Running is, by and large, GREAT. It’s free (apart from the kit), it’s easy (ok, it’s not), and it’s healthy (yeah, it’s legitimately that). But now I’ve been running semi-authentically for a few years, I’ve come to to realise that I have a few very real runner girl problems. Can you relate?
Treadmills are NOT representative of actual speed, I’ve decided. I do not get the speed setting one iota. Case in point – outdoors, I can pretty much run 7 miles in an hour. I KNOW RIGHT! Nah, it nearly kills me. But anyway. If I set the speed on the treadmill to 7mph, I honestly don’t think Mo fucking Farrah could handle that pace. Then if I do manage to survive ten minutes, it tells me I’ve only burned about four calories. What gives, treadmills?
Road Etiquette Part 1
You know when you’re running outside and you’re beyond shagged out, so when you approach a crossing and see a car coming you embrace a rest opportunity? Just five seconds to stand on the pavement waiting to cross, while you try not to vomit your spleen. And then that fucker of a driver WAVES YOU ACROSS. He slows to a halt so that you can carry on running to imminent death. “Ah, thanks!” I relay via a jaunty wave. “I’ll just crack on with my jelly legs and my wheezing, raspy breaths. Can you do first aid?”.
Road Etiquette Part 2
So, when you’re running along, and you approach an EVER SO SLIGHTLY slower runner from behind, you move to overtake. Only in doing so, you mortally offend said runner, who then ups their pace. Then follows an incredibly awks period where you’re running alongside each other, which no-one wants to do because it’s far too sociable. Ergo, you have no choice but to kick on, and assume a pace that’s massively beyond your capabilities. And you need to keep up this pace until there’s at least 100m of clear pathway between you and that bastard who tried to match you.
Earphone Woes Part 1
Once, I was running along a river path and my shuffle mix came to the end. But, because I was running like an absolute don, I told myself I’d just get to the next bench before starting my music again. So, I was running for a minute with my earphones in, but with no music. A group of teenage girls were approaching in the opposite direction. “Fuck me! Look at this coming up! Fucking hell, she’s sweating like a fucking state innit! Bahahahahahahahahaha.”
Girls are horrible.
Earphone Woes Part 2
In a similar music-free scenario, I ran through the student mecca one evening. As well as witnessing vomit, broken glass, and sticky energy drinks being spilled, I got called a MILF. Now, this is no bad thing. If someone thinks I’m a MILF then I wear that badge with pride. However. I wasn’t running with my children. Do you see my problem here? How did the guy know I’m a mum? I clearly look like a mum. Therefore, I clearly look old. Maybe my childbearing hips gave it away. Sigh.
Mascara. Oh Mascara.
Unless I’m working out at the arsecrack of dawn, I’ll usually have the vestiges of make-up on when I’m running or at the gym. I normally perform a discreet under eye finger flick at periodic intervals, to negate any eyeliner / mascara smudgery. I say normally. One afternoon, when I was so ridiculously sweaty betty up on that treadmill, I failed to give due care and attention to my face. Oh god. I spoke to SO MANY people in between routines. I had a really nice chat with one of my class instructors, including a bit of bants about 10kg kettlebells. At the end of my workout, I went for a wee and caught my reflection. Panda eyes doesn’t even come close, my face was basically sponsored by kohl. So embarrassed.
You know when you literally cannot hold in a fart any longer, and it expels itself in time with your plod-plod running? And there’s NOTHING you can do to stop it? And if anyone else did it, it would be hilarious, but because it’s you it definitely is not funny? That.
Meh, I thought this post would be all cathartic. It’s actually just well cringe.
-SJW October 2017