Running out of steam
Beth and I had decided to join a running club a while ago. Today, for the first time, we stopped just talking and started doing. It was an extremely daunting experience.
Beth was late, stuck in traffic, hence we arrived late, already gasping and wheezing from out brisk walk down cofusing cobbled alleys. After a few minutes of aimless wandering, we found the meeting place, a red-brick sports place. So far so good, but where were the runners? Where WERE they? We lapped the dark building several times, one foot before the next on the narrow pavement, hands held probingly into the dark.
After a while, we found some. Boy, they scared us. We discovered we'd landed not in the beginners group, but rather in the intermediate. Mainly middle-aged, they wore skinny lyrca leggings and bore flashing flourescent green wrist-bands. They jogged on the spot before the word 'go', joking and laughing the whole time. They stretched their legs before them and tensed muscles, zipped up jackets and pulled hair into scrunchies.
"Two new people!" proclaimed the leader, a small man in a white long-sleeved T-shirt, excitedly.
"Ooooooooh," breathed the others as one, at the same time closing in on us curiously.
"Had experience, then? Cross-country running? What and where do you usually run?" Beth and I looked at each other, grinning manically with only the glint of panic in our eyes betraying us.
"We're ummm...very VERY beginners. We haven't done anything resembling exercise for months." Maybe even years, we added silently. The runners glanced at each other, barely concealing the look of concern behind masks of energetic, healthy enthusiasm.
"You'll be okay. We run as fast as the slowest runner."
We nodded gratefully.
"Are your cars parked nearby?" We laughed. Past the point of escaping back to our warm pain-free homes, we decided to make the most of it.
"We're not old enough to drive yet."
They mumbled things into their Nike running coats, and backed off slowly, all but the leader.
"We'll be running for about fourty-five minutes today. Up Clayton Bank, and back down through Lyme Valley. We looked at each other in horror, and shuddered.
You will realise, by this time, that we didn't find running nearly five miles at all easy. The most exercise I've had in the last few months is walking up and down flights of stairs, and bounding to the kitchen for biscuits.
We started off slow. Ten minutes in, we thought, YES! We can do this!! This is EASY! What were we worried about?! We jogged past Morrisons, across roads and along streams. After half an hour, we were both dying. For the tenth time. I concentrated on my feet and the noise and cars and trees and the idea of snow, anything but the agony of my feet, and the burning of my lungs. The almost unbearable stitch in my side.
By the time we'd done three miles, we were the running (or rather the staggering) dead. The rest of the group left us behind, bar the leader*. He took it upon himself to bark "Come on, girls!! No walking! Breathe. In through nose. Out through mouth. Look - there's Homebase again!!", and to regail us with his history of marathon runs. We plodded on mainly in silence, grunting occassionally to make him reward us with an encouraging "Goooooood! Look, you're running AND talking! Means you're doing all right!
The final stretch was a blur of stitch and feeling sick, and AT LAST we arrived back where we started.
Please don't think it was all bad. Apart from no longer being able to move due to at least four pulled muscles (in the legs ALONE), I feel great! Adreneline hasn't stopped pumping yet, and I feel healthier than I have done since last time I ran a cross-country race (and suffered from an exercise induced asthma attack.)
We're both going next week. I'll be damned if we're running with the intermediate group again, though!
*Thank you, kind man. I have been unjustly harsh as a result of associating you with pain and not being able to breathe. I forgive you for not allowing me to walk.
Beth was late, stuck in traffic, hence we arrived late, already gasping and wheezing from out brisk walk down cofusing cobbled alleys. After a few minutes of aimless wandering, we found the meeting place, a red-brick sports place. So far so good, but where were the runners? Where WERE they? We lapped the dark building several times, one foot before the next on the narrow pavement, hands held probingly into the dark.
After a while, we found some. Boy, they scared us. We discovered we'd landed not in the beginners group, but rather in the intermediate. Mainly middle-aged, they wore skinny lyrca leggings and bore flashing flourescent green wrist-bands. They jogged on the spot before the word 'go', joking and laughing the whole time. They stretched their legs before them and tensed muscles, zipped up jackets and pulled hair into scrunchies.
"Two new people!" proclaimed the leader, a small man in a white long-sleeved T-shirt, excitedly.
"Ooooooooh," breathed the others as one, at the same time closing in on us curiously.
"Had experience, then? Cross-country running? What and where do you usually run?" Beth and I looked at each other, grinning manically with only the glint of panic in our eyes betraying us.
"We're ummm...very VERY beginners. We haven't done anything resembling exercise for months." Maybe even years, we added silently. The runners glanced at each other, barely concealing the look of concern behind masks of energetic, healthy enthusiasm.
"You'll be okay. We run as fast as the slowest runner."
We nodded gratefully.
"Are your cars parked nearby?" We laughed. Past the point of escaping back to our warm pain-free homes, we decided to make the most of it.
"We're not old enough to drive yet."
They mumbled things into their Nike running coats, and backed off slowly, all but the leader.
"We'll be running for about fourty-five minutes today. Up Clayton Bank, and back down through Lyme Valley. We looked at each other in horror, and shuddered.
You will realise, by this time, that we didn't find running nearly five miles at all easy. The most exercise I've had in the last few months is walking up and down flights of stairs, and bounding to the kitchen for biscuits.
We started off slow. Ten minutes in, we thought, YES! We can do this!! This is EASY! What were we worried about?! We jogged past Morrisons, across roads and along streams. After half an hour, we were both dying. For the tenth time. I concentrated on my feet and the noise and cars and trees and the idea of snow, anything but the agony of my feet, and the burning of my lungs. The almost unbearable stitch in my side.
By the time we'd done three miles, we were the running (or rather the staggering) dead. The rest of the group left us behind, bar the leader*. He took it upon himself to bark "Come on, girls!! No walking! Breathe. In through nose. Out through mouth. Look - there's Homebase again!!", and to regail us with his history of marathon runs. We plodded on mainly in silence, grunting occassionally to make him reward us with an encouraging "Goooooood! Look, you're running AND talking! Means you're doing all right!
The final stretch was a blur of stitch and feeling sick, and AT LAST we arrived back where we started.
Please don't think it was all bad. Apart from no longer being able to move due to at least four pulled muscles (in the legs ALONE), I feel great! Adreneline hasn't stopped pumping yet, and I feel healthier than I have done since last time I ran a cross-country race (and suffered from an exercise induced asthma attack.)
We're both going next week. I'll be damned if we're running with the intermediate group again, though!
*Thank you, kind man. I have been unjustly harsh as a result of associating you with pain and not being able to breathe. I forgive you for not allowing me to walk.
kiwiqueen - 11. Dec, 21:15