Running: I Finally Got Off My Duff and Went for a Jog, and Let Me Tell You, It Wasn't Pretty

Well, folks, I did it. I finally managed to drag my sorry carcass off the sofa and go for a jog. Now, before you start picturing me gracefully gliding down the country lanes like some gazelle in Lycra, let me disabuse you of that notion right now. It was more of a shambolic shuffle, punctuated by wheezing gasps and the occasional whimper of despair.

But hey, I did it! And you know what? I'm actually quite proud of myself. After all, it's been, well, let's just say a while since I last attempted anything resembling exercise. Back in the day, I used to be a bit of a running machine, pounding the pavements with the best of them (15-20 mile a week). But then, life happened. Injuries struck, motivation waned, and before I knew it, I was about as likely to be found running as I was to win the lottery (which, let's face it, is also highly unlikely).

So, what made me finally change my ways? Well, to be honest, it was a combination of things. My jeans were feeling a bit snug (ahem), and I was starting to resemble a beached whale more than a human being. Plus, I fondly remember the buzz after exercise and want to get back to that happy place.

So, armed with nothing more than a dodgy pair of trainers and a questionable sense of self-belief, I set out on my mission. The first hurdle, of course, was actually getting out the door. The sofa had a siren song that could rival any Greek myth, and the promise of Netflix combined with a pint of Stella Artois was oh so tempting. But I persevered, and soon found myself on the local cycle path, feeling about as graceful as a baby giraffe on roller skates.

The first few minutes were, let's just say, interesting. My lungs felt like they were being used as footballs in an particularly enthusiastic game, and my legs protested at every step. But slowly, steadily, I plodded on. And you know what? It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. In fact, there were even moments when I dared to believe that I might actually be enjoying myself (although those moments were few and far between, and were usually accompanied by the sound of my wheezing subsiding).

So, after what felt like an eternity (although it was probably only about 12 minutes), I made it back home after that first mile. I was sweaty, achy, and looked like I'd been dragged through a hedge backwards, but I had a stupid grin on my face that wouldn't wipe off.

Now, I'm not going to lie, I'm not about to start training for the marathon just yet. But I have taken a small step, and that's what matters. Who knows, maybe next time I won't look like a pigeon on heat, maybe I'll just look like a slightly slower, sweatier version of my former self. And that, my friends, is progress.

So, if you're out there thinking about getting back into shape, but you're feeling a bit daunted, I say just do it. It doesn't have to be pretty, it doesn't have to be fast, but just get out there and move your body. You might surprise yourself at what you can achieve. And who knows, you might even enjoy it (a little bit).

In the meantime, I'm off to raid the fridge. Because let's face it, even baby giraffes on roller skates deserve a treat after all that effort.

Adidas Trainers


  1. well done fatty

    1. Well done. You almost had a proper sentence there. But hey, at least you're getting your daily dose of exercise... typing insults with those chubby fingers 🙃


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