Desperate times friends, desperate times. Yesterday I bought some running shoes and went jogging. Today I can barely walk, and stairs are the invention of the devil. I have two thoughts on jogging.
1) It really really hurts
2) Running shoes cost a bomb, in hindsight it would be have been much cheaper to eat less food and drink less wine
It has been brewing for a while. The other day, a birding associate who shall remain nameless likened me to Jabba the Hutt. Jabba was my thin uncle. I've tried (in the weakest most pathetic possible sense of the word) eating less, but that only lasts for about five minutes, and maybe not even as long as that. I've not tried not drinking, but seriously, I mean come off it. Stop drinking? I can't. Couldn't. It is one of the great pleasures in life, and I have a wine lake to get through. I play no team sports, I don't go the gym. I do a lot of walking, including carrying heavy stuff, but that doesn't cut it. It does however mean that my shoulder and back are a twisted mass of knots. In fact yesterday I figured I might as well go running because it wasn't possible for my back to hurt any more than it already did. I failed to consider my legs though, which I can now barely lift.
I am very happy, chuffed to bits in fact, with many many aspects of my life. The one thing that I am really not happy with is my shape. Waist, gut, and the dreaded moobs. I have done so little for so long that when I say that I never run for birds, there's a genuine reason why that's the case. I can hardly run for a bus! I thought about cycling, but for some reason I can cycle for miles without it really hurting. I've just discovered that running really hurts, so this has to be a good thing.
You might think from my tortured description that I ran a half-marathon or something. No. I am starting slowly. Incredibly slowly. I have no idea how far I ran, but I am following instructions. Given that I have done no running for about twenty-six years, when I gave up PE in favour of Latin, the suggestion is to run for one minute, and then walk for a while. I couldn't remember how long the while was supposed to be, so made it a minute and then ran for another minute, repeating this five times. Then I was forced to extend the one minute of walking to two minutes of walking, which I also repeated five times. So all told I was out 25 minutes, during which time I ran for 10 of them, and at the end of which I had a stich and was having trouble breathing. You have to start somewhere I suppose. There is no possible way that I can go out again today, what with not really being able to move, but I am hoping that perhaps tomorrow if I repeat the whole sorry saga it might be a bit easier. Then again it might not be, but according to Wise Internet, gradually it will, and then you can extend the minutes. I may never get that far, but I am painfully aware of the need to amortise the shoes, so watch this space. Or look out for the obituary in the Wanstead Village Directory.