Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Challenge 2: The Kilometre

OK, I'm upright. I'm still staggering a bit, and I sit like someone whose knees have forgotten how to bend, but I'm upright, and for a moment on Saturday that wasn't looking likely.

Why do people go running? Do they have a deep-seated self-hatred? Do they enjoy the sensation of their quadriceps detaching from their femur? And, while I'm asking rhetorical questions, have you ever seen a runner who looks happy? They don't. Because they know IT SUCKS.

I had been promised an endorphin rush. The only rush I got was when I tried to stand up (and then, later, a smaller rush when I inhaled two almond Magnums). I spent Sunday crawling on the floor. The Doctor thought I was usurping his territory. Then he tried to go for a ride on my back. (Side note: he's going on a diet.)

My mother said it would be useful to "experience the journey" of running. Well, here's my journey, Mum:

10 metres - Hey, this is OK.
20 metres - Hey, this might not be OK.

50 metres - What's happening? What's happening to my legs?
100 metres - Oh, my God. Oh, my God. You've got to be kidding me.
250 metres - What do you MEAN I've only done a quarter of this?
500 metres - Lungs. Lungs. Death. Air.
600 metres - [Intense swearing, deleted for the delicate.]
750 metres - Brain... shutting off... blood flow... diverted. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying. Dying.
1000 metres - *sobbing, sudden urge for chips*

So there's my journey, Ma. I look forward to your thoughts as to exactly how it will be useful.

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