Monday, 11 October 2010
Mind over matter.
I realise, Internet, that I have yet to update you on something I told you about quite a while ago. The Running.
For twenty-four years accelerating to anything above a I'm-going-to-miss-the-bus-oh-well-there-will-be-another-one-soon brisk walk was not only unlikely, but downright unthinkable. Accidentally getting the wrong hole when you're not prepared for it unthinkable. The world without chips-and-cheese unthinkable. Getting the question on that horribly hard exam that you actually revised for UN.THINK.ABLE.
Well. I don't mean to blow your (presumably very well read, intelligent, Guardian-reading but slightly smutty) mind but I DONE GONE AND LEARNT HOW TO MAKE IT TO FOUR MILES.
Now where is the cherry lube?
And I know the worst thing one person could possibly ever say to another person is coming in the next sentence. ("So basically, I think you might have herpes," "The ticket? I urm... Well I gave it to Jimmy at the office to go check..." "We're gonna need something bigger,") But I am aware of that. So don't hate the player, peeps.
I accidentally lost 15 pounds.
As in, off my body, not from my purse. I hold on to my money tighter than a tick does an unwashed war refugee.
And I didn't want to mention it because I'm a fat girl and I don't mind that. I've always been honest. I even tried exercising once or twice and declared that at a size 12-14 I didn't mind the junk in my trunk. I still got more ass than a toilet seat, bitches. The doctor told me I was overweight two years ago and it bothered me for about oh, I don't know, a minute and a half. Because then I got distracted by a white carbohydrate.
I really didn't set out to become a thinner version of myself but. Well. It was as much a surprise to me as to anybody else- turns out, I actually quite enjoy the running.
And then the pigs wafted their new wings as they made their way across the skies.
I didn't even deliberately weigh myself to make my discovery. I signed up for a new doctor's surgery and had to jot down my weight on the welcome forms. I didn't know it, because fat people don't tend to weigh themselves, what with being so busy picking the crumbs of Kettle Chips from their own bosoms, and when the receptionist saw that it was blank she pulled out the scales from under her desk. In front of everybody in the waiting room.
As I filled in the gap it suddenly made sense why I had to get the smaller size when I was shopping the week before last. And why I was able to buy trousers without feeling like I would rip them when I sat down. I thought it was luck. Nope. It was fitness. (JAZZ HANDS!)
I did set myself the goal way back when Reebok sent me the free stuff that started all this to run in a 10k race this month. That isn't going to happen. But I'm going to keep on running and yeah. I would like to do that half marathon. Next year maybe. But right now I'm happy just sort of smugly acknowledging to myself that okay then. Sometimes good things do happen when you get up off your lardy arse and into the (so bitingly cold it might permanently paralyse) fresh air.
I'm not Colleen Rooney in some Z-list wannabe celebrity magazine but I do actually have more energy and my attitude is much more positive for the meditation that comes with pounding the pavement. I get to see an awful lot of boys in Lycra on my route.
It's the first time in a long time that I've been really quite proud of myself. And not because I'm thinner. That really is just the by-product. But because six months ago I started something and stuck with it and it is affecting my whole life for the better.
I almost feel like a grown-up. Almost.
Labels: house of pastelle
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