Beating Jordan (not with a stick)

It’s official- my new athletic inspiration is Katie Price. I don’t intend to tango myself up and my baps, while ample, are nowhere near her standard, but she is my Jessica Ennis. It’s  just over a  week to the London Marathon. A girl’s gotta take inspiration where she can. I HAVE to beat Jordan.

And I will.

I never thought I’d be a runner, but now the stupid thing has taken over my life. I pour over running chat rooms, I buy magazines, I bore people rigid talking about it. I browse shoes based on comfort, not on the fact Kurt Cobain blew his brains out wearing them (Converse One Stars in case anyone is interested). Oh yeah, and I run. Not fast or stylishly, but I do do it.

While the peachy-hot-pant bum of my dreams has not materialised over the training period, I have learnt a lot.

Firstly, I am not J-Lo, and running to her funky latin beats is more likely to give me a heart attack than a PB. Also, listening to the theme from Rocky does not make hills any easier. You are more likely to do better if you are listening to stuff you like. Stuff the BPM and stick on a bit of some ole dreary indie. Your heart will thank you.

Secondly, lycra is your friend. Before starting running, I would see all shapes and sizes shoved into lycra and marvelled at their obvious sense of delusion. I was the one who was deluded. Lyrca rocks. Not only is it comfy, but it ties my thighs together, stopping them blowing in the wind, providing aerodynamics Audi would be proud of.

While a shiny lycra-fueled trouser may fill you with joy, the same cannot be said of sports bras. If you are blessed with anything larger than a tangerine you know you are going to go into a shop to be robbed and leave with something that would not look out of place in a war-time lingerie advert.

During my obssession I have also discovered there is a spiritual side to running…(ahem). There are those devottees out there who think that it’s like some chi shit, to create harmony and integration of body, mind , and spirit…in motion. That you can learn how to build your runs from the inside out, clear in the mind, steady in the heart, strong in the spirit. That sounds marvellous. I would totally buy in if I could just switch off my own mental wheels, like before metrosexuality, did men suffer chapped lips in agonised silence, coveting the lipsalve of their ladyfolk? Why did David Beckham put his hair in corn-rows? Would it be more or less of a health and safety issue for the council to cover the roots determined to break my ankle on Massey Avenue with more tarmac creating massively high kerbs?

While this does not sound like normal mediative thoughts, taking my crazy to the streets has been a wonderful thing. No more gym bunny action for me. No more ‘pretending’ to ski beside some bored-looking housewife watching a mute Phillip Schofield or E-ed up yoof tv presenter. I’m keeping it real, in an outdoors stylee.

What else has been wonderful has been the overwhelming support of all my friends. You guys have been incredible.  Thank you all.

It would almost bring me to tears. And it will, when I beat Jordan.

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