The Running Man
Or rather, the Running, Walking For A Bit, Running A Little More, Then Returning Home Gasping For Breath And Clutching His Side After Only Fifteen Minutes Man.
For various reasons, all of them financial, I cancelled my gym membership a few months ago. I was never a religious five-times-a-week attendee, but I have been missing it, and a general feeling of unhealthiness has been growing lately. As has my belly, since I've put on about half a stone in the intervening time.
Yesterday we got a card through the door to tell us that the water to the flat would be turned off for a few hours starting at 8am. This, plus the truely awful DiMaggio's pizza I ate for dinner last night, gave me enough motivation to force myself out of bed a bit earlier this morning and do something I'd been talking about for a while, but never managed - to go for a run before work. I got my shorts and trainers on, and slipped out into the cold, dark, and thankfully deserted October morning.
When I left the flat and started to run it felt great. I was young and healthy and free. For about three blocks or so. Then I started to die, and fell into a run-a little, walk-a-little pattern. I was back in the house after about a quarter of an hour, absolutely knackered.
Not a great start, but a start nonetheless, and I'm sure I could build it up if I can get into a routine. Oh, I do love my bed, though.
Labels: diary, exercise, running
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