I’ve never been very good at the whole fitness thing. I’ll go to the gym and do a ‘work out’ that feels comfortable and doesn’t push me, I’ll barely break a sweat and then leave after half an hour. I’ve been to spinning classes and actually find them quite enjoyable, but mostly the ‘enjoyable’ part comes once the end is reached and I can go home, collapse and eat some saturated fat. Swimming is something I’ve always liked, although I prefer just to splash around and have fun rather than do fifty lengths.

Credit: Google Images

An unexaggerated representation of what I look like when I try to run.

But running

Running was not meant for me.

My brother is the complete opposite. He drinks those awful protein shakes, goes to the gym regularly, runs every day, and worse, has taken to dragging me along with him. Today we went on what has been our second run together, quite a short affair but with lots of ups and downs that made the whole ordeal pretty much horrendous. I have to admit, I did not try very hard today. Friday’s run was much more successful; although I almost gave up a couple of times, I did manage to run up the last hill home and felt quite good about myself by the end of it. But today I got a burning, stabbing stitch on both┬ásides almost immediately after stepping out of the house, and it made me ask myself: why? Why do people put themselves through such pain? Swimming is easy. Power walking is fine. Cross-trainers aren’t the worst things in the world. Spin class I can just about bear, even though it’s one of the more challenging exercise classes around. But there is something about the act of running that is just painful, horrid and unpleasant and makes me want to die. Read the rest of this entry »

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