Exercising the demons

Salsa dancing: 60 minutes' drive away.
Pilates: 20 minutes’ drive away.
Award-winning fish and chips: five minutes’ drive away.

You can see how I might be justifiably concerned about my health with those sorts of odds. While I could cut my losses and try running to the chippy, I think that would be enough to put anyone off their food.


But seriously – I’ve been forced to take desperate measures. Not for me the accessibility of a ‘set-your-speed-and-pretend-you’re-on-a-hill-and-stop-whenever-you-like’ treadmill. I have to deal with the real thing.

My absolutely least favourite thing about middle school (and there were a lot of competitors for this category) was cross-country running, which I now self-impose twice a week. When I texted an old friend about my new-found activity, he actually asked if I’d meant ‘logging’, which he’d heard took place up in Scotland, and apparently thought was more likely.  That’s how much I disliked outside exercise before it became my only option.

To be fair, I’ve now learned that there are advantages to exercising in the wild, instead of… er… at the zoo (the logical extension of a poorly chosen metaphor). For starters, it really is hilarious to run past farm animals and scare them into bolting away. Please don’t try this at home; I want to be allowed to continue my delusion that cows scarper when anyone jogs past, I can't face the truth that they are actually spooked by my scarlet face and heavy breath.

I’ve also saved a lot of money, not only on gym membership, but also on ankle weights – my trainers are now muddy enough to more than suffice.

The drawbacks, however, are numerous and mostly involve the weather – ice, snow, rain, the wrong sort of leaves - at this time of year particularly there are plenty of sensible reasons to cancel a jog.
Then there’s technology; my iPod inevitably runs out of battery a mile away from home, leaving me stranded without the happy distraction of enthusiastically chanted sexual metaphors. My fantasy trance (in which I am not doing any form of strenuous exercise) is abruptly broken and I am forced to face the reality of my plight; I am in jogging bottoms and a college hoodie and wearing no makeup and to the casual observer look very much like the foolish victim of a poorly planned new-year’s resolution.

This year I pledge to find myself more sensibly-located lodgings. If only for the sake of my vanity.