Running is one of those activities that is heavily romanced in my mind. I genuinely think it’s one of the coolest things to just announce that you’re off on a jog, and then return 40 mins later with a rosey glow and make nothing of the fact that you ran (WITHOUT stopping) for 40 minutes. As a fatty, I find that talent akin to magic. Black magic.
Somewhere in and amongst my reading of the general weightloss fad, I came to the undeniable conclusion that I should probably start doing some excersize in addition to going to weight watchers. I came across the couch to 5k , and it breaks down to running half an hour, three times a week, and at the end of eight weeks, I should (in theory) be able to run a 5k race.
But before I move on to my first run and what a delight that was, I just want to take a second to address the monumental unfairness that I have found myself in. Cameron. My fantastic significant other has also recently “picked up running”. He started last week and now has coordinated running outfits.
In all seriousness, I think the app is key, because Cam’s helpful suggestion of “just keep running till you’re tired, and then just run a little more the next time” made me flip a table. It’s basically as motivational as saying “just stop being shit” – actually, I find that more helpful. In addition to which, my brother’s beyond fit girlfriend has offered to run with me when she’s back from college – I just envision us running down the trail as the real life mismatched pair of Esmeralda and Quasimodo.
So I went out on the first day of the programme and it was not awful, but truth be told, I only actually ran for a total of eight minutes in the thirty minute time period. So to recap, I walked for 22 minutes.
This may be a very long eight weeks.