With so many friends signing up for such impressive feats as the London marathon I decided the time had come for me to learn to run. I've always rather fancied the idea of being a committed runner - pounding the street, expression serene, neon sportswear gleaming.
Growing up I would do anything to avoid it. Give me a competitive team sport and I was first in line, but come track events at school and I would invariably have forgotten a vital component. Such as my shoes, or the ability to walk without falling over.
So Sydney was to be the location of my transformation. Perhaps not the best choice. I had not factored in having to share my chosen pathways with bronzed and ripplingly muscled athletes. Complete with their attitudes towards new joiners to the activity, which range from patronisingly sympathetic to downright disdainful. One such runner is there everyday at the same time. We pass each other with a hostile nod. This is the most civility we can manage after he laughed at one particularly violent stumble which left me plummeting towards the harbour waters... I'm sure it looked funny, but openly laughing was just cruel!
When I tell people I have started running they are quite often impressed, if disbelieving. Until I explain the reality of my evening runs. For after a week of torture, sweat making my eyes sting, and limbs screaming in agony, I have to admit there has been no improvement. I am still most easily compared to the loco looking stray dog who careers all over the path, weaving drunkenly, eyes blazing, nostrils aflare and tongue protruding slightly. The one that parents drag their children away from in fright.
In search of encouragement I asked my marathon running buddies how long it would take before I got used to it? And how long before these runs began to feel like anything more than a prolonged method of suicide. The answers were bleak. 'About a month' featured far too often. So after a month I would join the ranks of serious joggers who didn't suffer from bright red faces and floundering limbs? Well no. And any lapse in running would take me back to square one.
So I turned to Google. Now im taking a leisurely stroll to buy DC safe in the newfound knowledge that 'running is not recommended for women'. If it's on the internet, it must be true.
Growing up I would do anything to avoid it. Give me a competitive team sport and I was first in line, but come track events at school and I would invariably have forgotten a vital component. Such as my shoes, or the ability to walk without falling over.
So Sydney was to be the location of my transformation. Perhaps not the best choice. I had not factored in having to share my chosen pathways with bronzed and ripplingly muscled athletes. Complete with their attitudes towards new joiners to the activity, which range from patronisingly sympathetic to downright disdainful. One such runner is there everyday at the same time. We pass each other with a hostile nod. This is the most civility we can manage after he laughed at one particularly violent stumble which left me plummeting towards the harbour waters... I'm sure it looked funny, but openly laughing was just cruel!
When I tell people I have started running they are quite often impressed, if disbelieving. Until I explain the reality of my evening runs. For after a week of torture, sweat making my eyes sting, and limbs screaming in agony, I have to admit there has been no improvement. I am still most easily compared to the loco looking stray dog who careers all over the path, weaving drunkenly, eyes blazing, nostrils aflare and tongue protruding slightly. The one that parents drag their children away from in fright.
In search of encouragement I asked my marathon running buddies how long it would take before I got used to it? And how long before these runs began to feel like anything more than a prolonged method of suicide. The answers were bleak. 'About a month' featured far too often. So after a month I would join the ranks of serious joggers who didn't suffer from bright red faces and floundering limbs? Well no. And any lapse in running would take me back to square one.
So I turned to Google. Now im taking a leisurely stroll to buy DC safe in the newfound knowledge that 'running is not recommended for women'. If it's on the internet, it must be true.
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