Running? Meh!

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Ugh.  Two people, on the same day said to me 'I'm going to do the couch to 5K, you are going to do it too!"    Two of them!  How unlucky is that?

One of them, who shall be named Linda, agreed to meet at 7.15 but couldn't meet until 8.45 (at which point I was lying on the floor crying) so myself and Clo went without her.  Holy Jesus but I forgot how much I hate running.  Which is funny because I actually used to enjoy it.  Maybe it was because it was dark and cold and late and . . . any excuse will do. 

I just texted both of them to see if we had to run tonight as it's raining.  I was told by one "You live in Ireland, get used to it" and by the other "think skinny thoughts".  I told both of them to fuck off.  

I want to be thin, to the extent that I am having potato and celeriac soup whilst the kids have sausage sambos for lunch but I don't want to run.  I don't want to run in the rain either.

Clo kind've skips along.  Nervously after a while as I sound very threatening, plodding along behind, panting and doing my best Darth Vader impression,  Ugh.

Mind you, at least I can run without peeing, eh Linda?  

Run. Faster. BARK!!!!

I'm trying to lose weight.  I'm trying to get fit.  Kids are getting bigger and faster and I want to be able to keep up.  I also want to be able to see my toes!  Actually, that last bit is bullshit.  I can see my toes just fine if I lift my leg out in front of me.

So I'm back doing my 'couch to 5k' thing.  Last year I managed to get it to the stage where I could run for approx 30 minutes without feeling like I was going to die.  Then I went on a big slide and tore all the ligaments in my right foot, which the doctors then put into a cast because they said it was broken . . three HUGELY stressful and itchy days later they removed the cast because it wasn't broken and sent me on my way.  With only one shoe.  Seriously?!

I find myself, 9 months later, starting all over again.  I'm gutted to report that being able to run last year has no bearing on my running ability right now.  I'm slow.  Very slow.

But, like the tortoise I eventually get there.

I have an app (doesn't everybody?) where this lovely English lady tells me that I'm going to warm up for five minutes before running for 'x' amount of minutes and so on.  She tells me I'm great every now and then and warns me when I've only got ten seconds left before starting a run and taunts me with 'only a minute and a half to go' when I rang out of oxygen a minute and a half back.

She's great though.  She's polite and nice and, best yet, you can pause her if you feel you are on the verge of coughing up a lung.

Billy, on the other hand, is an absolute Bastard.

If he sees me slowing down or stopping he'll start yapping at me.  Then I start shouting 'no, you fucker' I'm not running now' at him, then people stare and the dog is mortified.  Although not nearly as mortified as the ball of fluff that appears to be wearing another dead dog as a coat.

I have a nice lady telling me I'm great and a dog barking the equivalent of 'Run Fat Bitch, Run'.