used to being waited on hand and foot. I morphed into Mrs Patmore, grateful, in the absence of a scullery maid, for the modern day comforts of the freezer, microwave and electric oven and swiftly produced the goods.
Dinner done and dessert scoffed, I was sorely tempted to unwind beside the fire and watch…yes, sorry…more Downton Abbey.
Instead, I eased my Christmas chubbiness into straining lycra and Got Out There.
I`d fully expected to be met by hordes of New Year`s Resolutioners pounding the pavements. But all was quiet on the running front. So quiet, I was beginning to wonder if it wasn`t the first of January after all.
Or, more likely, that the entire nation was tuned into boxed sets of Downton Abbey…
The run itself? Hardly spectacular. In fact, if you think I might threaten you competitively in any running field anywhere this year, well, you`re laughing. Still, I logged four miles. Not a step more either. And it was all relatively pain free. Apart from the stitch I deserved for being such glutton at dinner time.
And so here I am. All showered, PJed, sitting by the fire(see above) quaffing the last of the Chateauneuf de Pape.
And I`m waiting for the Young Lords and Lady to disappear behind their laptop and tablet screens, so that I can watch Downton Abbey in peace.
Janathon One done. Only thirty more to go
And only one and a half Downton Abbey series to enjoy.