Jogging

In all my modified wisdom, I recently embarked on a semi-serious health kick which involves no more chocolate, no more cheesecakes, and less beer (note my leniency on the beer policy).
I figured it would be good to drop a bit of weight for the proposed salsa classes I'm debating on beginning in the new year, and besides, all that sugar ain't good for long term friend I hate, the diabetes. And when I say friend, I mean more of an associate.
Someone who I have contact with constantly but only really present themselves when they're in trouble.
Be it money, relationships, or mars bar-induced glycoma.

So far, so good.

Glycoma aside.Part of my foray into fitness has of course been the addition of exercise. Being a fan of the Rocky films, and indeed any film that contains an inspirational training montage (Flashdance and Footloose included) , I figured that as the world of competitively-priced gym fees restricts slightly, what could be better than the free and equally embarrassing pursuit of jogging.
Yes, placing one foot in front of the other in rapid succession for an extended period of time.
How hard can that be? Rocky did it in the snow, for Chrissakes!!

Obviously, I start the day like this... http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=3EYZCZvV7WM but I swallow them no worries.
I whack on the ipod, with pre-set banging tracks (Dead Kennedies, The Clash, some Metallica, and anything by Abba), don my new trakkies and Hi-Tecs, and hit the trail. And I'm looking GOOOOOD.
The fresh air, the wind in my face, and the Sun on my....ankles.
Five minutes in, still feeling alright. Breathing steady, but slowly paying the rising tax on oxygen.
At this point, I'm pretty sure I've done a mile, so I sit down by a babbling brook to enjoy a scotch egg and recite some neo-political French poetry (inclusion of the scotch egg removes all precociousness).
I commence running once more.
Why am I doing this?
What am I running from?
An obese Britain? I live here, so that's ridiculous.
Obese teen epidemic? No. Cant be. I was a adolescent some years ago, and I did my fat stint then.
Or am I just running from myself? Obviously not. One cannot run physically from oneself as one is oneself, and the two should never be mutually exclusive. That's like taking a break from your shadow, and I shudder to think of the paperwork involved.

I finally make it back to my car (oh yeah, I drive to my run) via walking a bit, jogging less, and walking some more.
I have managed to keep this up for a couple of weeks now, and I have noticed some considerable gains.
My French has improved, for one.
Secondly, I now associate all nice foods (and consequently EVIL) with mild asthma attacks.
Thirdly, if I ever become pregnant, my baby has less chance of inheriting heart disease. So everyone's a winner.
Any further progress will be duly noted on this very blog.

Yours Chafing-ly
Adz


PS All jog and no beer make Adam a dull but lucid boy.