I Hate Running

I've never been much of an athlete. My sporting highlight was a game of competitive hop scotch in primary school. I was five years old at the time.

But I have stuck with running since high school. I do it, but I do not enjoy it. I think it might be the various indignities I'm subject to every time I put on my trainers.

I'm not one of 'those' runners. The ones with the tall, sculpted model physiques who look so professional and awesome, with their fluoro tight Lycra and fancy gadgets and cool water-bottles and neat headbands. If only! I took upon those heavenly beings with a mixture of awe and jealousy, then glance down at my chubby thighs wrapped in a pair of old H&M leggings, my chubby tummy concealed (mercifully) by one of Dad's old t-shirts, and I decide that yes, I really do wish I looked different.

I'm a slow runner. You know the ones. We're not aiming for a time or a race and our knowledge of the latest scientific theories around exercise is next to nil. We’re simply after a dose of fresh air and the chance at keeping our creeping obesity at bay.

That part’s good. I like the fresh air and I am truly grateful to running in that it's kept me from resembling a piece of furniture. Nevertheless, I hate it.

I hate it because I'm terrible at it. The following happens every time I go for a run.

At first I think I'm doing really well.



Then I hear something approach...



I think to myself "that's cool, she was probably super fit before, during and after the baby, no shame in being overtaken by a woman who gave birth six weeks ago". But then I hear the patter of small feet from behind...



And most humiliatingly of all...



Worse than being overtaken by EVERY SINGLE FUCKING runner (or power walker or group of kids who are playing) is the pitying looks I get from them and the general public. These looks destroy my confidence and make me feel inferior, worthless, and of 'lesser being' quality compared with the super Mums and super kids and super old dudes out there.

I feel like the butt of a cruel joke every time I go running.

There are seven other reasons why I hate running: the only thing I think about while running is how much I wish I wasn't running (therefore it's boring), my ankles hurt each time (must be getting old), towards the end of a run I get that specific lung burn where I'm trying to suck in oxygen whilst being stabbed in the chest (not literally, but it sure feels like it), dog poo, it's cold out, I'd rather be doing anything besides killing myself running, and knowing that despite all of the above, I will be going for a run tomorrow.

Why? I'll tell you why. Because someone designed this universe in a cruel and unusual fashion so that the amount of time we spend exercising is directly proportional to how attractive we are to the opposite sex.

You just had to construct our bodies this way, didn't you, oh Great Designer? You couldn't have made a linear relationship between time spent eating chocolate and attraction to the opposite sex, could you? Actually scratch that, keep the chocolate. I don't even want your fucking chocolate. I would have accepted a linear relationship between sitting around doing nothing and level of attractiveness.

But why do we have to run? Why do we have to suffer so much just so that we don't look like a giant stomach wrapped in thigh fat?

So whoever you are, oh Grand Master Planner, let me tell you this - I've got a bone to pick with you.



I will continue to run because I’m a realist – I understand the way the world works. But I gotta tell you, your system sucks.