(Not So) Sloppy Seconds

The second run is worse that the first. 

Mentally it's like preparing for root canal treatment. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing and I now knew how hard it would be. 

So, following a false start on Wednesday (I forgot my headphones), I made it to the inch after work on Thursday with my boobs safely strapped to my body, bum still roaming free, and sporting a brand new pair of running trousers complete with snazzy bright pink waistband to draw the eye to exactly where I didn't want it. 

After ferreting around in the spandex for the "secret" place to stash my iphone, Constance and I set off. This time with music. 

No grappling with dogs to distract me, I found myself terrified by "other people", subtly waiting on them to pass before I broke into my jog - just in case they saw me start. Heaven forbid. 

At one stage it occurred to me that the couple in front may actually be sauntering faster than I was able to run. Which brings me to the really curious thing I discovered today: I run funny. 

No. It's true. 

I've always been a confident walker - long strides, fast pace. Have never given it much thought that my running "style" would be so distinctly out of character. 

A cross between bouncing and mincing, I discover my running pace is only 30% faster than my walking pace. And, for some reason, it just doesn't feel like me. 

It feels timid. If it were a fashion style, it would be closer to Asda than Dolce & Gabbana. Suitable for getting from A to B, but probably not going to win any awards. 

Not entirely sure how I feel about this. Yet. 

Stunned by my running performance one small boy stopped his bike to watch, apparently mesmerised. One look at his Dolce & Gabbana clad mother (probably not, but you'll get the image) told me why he was staring. Clearly in his world one does not bounce round the park in running shoes, spandex and wobbly bits. One wears a pencil skirt, heels and dark glasses. 

I could match her with the dark glasses, but mine were mainly there to avoid being recognised. You just can't take chances when your wobbly bits are trussed up in neon spandex. 

Yet, despite attempting anonymity, I caught the eye of a woman who was running properly (unlike me) and she said hello. 

Maybe she mistook me for a fellow runner?

Knew the spandex would make all the difference.