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I am inordinately proud of myself this morning. It is a glorious day. Instead of admiring it from the comfort of my living room, I girded my loins, went out and did the very first of the Couch to 5k podcasts.  Not the Couch to 25k as The Other Half believed for at least half of the month I was talking about downloading them and getting myself geared up to start. That way madness lies.

I used to run. I have done 5k and 10k races in the past. But then, I also used to be fluent in French, be able to dance all night and have a cleaner.   Times change.

For the first few minutes it was glorious. Having an iPod telling you what to do (and that lovely lady must be miniscule to fit in the inside of a Nano) takes all the thinking out of it.  I trundled along admiring the countryside, thinking about nothing in particular apart from striding out and using my arms to make my legs go faster. I even started to enjoy myself.

I'm the one on the right. Honest.

And therein lay my mistake. About 4 of the mini-runs in, it really started to hurt. A casual observer – and thankfully there weren’t many of these – could tell this by the way in which my knees increasingly locked together and my run became more of a shuffle.  I was ever so grateful when Lovely Lady told me I only had 2 more runs to do before I could keel over and lie panting on the floor.

But I did it. I didn’t cheat, I didn’t stop. 

I’m not aspiring to join the Olympic team, but hopefully I’ll still be able to walk tomorrow morning.  Lovely Lady tells me that I have to do this twice more before I can move onto the next stage.  I think the next one is going to really hurt and be even more coughy and snotty than it was this time.  The old knock-kneed shuffle may come into play again.  I have a feeling it will get worse before it gets better.  I may start running in the dark to save my blushes.  Not that you can blush when you’re red in the face, but still.  Embarrassment is a major factor in my hatred of exercise.  And seeing as how I can’t fit a pool into the living room or a gym into the cellar, I don’t have many options.

But for a moment, nay, perhaps an instant, I glimpsed again the joy which running can bring.  It lasted only (nano) seconds but that, and my sheer bloodymindedness, is enough to keep me going.

Now, if someone could just give me a hand up off the floor and make me a cup of tea, that would be simply marvellous.  I’m all out of puff.