'Baywatch' Running Must Have Hurt!

I've just decided that I'm going to run the Windsor Half Marathon which is in September.

This means that I have to actually do some running as practise, beforehand, if I want to survive for more than a few metres on the day. I am not, by any stretch of the imagination a runner. The last time - well, the only time - I ever did any regular running was in 2003 when I was trying to lose weight and I used to drag myself out of bed at 5.00 each morning to flump along the pavements for 20 minutes. (I had to do it that early so that it would be dark and nobody would see me!). My attempt at getting back into running last year involved just three runs in Richmond Park with Charles until a muscle pinged in my leg, and then I gave up. Haven't done a thing since, really!

Sooo, my first practise run this morning. I thought I'd start gently, with a little run to the shop to get some cheese. (Well, I don't want to overstretch myself!!) A walk down the garden to the back gate was my warm-up, and then 5 minutes of flumping - er, running - along by the Thames until I hit the main road.

Off I went, joggety jog. My new white running shoes gleamed merrily as they pumped up and down. My lungs wheezed scarily as they pumped in and out. Thud thud, cough cough.

I realised within about 4 milliseconds why proper runners are all flat chested. If you have boobs, running hurts! Ow! And yes I was wearing a properly supportive sports bra, but when your chest has a certain level of fattage, there is no bra in this world that can hold everything totally still! (I could have done with a bra for my bum and another for my belly, too - bouncey or what!)

Anyway, I managed to keep up the run for 5 whole minutes without stopping, until I reached the street. From there I walked to the corner shop, feeling that I had certainly deserved my rest. And my cheese. I felt very proud!

* * *

This evening I showed Charles our family photo album - me as a baby, through to my awkward, fuzzy-haired teens. He quite enjoyed flicking through it and seeing what I had got up to back then.

"Is this what you mean when you talk about us spending some 'bonding' time together?" he asked.

"Yes, that's exactly it!" It's only taken him two years to get it, but who am I to quibble - I felt like the teacher whose pupil finally understands the theory she's been trying to drum into him all year.

"I like it! Shall we do some more bonding on Tuesday evening?"

Aww, bless!