Jogging for Biscuits

Do you ever have the spare time you know you should use exercising but truly feel rotton about pulling on your togs and trying not to look pathetically breathless after you reach the end of the cul-de-sac?

This is why I am glad I have a blog. I can justify myself.

I am going to go out for a run after dark, I made good progress before Christmas but never built up the courage to go out again after the holiday season became dusty and started to unstick from the walls. Right, I am resolute. I just don’t like it when you are getting back into the swing of things and building up the stamina again.

The thing is, the town I live in is slapped in the centre of the county that has very recently been told that it has the worst county council in the UK. Now the town I live in is beautiful, parochial and preserved but there is arse all to do! Nothing for young people, nothing for the children or for the young professionals. The pubs and restaurants are decent but that is where the activities end. There is no pool, no gym, no squash courts and no classes for anybody under seventy or with a robust pelvic floor. In short, there are no public facilities that encourage wellbeing besides the dog-shit park.

I loath jogging, especially at the moment as my iPod has broken (awaiting repair by the iElves in the magical iFactory). It is so bloody BORING! I love to keep fit, at University I used to go to the gym with my friends and take exercise classes and practise yoga in my bedroom some nights. There was a pool, aeroball, squash courts, cardio room… What is there where I live besides the roads for pounding with smelly trainers?

Anyway, in this day and age, a girl needs to keep up the momentum and personal fitness is a big deal! I put it down as one of my interests on my CV so I pretty much walked into that one.

At school I was very sporty but then my school dedicated more time to physical education than the Hitler Youth so…

Anyway, I am keeping an eye on myself at the moment. I’m not daft, I know that worrying about weight is stupid but I do like to keep a casual eye on what I eat and how much physical activity I do a day (especially now as I sit on my backside all day drinking tea and eating biscuits… its bliss but eventually my arse will balloon). Well today, one of my colleagues, similar in character to that of Perpetua of Bridgit Jones’ Diary in that she is slightly senior with not enough to do, bought HobNobs (a delicious British biscuit). She offered the packet to me and I took two to have with my tea. Now, what I deem to be politeness in accepting somebody else’s biscuits has been interpereted as food-related paranoia.
“You only having two?”
“Yeah, two’s enough.”
“I’m having four! No wonder there’s nothing on you!”
But two is the socially acceptable amount of biscuits to eat in one sitting isn’t it? Am I mistaken? Nevertheless, I didn’t want more biscuits, and I don’t think that is a sign of me being silly about food.

However, those two extra biscuits with another sloshing of sweet tea whilst sitting on my arse made me feel a little overindulgent and now as I wait for my mother’s MP3 player to charge up so I can borrow it, I am already dreading the fifteen minutes of hellish joggery I am about to inflict on myself. The horrific ordeal generally follows this pattern;
-Set off at a competitive pace “Wow, I forgot I was GOOD at jogging”.
-Hit the street corner, “Shit! Is that a stitch or are my internal organs growing antlers?”
-Arrive at sheltered, pedestrian footpath and walk for two minutes because nobody can see me.
-Hit the road, cars and other jogger about so have to pick up the pace for the sake of looking good for the best part of a mile.
-Hit “Flash” by Queen on the MP3 player as a pick-me-up.
-“Fuck me this road is long.”
-Keep jogging.
-“I wonder if I collapsed, one of these cars would stop and help?”
-Keep jogging.
-Turn into housing estate, last leg, pick up the pace!
-“Gordon’s Alive!”
-Cul-de-sac.
-Stop and walk around the cul-de-sac while catching my breath like a real idiot.

Paula Radcliffe I am not.

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One Response

  1. Right, I am actually putting on my togs and trainers now, aren’t you proud of me? Ugh.

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