When Exercise Goes Bad

I went running today. I had thought that all I needed to become one of those people who’s, like, really into running, and also really skinny and fit, was a shiny new iPod Shuffle, but nope, turns out that what I also needed was a new green hoodie. Once I had that, there was no stopping me. Well, there was, but at least I had a new green hoodie…

(Aside: Something tells me I may also need some new black running shoes before I’ll be able to start taking this really seriously, because, honestly: the sight of my bright white feet flashing in and out of my peripheral vision? It offends me, people. And confirms that there really is no situation in which white sneakers are appropriate footwear. No, not even for running. But I digress)

As I reached the end of our driveway, all kitted out in my New Green Hoodie, offensive white trainers, iPod and – whisper it – black wrap around shades (SO?! I have very sensitive eyes, OK? And the normal sunglasses, they fall off my face), I noticed the Woman Who’s Always Walking Around the Street in Her Dressing Gown hovering at the end of the driveway with her baby. Slightly embarrassed by my “Lookit me, I am a RUNNER! Who goes RUNNING!” appearance, and determined to prove that I really was dressed like this for a reason, I broke into my usual shuffling jog as I approached her.

Everything was fine right up until the moment I drew level with TWWAWATSIHDG. Then both of my ankles – both of my ankles, people – suddenly gave way simultaneously. For no reason.

I didn’t actually fall. Well, I mean I did actually fall, but I didn’t quite hit the ground. Instead I did a stupid, drunken kind of staggering move, a little like a newborn colt trying to get to its feet, and struggled on. I did not look back – but I could feel her amusement burning into my back.

I am SO not cut out for this exercise thing. I would try and exercise in the house, where it’s harder to embarrass myself, but last week? When Terry and I were playing with the inflatable punch bag that’s there for that very purpose? I managed to punch myself in the face. In. The. Face. And the next day? When Terry tried to high five me? My hand rebounded off his, and I smacked myself in the face again. GOD.

I should probably forget about the running, you know. I should concentrate on small victories: things like getting out of bed in the morning, or getting dressed without breaking my arm. Maybe then I can build up gradually to bigger achievements, like being able to run to the end of the driveway without falling over.