Monday, February 18, 2008

Fat Man In The Bathtub

Day two of the rwunning regime yesterday, otherwise known as a fat gits pathetic attempt to run one measly mile without killing himself. It was better than the day before, but only to the extent that I didn't throw up, and I suppose I managed a few extra yards before having to stop. It wasn't quite as enjoyable and seamless an experience yesterday, not that the first attempt was enjoyable or seamless, but it's all relative, innit.

First we have a new addition to our little training group: the daughter has decided she wants a pair of socks too, so she will run the mile with us, and she has a delightful and endearing tendency to take things less than seriously. We will end up looking like the royal bloody Tenembaums. Then the youngest haired off at 100 miles an hour only to be complaining of stitch about two minutes later. He couldn't get rid of this stitch, but he's a game little chap and persevered, as best he could. Then there was the small but not insignificant matter of the nipper being attacked by a dog.

His owners at least had the grace to look penitent as they explained that the pooch was only being friendly, but it was very large dog, and my nipper is a very small person and was terrified. It's all relative, innit? The owners were not in the first flush of youth and were some way away and the dog simply ignored their shouts to desist. Call me a miserable old bugger, but I think that if your dog is uncontrollable, however friendly he might be, he should be on a lead. So the nipper was having a bad day and I was unlikely to have been mistaken for a little ray of sunshine myself.

We rwan some more, rested, then decided to just leg it up and down a football pitch, the only distraction being a fully grown adult buzzing us with an enormous model aeroplane, whilst steadfastly refusing to let his own nipper have a go. When I say leg it, I am overstating the case, obviously. After about half an hour, we called it a day and spent about an hour playing football instead, which is excercise, I suppose, and half hour of ponderous and aimless wrunning has got to be better than no wrunning at all, hasn't it?

Today is day 3, and I am tired and weary to my bones. Everything is an effort and everything hurts, even my shoulders and can that be? The nipper came in from school and immediately took himself off upstairs, to return minutes later in his pyjamas, which was a fairly eloquent statement, I thought. So, my routine on day 3 of this new regime will consist of rwunning a bath, and then lying in it, for a very long time.
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