Running is not the new black. And are the Kardashians really Out of This World?
After literally decades of monumentally taking the piss, eating and drinking whatever I have wanted, my metabolism has finally caught up with me. Now I have never been a fan of exercise, or trainers, or infact anything that can bring on a sweat. But I was forced to take some remedial action when, after having to break into a sprint to catch an errant child, my own arse cheeks reverberating against each other gave me a round of applause.
So I have just been for a run, in 80% humidity, and Dear God, I think for a moment I glimpsed hell. Or at the least Trump’s underpants. I thought it would be a good idea to take Bailey with me. I pictured up optimistic images that would not look out of place in a Sanitary Towel advert. Me, sweat band on, and fully in control, my faithful hound galloping alongside me. But no, Bailey was of assistance only in nearly tripping me up by constantly criss-crossing infront of me. Or when I have finally gathered up a head of steam, nearly yanking my arm out of it’s socket by suddenly stopping because there’s some new stink that has to be sniffed. Also, whilst I am trying to remain Incognito behind my strange, casual clothes and Raybans, Bailey continues to want to stop me in my tracks every time someone crosses our path.
When I chose Bailey as a puppy, I picked him because he was the most laid back of the litter! I wanted the canine equivalent of Dorian Gray, elegant and aloof. Instead I have ended up with the canine equivalent of the peperami character, all loud unintelligible noises and flailing limbs. He could not care less whether that person actually wants to make a fuss of him or not. That is irrelevant to his little brain. So instead he will prance around like a complete tit, begging for their attention. Rest assured if Knowle’s equivalent of Jack the Ripper ever happened to chance upon us in the woods, Bailey would not defend me, courageously to the end. He would instead drag me to him, hopping on both legs, happy to deliver me to their feet, like a sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. He may as well woof, ‘Well, here she is, all out of puff and literally unable to defend herself. Do you want mint sauce with that?’
So, we carry on. Trying to remain dignified under the most disagreeable of circumstances. I’m trying to ignore the dog and the fact that my pelvic floor appears to have more holes in it than Nora Batty’s tights after an exciting night with Compo.
It will be worth it, I reassure myself. For tomorrow I shall awake looking like Kendal Jenner. 10 minutes exercise is surely all it takes, I’ve always had a fast metabolism! But giving birth definitely does do weird things to your body. There are good things - like I no longer have to shave my legs half as much anymore, and my hair needs much less regular washing. But Mother Nature and progeny do appear also to want to set you on an almost inescapable path to Frumpiness, which, believe you me, I do not want. I do not want to grow old gracefully, and yes I will consider Botox when the time comes. I have a lovely friend who shall remain nameless but she has it and in her late 40s looks FAB-U-LOUS. So, never say never. Except to regular running, which is ridiculous.
So I awake the next morning, and I do not look like Kendall Jenner. I do not look like Kourtney. I do not even look like Khloe. I’m just still little old me, but little old me existing in A World of Pain. It reminded me of how I felt last time I went on an army assault course, with some very good friends in the bleak midwinter many, many moons ago. We were Team Chav, and we triumphed over Team Butterfly. We were amazing - imagine whippets - hummingbirds - leopards. But the next day we were all shadows of our former selves, like lamenting souls floating through the river Styx. The only thing that didn’t hurt when we moved them, were our eyes. It was rough, and put me off physical exercise for a long time.
But for now, I shall remain resolute. I will continue. But I will be more of a grown up about it, and do boring sounding things like Warm Up and Cool Down. I shall buy a proper running lead for Bailey and make a running playlist on my phone. Raybans that cover half my face are obviously also on order. But that’s for another day’s time. Until then I intend to google alternative running routes where I won't see anyone and kegel exercises. I may or may not also google whether Kendall Jenner is an alien. I feel the world needs to know.