Run! Run! Run!
Up the hill, past Eddie’s house. Eddie is walking back from the Village Shop, and flashes me a sympathetic smile. Run! I plod onwards, motivational running music (John Denver) blasting from my MP3 player. A familiar red van approaches – it is the Postie. The Postie leans out of his window and shouts something; I cannot quite make out what it is, but it sounds a bit like ‘HAHAHAHAHA.’ I run on.
Len the Fish is walking his dog as I reach the crossroads where I turn towards the duck pond. Unfortunately, he is heading the same way as me. This gives me a dilemma, as I haven’t seen Len the Fish for ages, and would like to say ‘hullo,’ but if I stop then my legs will fall off.
I jog on the spot for a moment, whilst I attempt to summon some breath to explain this to him; in the end I manage to emit my ‘hullo’ and run on. Len the Fish laughs good-naturedly at my running – he knows nothing. I press on, past the duck pond. The ducks laugh good-naturedly at my running.
Before too long, I am home. Tired, but content with my achievement.
“The thing is,” I tell Big Andy later on, “Child #1 now wants to wander up the road to the playing field and play cricket and stuff, and I find that I am wheezing and exhausted and out of breath. And then we reach the playing field, and it goes downhill from there.”
“Anyway,” I continue. “I am determined to lose weight and be a bit more healthy.”
The following day, I go swimming with the rest of the family, despite the fact that I hate swimming and can’t really swim. I force myself to do two lengths, one after the other. Having played bowls the previous night, this completes the triathlon – my own personal iron man challenge. I can feel aches in my shins, my arms, my bowl-delivery hand. But it will be worth it.
17 thoughts on “I go for a run.”
You be entering the Olympics next.
Woah Jonny – you’ll be an Olympic champ at this rate.
Far better to engage in vigorous sexual activity. A really good work out. And if you just lie there, a far less sweaty endeavour.
It’s a pity M C Escher didn’t design your village – you could head off from ther cottage going downhill, and continue downhill all the way back!
(I’m not a closet intellectual, I was given an Escher jigsaw once!)
Alan – I have tried that, in 1994.
At least you have a full cast of sympathetic supporters. It must be an enormous comfort.
Enormous understanding and sympathies in almost equal measures.
Don’t think of it as “laughing” – think of it as verbalized “smiling” and encouragement.
Of course “A” run probably won’t be enough. You might could have to do at least 3 or 4 to really get that blood circulating.
I have bad news for you…my brother says the same happens when he plays fake-badminton or fake-cricket with his daughter, he gets out of breath, the child runs him ragged…and he’s not even overweight.
The trouble with trying to exercise in a small community is everyone will see you – or not see you – and will feel able to comment. A walk doesn’t look like you’re really trying, a jog or a bike and they know you mean business – unless they never see you again. Will you keep it up?
Iron Man? Tin man more like. That road isn’t made of yellow bricks is it, by any chance? That would explain why all you Norfolk bumpkins have such a munchkinesque quality (cf Tony Martin).
Anyway, if it’s any consolation, the curse of good-natured laughter ends here. None of us are good-natured, and we’re not laughing much either…
Hausfrau – I am very determined. I have done another one since then. So that is two.
I do hope you haven’t got man bosoms.
You want to watch that. Midlife crisis and all that. I’m 45,I foolishly did a few runs last year, this year completed an Iron distance triathlon. It’s a slippery slope I tell you. I Should have taken up bowls.
Buck – even if you have done an iron distance thingything, you might still struggle with the intensity of bowls.
Don’t push yourself too hard, my friend.
I most interested in what you were wearing on your feet — I trust it was not the deeply, deeply, unfashionable shoes you wear to play bowls.
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