Last year I was in a wonderful routine. Everything was nicely balanced between work and play; I was even able to actually get quite a bit of writing done.
Then towards the latter part of the year it went, as they say, horribly tits up.
This was mainly due to work. It had a domino effect on my writing and my free time. One of the first things to be sacrificed was my Sunday morning run.
Every Sunday my over-enthusiastic neighbour used to knock for me and we’d go for a few miles run around London. I hated her.
However it kept me fit but with the increase in workload and corresponding alcohol intake, I chose to keep my lazy arse in bed.
And over the winter months that lazy arse has got bigger. In previous years I would have shed the consequence of my over indulgence by Spring. But not this year.
So as we look to say goodbye to the Summer I thought I’d do something about it. I was going to go for a run.
Dusting off my jogging gear and after spending perhaps a little too long staring at my butt in spandex I stepped out into a pleasantly bright Sunday morning in London.
Having jogged regularly for most of last year I was confident that I could just pick it up where I left off. Big mistake!
Not so much muscle memory but more a collective amnesia of all my joints. They had no clue what they were doing. Even the basics of moving one foot in front of the other seemed an alien manoeuvre.
A few powerful yet ungainly strides down the road and already my brain was lost in a cloud of confusion. It half expected that we’d be sitting on the sofa eating donuts watching reruns of Columbo.
My blood and my heart was locked in a battle as to who could escape my body first. The heart opting for route one straight out my chest, whereas my blood felt escaping through my ears was the way to go.
My lungs chose that very moment to forget how to carry out it’s basic, primary function of breathing.
With my flat still in view I found myself slumped over some railings muttering through very little breath ‘Fuck. This. Shit!’
My return to running didn’t go quite to plan but I fall back on the immortal words of Freddy Mercury.
“Fat Bottomed Girls – They make the rocking world go round!”