Basically I thought I needed to start doing some excersise again as I’ve gotten such a fatty. So I thought I’d give my old friend running a bell. And as it turns out I’ve still got it in me to pound a few pavements even with dragging that extra 2 stone behind me.
Don’t get me wrong I’m far from the fitness level I used to be and my body is no temple anymore, I’ve got flabby bits flowing in the wind and bulgy bits bubbling over, stretch marks up to my ears and and legs the size of a couple of whales slapping togeather like their trying to catch fish. Heck I don’t care anymore you all know me by now, you know there’s not much I don’t get embarrassed about.
So after weeks of trying to even get out the front door and do something about this fatty mess I call my body I finally managed to get back into running. Just between you me and gate post I’ve actually signed up to run the oxford half marathon 2020. It probabley won’t be going ahead now for obsivious reasons. But I entered and I got in. Let’s leave it at that for now because what’s about to come is brutal.
Laced up and off I trot on my first run in a long time. Fuck me am I really out of touch after 2 minutes my legs felt like they were on fire! And I don’t mean sexy on fire I mean fucking chop my legs off and kill me now on fire. Jesus Christ I swear child birth wasn’t even this painful. After getting all stressy with myself I decided to walk for a bit. Anyway to cut a long story short I couldn’t fucking do it so I got in a strop and went home. The end.
After a lot of huffing and puffing and getting angry that I’m to fat and can’t do it and everything else off I went again. Now I’ve got a really good app called MapMyRun for anyone who wants to know. It tracks my distance, my time and even shows a map of where I’ve been it’s pretty swish!
So off I went. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had BUT it was better then the day before. That’s a result right? I must be doing something right. So I manged a mile and I felt pretty bloody good.
A couple of days later I had planned a longer run. I wasn’t exactly sure how far I wanted to go so I just went and hoped for the best. First mile was a right sack of shit, I was so close to giving up and going home again. Then all of a sudden something came over me and I just ran and ran and ran and ran. I was going for it! Music blaring legs like jelly watch out Forrest there’s a new girl in town!
Mile 1 passed, mile 2 and I couldn’t believe I was still going. I was bright red hot sweaty hair like a homeless person on crack but bugger me I was doing it I was really running! If there was ever a time for my fanny to fall to pieces now would be the time! I managed to make it home just in time for the app to tell me I’d done 3 miles. 3 bloody miles! Even more importantly I made it home with my fanny in tact and my legs semi usable (if you don’t count going up the stairs) .HURRAH.
I’ve never been so proud of myself. Since that day I’ve done a number of runs some good some not so good. The trick is to never give up. Never be disappointed in what you can’t do because there’s always another day. So I’m taking this opportunity now to run every other day. And hopefully lose this extra weight I’ve been carrying since having a baby. If you don’t mind I will update you regularly on what’s happening. How I’m going if my time has improved and weather or not my fanny has fallen out.
In the meantime if you see a pink haired sweaty hobo running along the A40 please give me a cheer!!