I made a big mistake today. I started to trust Laura.
She’d been so nice this week – telling me to breathe,
telling me how to put my foot down on the ground (heel first, which makes
sense; not the ball of your foot first, I understand why people would do that;
or the side of your foot. What? Who would ever think that running on the side
of your foot would be a good idea? People would think you were busting for the
loo) and other such niceties. I thought we were getting along. I thought we
might even be friends, and we could keep hanging out after the nine weeks are
over – I could sit and eat some fruit, she could play me knock-off versions of
famous bands and we could talk about breathing and how to blink (close your
eyelids using your muscles, not a forklift truck).
But then she did this run to me! You turn your back on
her for a second, and it turns out that she’s been taking stabbing classes.
It wasn’t as if it was a new podcast – it was exactly the
same mix of running and walking as I’d done twice before this week with little
to no difficulty. But by the time the third run came around this time, I was
absolutely exhausted. I don’t think it helped that at the end of that run she
told me that “You might be feeling tired.” You think?
And then the fifth run came around, and she attempted to
reassure me with “You’re nearly done now!” Which was immediately followed by “Buuuuut…
you’ve got another 90 second run now”.
Thanks, Laura. And before the sixth and final, the phrase “You’ve got just 90
seconds of running to go.” Just 90
seconds? That’s easy for you to say, Laura, you’re recording that in some cushy
studio made of pineapples and oxygen. I’ve got to actually do it!
It probably doesn’t help that I always feel a bit awkward
switching from walking to running and vice versa, as if somebody can only go
outside and do one or the other. If people see me slow down from a run, I think
that they think I’m lazy (accurate, mind you) and if people see me start to
run, I think that they reckon I’ve just committed a crime and don’t want to be
seen around any more. For some reason, before I start to run I find myself
visibly checking my watch, as if to say “Ah yes, time to start running again.
No murders or vandalism here”. This would probably be considerably less strange
if I were actually wearing a watch and didn’t just regularly check my wrist
instead.
The run felt fruitless, as was the end of the run since I
didn’t have any fruit in the house. I guess it’s going to be a case of two steps
forward, one step back (maybe this is the issue with my running style?) but the
step back does feel like a bit of a shame. In week 3 there’s a bit of running
for 3 minutes, and I have no idea how I’ll manage even that, let alone a 5k run
– the couch is sounding more appealing now!
On my way back home I stepped in a puddle, and spent the
final few minutes with cold feet. It seemed quite poetic.
Steven Not-Fit
(Long shot to keep the Sherlock theme going for the
entire week).
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