My bloody toe

It's funny what your mind does to protect you - how it emphasises the good memories, and skirts over the bad.

Until last night, when I went or a five miler, I had completely forgotten about the sheer number of times I got home from a run and, upon removing my trainer and socks, discovered blood pouring from my toe.

It's not bad, not painful, but still, when I saw it, my memory suddenly swamped my brain with the memories of it happening last time. It was ike it went “oh, you mean these memories? Yeah, I've got loads of them!”

Until then it hadn't occurred to me at all, which is weird when you consider a large chunk of my blogging last time involved pictures of blood stained socks.

I'm putting it down to a sort of self defence mechanism in my brain, trying to make this whole thing seem easier than it actually is. That in itself is weird, as I'm more than aware how hard this will be.

So, once again, my brain and I are in conflict, which I find surprisingly reassuring. I'm a fan of arguing to get things better – the best way to improve is to challenge – so, I'm taking this as a sign that I'm going to be better prepared mentally this time around as I won't fall into a complacent mood.

Or, I've become schitzophrenic.