A few weeks ago I made a scene about people who run to work. It is thus with more than a little sheepishness that I inform you that I have just been on my first run of the season. You’ll know if you see me doing one of these early runs, because there is remarkably little ‘running’ involved, compensated instead with walking, limping, grunting and crying.
Still, not unlike getting a haircut, it has to be done.
Sadly but truly, running is the only thing that has even a hope of combatting the sheer amount of crap I eat (yoga just doesn’t seem to cut it). Plus if I get into the right rhythm my ponytail swings side to side in time to my feet hitting the floor. You just can’t get that in a pump class.
So off I went: trainers laced up, TeachFirst t-shirt donned (seems as good a time as any to do a spot of marketing), spirits as high as can reasonably be expected. As I don’t have a Fitbit (yet, ahem, gracious readers), I measure the length of my run by the number of songs I can work through on my iPod.
Song one is the Kings of Leon ‘The Bucket’ and I’m cruising down the main road wondering why I ever gave up this running lark. By song two (bit o’ Mika) I can feel a stitch coming on. At song three I suddenly notice the wind is against me – has that been there all along? Try to bear in mind that on way back it will be in my favour. Something to look forward to.
Song four is the halfway point (hey nobody said it was going to be a marathon) and I cling onto the Windsor and Eton bridge admiring the view through bleary eyes. Decide now might be a good time to stretch. Do a few token toe touches and try to look like I know what I’m doing.
Song five – will I even make it back? Breathing is worryingly heavy and am feeling slightly sick – must be all that peanut butter I ate for a pre-run protein hit. No sign of favourable wind hoped for earlier. Song six is a
power walk. Legs have completely failed me and will no longer bend – am walking like the woman in her cardboard jeans in the Lenor ads.
Song seven – what I had planned to be a triumphant sprint finish back onto my road has become a rather languishing diminuendo as I shuffle over the finish line. Line up song eight for when I’m safely back indoors: a tear-jerking ballad.
Considering how badly that first run could have gone (falling in the river, blisters, sudden heart attack), I think it’s safe to say it wasn’t a total wash out. Decide to hold off on running to work for the time being – I’d need considerably more songs.