I walked to work this morning. The last time I walked to work, I ended up hitting 15.7 (funny how some numbers stick in your head). Wary of this, I chose not to take any action before I left the house - I had my breakfast and headed out, bag stuffed full of hypo supplies (seriously, I couldn't zip it up).
What I didn't clock was the huge difference between last week's walk in and this one. I had breakfast this time. Last time I had planned to walk and then reward myself with breakfast when I got to the office.
Which meant I had approx 8 yummy units of insulin running around my system, plus 2 crumpets in my stomach.
Which, if you need telling by now, is a recipe for disaster.
I had walked for about a mile when I started to feel a bit funny. It was boiling hot, so I thought I was just a bit hot. I also had a ridiculous motto in my head: after last night's shenanigans, I was thinking 'I will not give in to diabetes, I will not be defeated by this'. Only it got to the point when I was almost crying whilst walking and I realised that I needed to give in and test. The second I stopped to grab my kit out my bag I knew I was low. I couldn't coordinate myself - I was all hands and couldn't move things out the way. I ended up kneeling on the pavement, pouring out the contents of my handbag trying to get hold of my testing kit.
I made the last 3 miles just fine and in good time. I was 11.3 when I got into the office which I'll take over 2.2.
Tomorrow's tactic: massively underbolus for breakfast. And stick 2 fingers up to d.