The exercise phase of my mission began this week. The curtain would have come up sooner but Aunt Flow arrived last week and reaped havoc on my plans. I’m assuming a team of men are responsible for those ridiculous Tampax and Always adverts, showcasing smiley, fresh faced, bloat-free and emotionally stable women riding ponies and jogging like they don’t have a care in the world. Those smug bitches are no more on their period than my granny is. I want Mythbusters to do an episode on this. They need to film four women in their thirties (preferably post childbirth) on Day 2 of shark week, These four ladies should be hauled into a meadow (like the one in the ads), Participants 1 and 2 can compete in a game of tag rugby. Girl 3 will be doing a showjumping demo while the fourth one is running laps around all of them in skimpy white jogging shorts. I can confidently hypothesize that the advert would look more like The Battle of Stirling Bridge than a promotion for sanitary supplies. They need to make an ad which depicts a bloated, middle aged, pyjama clad woman on her phone cancelling her yoga class while she picks crisp debris out of her cleavage and uses her tongue to scoop out the end of the hummus tub, before disappearing into the bathroom with a packet of tampons. That’s keeping it real.
So I began with the Couch to 10K run. This was a very courageous move on my part. As I have said in previous posts, my boobs are enormous. They don’t make sports bras to deal with this kind of baggage. Sports brands try to secure my melons as best they can. I’m sorry guys but even your best ‘high impact, shock absorbing, multi sport’ number is still not cutting it. Jeremy Clarkson, Volvo and Caterpillar could liaise for 6 months and still not come up with a way to make running comfortable for me. However, I decided to be a hero. Ignoring all the other svelte and statuesque runners, I took to the road like a St Bernard in a greyhound race. As I came face to face with other road users, I saw the bewilderment in their eyes…”Jesus, is she trying to…Is that..Shit. Is Eimear jogging?” I run like Pheobe from Friends. I considered having my gait analysed so that I could have special shoes designed so I wouldn’t wreck my joints. The problem is, I don’t have a gait. It’s sort of erratic. I start off jogging like a semi-normal person and the closer I get to passing out the more frantic my steps become. I’m not sure you could analyse that. Passers by slowed their cars down, presumably trying to determine whether it was their Christian responsibility to either offer me some assistance or call an ambulance. I could sense the internal arguments they were having with themselves. “She’s that one who writes the dirty, filthy stuff on the internet. We can’t let her in the car….I can’t let her die though. Maybe if I lay her in the back seat and roll her into Spar for a jambon, her husband could come and get her”.
I got through the first run and I must admit I felt very chuffed with myself. I finished at the halfway point on the local bypass. I did a little celebratory slut drop for the cows but they just stared and probably wondered how one of the herd had managed to escape the field. Unfortunately, I was 2 miles from home and I had to limp back to town. The app is fantastic. I downloaded it on my phone and it still prompted me during a call I took from my husband which means it will continue to work while you have other stuff running. I wouldn’t advise anyone to talk on the phone. My husband mistook my running voice for a ‘I’ve just escaped from a gang of violent rapists and I’m trying to run to safety’ voice and panicked. Apparently, I was rather difficult to understand and caused unnecessary alarm to my loved ones. It is too early to say whether it will teach me how to run but I didn’t die yesterday and I’m grateful for that. I have to give kudos to ‘J’ my aforementioned facebook messenger from Dial 5 for food fettish, facebook flirtations & What about my hole? who quelled my concerns about a lack of ‘runners high’ and encouraged me to stick with it. It turned out he was neither a pensioner or the owner of hairy kidneys as I had speculated in my blog. (Although the latter is yet to be confirmed…I feel like we may need photographic evidence). I am a sucker for taking advice from handsome blokes so I imagine I would have pole vaulted over the motorway had he said it was a good idea. All the same, he was right. I shall be seeing him in the UK this October and I propose a joint jogging/blogging session with a photo reveal for my readers. I will never match his running time but perhaps if he ran ahead of me, dangling a slice of Victoria Sponge, I could up my game. The gauntlet has been laid. I did Day 1 of the 30 Day Squat Challenge. I HATE squats. The first day wasn’t too bad but I see I have to incorporate leg lifts today. That could be catastrophic. I barely manage to negotiate my way around the house without acquiring a bruise or breaking something. This could be another occasion where some sort of cake incentive is necessary. Oddly, exercising seemed to dull my appetite yesterday. I wasn’t very hungry at all. Although my version of “not hungry” just means I’d eat a starter and main but leave the pudding. (I still violated a steak when I got home) I am very happy to report that two months into my mission, I have lost 15 pounds. I still eat like a horse but the lack of gluten in my diet is obviously making a difference. Also the pooing when I do accidentally eat gluten is probably like a free colonic’. Win Win!
So that’s me for today! I am off to a ‘do’ so I should probably change my pyjamas. Until next time! xxxx