“Running”

After a medical at which I learned that I was at least 20 pounds heavier than my already heavy estimation I have badgered the hubby into going “running” with me. To be fair to me, I had been badgering him to take me for  quite a while before the shock of my own mass kicked the badgering up a notch.

So I am now a “runner”. These fellas (“”) are included because I’m not great at it. And I feel like I’m pretending. Another thing that doesn’t help is that I used to laugh at people jogging along the street. They just look so unnatural and ungainly. Olympians probably look quite natural, but the rest of us, mere mortals, look a bit ridiculous. There’s no denying it. I see people run and I think “That is why we should only run if there is an emergency.” But I have to do something. Otherwise I’ll be the size of a house. Blooming buffalo wings and cheese. And no will power. Waaaaaaaah!

I’m not doing too badly, I think. The first evening the hubby took off like a jack rabbit (he’s in the military and fit) leaving me in a pool of sweat, breathing like someone who smokes 40 a day, in under a minute! Yes that is right, I could not run for a minute without collapsing (I say run, but you know I mean jog, right?) That first evening I could barely manage to run from one lamppost to another without lying down and having a bit of cake. The next day, having thought about it and drudged up some bit of fluff from one of those reality tv shows that I don’t watch, ahem, I set the timer on my watch for 3 minutes. So I ran for 3 and walked for 3. On and on until we had done a mile and a half (or so).

On Sunday, I got a bit ahead of myself and set the timer for 6 minutes. Things didn’t go so well. Running before I could walk and all that. So now I’m at run for 4 and walk for 2. The theory being that next week I’ll run for 5 and walk for 1, the week after 6 and 1, the week after, I don’t know, I haven’t gotten that far. But soon, I’ll be running … far.

The only fly in the ointment is that I’m off to Ireland tomorrow. Without my running partner and Mr Motivator himself, the hubby. I’m doubting my commitment already. People know me over there. They’ll laugh. Nobody runs unless something’s on fire. It’s cold. Hailstoning. I’ll be on holidays….

But I will do my best. I don’t want to be the mother at the school gates in one of those scooter things, too fat to walk. Jamie Oliver is over here now. There’s a food revolution. I must try harder.