If it's not public, it's not humilitation
Exercise sucks.
Anyone (yes, I mean you, Donna) who has been with me since the beginning of this bloody blog will already be aware that I hate exercise. Spookily, that post was written almost a year to the day ago, and heralded the last time I tried training for the Race for Life. I wouldn't ordinarily put myself through voluntary physical exertion, unless the prize was Robbie Williams, some baby oil and a large coffee cake (I'm not being kinky - I'd eat the cake first), but it's in a good cause and all that. I firstran lurched round the 5km course in 2004, after one of my best friends guilted me into taking part by being diagnosed with breast cancer. She's perfectly alright now, which may explain why, after wholeheartedly committing to doing it again last year, I took part in about three training runs and then cried off on the grounds of having a luxury holiday in Mexico instead (it's all in last June's archives, if you're the sort of person who likes reading about other people's holidays. I'm not, personally, but whatever gets you through the night). See? I've always been the caring, giving Surly Girl you know and love today.
This year, for some reason, I've agreed once more to sweat my way round a park in a red-faced, unlovely heap in the name of Cancer research. I'll be hitting you up for sponsorship at some point - I reckon that if you all pledge 10p per mile I might just raise that tenner this year. It struck me fairly recently that, given that the race is in July and that I've spent the last eighteen months emphatically not giving up smoking, I perhaps ought to, you know, train a little bit. It's at this juncture that I have to offer my apologies both to the Other Half for making him sort of walk-slightly-fast alongside me for thirty-five minutes as I gasped, sweated and generally made a meal out of jogging like an asthmatic walrus with a wonky flipper, and to anyone in my local area who had the misfortune to witness it. That thing? The wobbly thing you could see? That was my belly. Sorry about that.
Still, I made it home and will be going again on Friday morning and (lying through my teeth at this point) Sunday. and then (again with the lying) three times a week until I can run 5km without needing resuscitation at the end of it. I am celebrating my new-found impetus to get fit with a giant can of Stella (you can take the girl out of Essex...) and would kindly ask you all to remind me every so often that I DON'T SMOKE ANY MORE. That way, hopefully, these chest pains won't come back and make me worry about drinking lager.
Cheers.
Anyone (yes, I mean you, Donna) who has been with me since the beginning of this bloody blog will already be aware that I hate exercise. Spookily, that post was written almost a year to the day ago, and heralded the last time I tried training for the Race for Life. I wouldn't ordinarily put myself through voluntary physical exertion, unless the prize was Robbie Williams, some baby oil and a large coffee cake (I'm not being kinky - I'd eat the cake first), but it's in a good cause and all that. I first
This year, for some reason, I've agreed once more to sweat my way round a park in a red-faced, unlovely heap in the name of Cancer research. I'll be hitting you up for sponsorship at some point - I reckon that if you all pledge 10p per mile I might just raise that tenner this year. It struck me fairly recently that, given that the race is in July and that I've spent the last eighteen months emphatically not giving up smoking, I perhaps ought to, you know, train a little bit. It's at this juncture that I have to offer my apologies both to the Other Half for making him sort of walk-slightly-fast alongside me for thirty-five minutes as I gasped, sweated and generally made a meal out of jogging like an asthmatic walrus with a wonky flipper, and to anyone in my local area who had the misfortune to witness it. That thing? The wobbly thing you could see? That was my belly. Sorry about that.
Still, I made it home and will be going again on Friday morning and (lying through my teeth at this point) Sunday. and then (again with the lying) three times a week until I can run 5km without needing resuscitation at the end of it. I am celebrating my new-found impetus to get fit with a giant can of Stella (you can take the girl out of Essex...) and would kindly ask you all to remind me every so often that I DON'T SMOKE ANY MORE. That way, hopefully, these chest pains won't come back and make me worry about drinking lager.
Cheers.
21 Comments:
YAY!!!! I'm the first to post. I got so excited when I discovered this that I honestly forgot what I was going to write. Aging -- my brain isn't doing a good job at it. ;)
welcome to that club, stolie...
now, where was i?
I heard myself say "yay I'm first" at the head of the line at the coffee shop yesterday. And I'm new to this blogging lark. Please help.
Oh just give up now and save yourself the guilt. Donate a tenner to some other poor soul and knock off early to have a drink and a smoke.
I only tell you this as I spent four years in high school on the cross country team. Never once, NEVER, did it seem fun to run a 5K. Some of us just don't the same exercise adrenaline, I think.
Stupid exercise.
RX:
60 vicodin @ 50mg per
1 camelbak, filled with distilled spirit
1. eat 2 vicodin, slash.
begin run.
2. eat 2 vicodin at the first 1/4 mile. slash. note: it is important to stay hydrated during exercise.
3. repeat until the embalmed body of Lenin appears floating in your peripheral vision.
5. 10k and smiling! it's all gain, no pain! lenin won't shut up, but no pain!
4. race over! you can stop running now.
no, really.
stop running.
I'll pledge you a corned beef pastie if you can get around that track.
See?
I care...
oooh, one of the pint cans, surly girl?
i do hope so.
i tell you what; if you can run 5km with a can in your hand i'll give you a tenner :)
The fun comes when you then open the can, after the 5K.
Stand Clear!
Surly's on the bier (sic!)
SG did really well considering our frenetic lifestyle of late.
I will continue to offer my support and encouragement in whatever form it is needed over the coming months so that she delivers a satisfying and rewarding time on the Race for Life.
...and a cold can of Stella after running is the ultimate prize..mmmmmmmm !!!
Just think of the sense of achievement you'll have when you finish it. That'll be worth it. Truly. Prove it to yourself, or walk the course, is there anything in the rulessaying you have to run? How is the word run defined?
Good luck, anyway.
You DON'T SMOKE ANY MORE.
Wasn't that helpful?
*adopts smug expression of someone who not only gave up smoking 20 years ago but also runs regularly*
Mind you, I've still got the wobbly belly bit. And I'm nearly 40.
Mrs Triffid has also stupidly got herself involved in one of these Cancer runs. I'm deeply ambivalent about that because I have to go watch her huffing and puffing and turning scarlet and coming in way down the field while I work on a tremendous bout of hay-fever. So speak to the hand.
I used to run the 800m at school and used to come first every year however I couldnt run 5k. In fact I cant even run 800m anymore! I symathise with you!
running? why? why would you do that to yourself?
As a fellow wobbly smoker, i am telling you that you don't have to.
that's it. now stop.
go watch some tv.
I've just sponsored someone for the London Marathon (well it was some marathon or other, I wasn't paying much attention). So, I've done my bit - no need to get sweaty. See - it's easy ...
I went running with Casper the other day. Of course he's too polite to complain but I could read it in his eyes as he kept looking over his shoulder at me and rolling his eyes. He was just walking fast. It was humiliating.
Humiliated by a poodle. hmph.
Golden Rule of Life for Ladies No. 1 - if you are bigger than an AA Cup - DON'T RUN!
(not even for a bus)
oh dear.
no wonder my chin hurts today.
Heh-heh. YouBrits are so articulate and funny. Where'd you learn to talk English so well?
Not in America, that's for sure.
ha ha ha!!!
P&T - that's great. and wait - so damn true.
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