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Running joke
Nov. 10th, 2007 02:50 pmLast Saturday I bought running shoes. Today I actually got as far as using them (some extra motivation being generated, as I'd hoped, by the guilt of having spent money on them).
( in which our heroine recalls her school days and sporting prowess enjoyed therein )
I can't actually remember how many laps made a mile. I also have only the haziest idea of what "a mile" looks like on the ground or on a map, let alone whether I can "run a mile" (except when confronted by crocodiles, stalkers, thongs, crap web design, etc). So I decided to forget all about school running and Miss Pearson's minimal expectations of my sporting competence, & I just picked a route that looked like it might not be too impossible and figured that if it got too bad I could just stop.
If the Google Maps thing worked, you should be able to see my route here. (I didn't in fact have to ford the river twice, or swim; there are a couple of bridges that aren't marked on Google Maps.) I stopped when I got to one of the bridges (map-and-a-bit-of-string reckons I'd done 1500m by that point) and stretched my legs a bit and went "ooof" and looked at the river, and then ran on to Botley Road, and then there were loads of people in the way and I ended up just walking from Ferry Hinksey Road to the Seacourt Park & Ride, and then ran the last little bit. All of which took just under half an hour.
My thighs ache a lot. I am trying to keep them moving and stretching (oh do behave). I also discovered the other problem with running, or rather two other problems, which probably need propping up in some way or other, ahem. But I didn't feel like I was going to die (and have also subsequently not died yet, which is doubly reassuring). And I didn't feel too embarrassed, at least not as embarrassed as I'll feel when I have to go and ask the orange-faced ladies in M&S about sports bras. (I mean, honestly, you'd think I might have got over being a character in a Judy Blume novel by the age of nearly 30, but, ugh.)
I still reckon going clubbing is better exercise though. Anyone for indie disco?
( in which our heroine recalls her school days and sporting prowess enjoyed therein )
I can't actually remember how many laps made a mile. I also have only the haziest idea of what "a mile" looks like on the ground or on a map, let alone whether I can "run a mile" (except when confronted by crocodiles, stalkers, thongs, crap web design, etc). So I decided to forget all about school running and Miss Pearson's minimal expectations of my sporting competence, & I just picked a route that looked like it might not be too impossible and figured that if it got too bad I could just stop.
If the Google Maps thing worked, you should be able to see my route here. (I didn't in fact have to ford the river twice, or swim; there are a couple of bridges that aren't marked on Google Maps.) I stopped when I got to one of the bridges (map-and-a-bit-of-string reckons I'd done 1500m by that point) and stretched my legs a bit and went "ooof" and looked at the river, and then ran on to Botley Road, and then there were loads of people in the way and I ended up just walking from Ferry Hinksey Road to the Seacourt Park & Ride, and then ran the last little bit. All of which took just under half an hour.
My thighs ache a lot. I am trying to keep them moving and stretching (oh do behave). I also discovered the other problem with running, or rather two other problems, which probably need propping up in some way or other, ahem. But I didn't feel like I was going to die (and have also subsequently not died yet, which is doubly reassuring). And I didn't feel too embarrassed, at least not as embarrassed as I'll feel when I have to go and ask the orange-faced ladies in M&S about sports bras. (I mean, honestly, you'd think I might have got over being a character in a Judy Blume novel by the age of nearly 30, but, ugh.)
I still reckon going clubbing is better exercise though. Anyone for indie disco?
