The training schedule has taken a rather nasty turn- we are in fact expected to do real running. After nonchalantly joking about this escapade to my husband Steve, he elected himself as our “Trainer”- just when we felt we might not need one, after all we had the shoes………………… However, picture the scene- we find ourselves at a local beauty spot in Swindon (yes, there is such a thing) in our new trainers, clothes suitable to be seen jogging in and much enthusiasm for the task ahead. Slight concern that there already appeared to be serious joggers around who had the customary IPod plugged into their ears (seriously dangerous because you can’t hear anyone coming up behind you- admittedly not likely to be us) but not to be put off we swaggered in a confident manner to our selected starting point. The plan? To walk, jog, walk, jog and so on until we feel able to jog jog jog. Struggling to find the right camber to power walk we stride on out feeling that all is well in the world and this may just be a piece of the proverbial. 100 yards (sorry metres) later, we’ve changed our minds as Steve gently bounces off into a run and indicates that we should follow at the same pace. Julie seems to take this rudeness quite well, and reminds me to focus on my core stability. I am trying to focus on my flawed stupidity. It’s all rather strenuous. What happened to my visions of copying those lithe young things you see bouncing along the roadside running? I believe some of them may also have the ability to talk as they run as well. This aspiration feels laughably distant. My shins and calves send me a warning signal that they are not impressed. Nevertheless we (for “we” read “I”) continue to follow Steve (and Julie) around the outside of the lake, breathing for England and making a pact with my legs that once this experience is over, I’ll log it right up there with a recent root canal and waxing. Julie (bless her) walks with me when we should be jogging, but I know that to go into a full on jog now will crush my resolve to do this in the longer term and so I ignore the “Trainer” (occupational hazard darling-sorry!) and make a strategic decision to walk, walk jog, walk. I know it’s a change of plan, but I am sure that even Sir Alan Sugar and Des Browne would approve of this use of resources and decision making. As we walk I share a nugget of information with Julie (at an amazing point when I can walk, breathe and talk in short sharp sentences, Julie is able to walk, breathe and look interested and drink from her water bottle- she’s so skilled). A good friend of mine runs most mornings with another friend. On their way back to their cars they power walk to the rhythm of saying “Kylie Bottoms, Kylie Bottoms” apparently its good to have a few phrases to say to give you a striding rhythm to stick to and an aspirational vision for your bottom. Somehow we make it to the end- or at least my version of it. Then a funny thing happened- as we neared the end of the route Julie said “so, do you just want to go round once today?” ONCE?!! I didn’t realise that my chin still had strength, but it did and managed to hit the floor like a cartoon character. My body language indicated that Julie was completely right. What a clever friend. Not to mention seriously misinformed. On arrival in the car park we patted ourselves on the back and agreed to continue the schedule on Thursday. Smiling like real troopers we settled into car seats that suddenly felt like cotton wool. My analysis on the events of the previous 45 minutes? “Well, I won’t feel this bad again” Steve-“Wait till you try to get up tomorrow morning” Always nice to have positive feedback from your Trainer isn’t it. Well done Ju. Note to self: need a rhythm statement for bottom.
Rosemary- slightly older than Julie
Greetings, one and all.
Our first days’ training sees Rosemary bringing her significant other with her in his self-appointed role as personal trainer. Our own plans to build up slowly with power walking the first few sessions did not appeal to Steve who being ex-army, would rather see us running up Uffington White Horse Hill with large rucksacks strapped to our backs.
As if blasted from a canon, Steve took off at a rate of knots calling after us to follow suit, which in our defence we duly did.
I lugged my large frame after Steve for about 10 metres when I realised that I really should have scheduled in another days shopping to buy a suitable training bra for the occasion. My under-wired white Sloggy gave little support and had my breasts just bounced up and down it wouldn’t have been too bad, but they seemed to take on a life of their own and were, alternately, whipping round in concentric circles and then clanging together like 2 huge cymbals. And if that wasn’t bad enough, after approximately 100 metres it became clear that my inner thighs were dangerously close to bursting into flames. I was carrying a small bottle of water with me but I was rather loathe to use it on extinguishing my legs!!!!
We did eventually get round walking and jogging but it was only half the distance we will be expected to run on the day. Early days yet though.
by Julie- considerably younger than Rosemary
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