To prepare for my marathon training, I’ve decided it’s time to invest in some new running gear. I need a proper running bottle like the serious athletes have. And a special rucksack to put my work clothes in before I set off from the office. “Don’t forget the running socks,” my fiance adds. “I’m fed up with you borrowing mine.”
Later that day, I return from the shop, pleased with my purchases. I can already imagine myself, soaring along the streets in my swanky togs, looking cool.
Tuesday morning. Early. Right. No faffing about. Get up, get dressed, hit the road. This must be what it’s like for Mo. And Jess Ennis. Just need to check my phone first…
Thirty minutes later. Finally manage to tear myself away from Twitter, an assortment of news websites, Facebook and email. Get out of bed and open the blinds so I can survey my trendy running gear.
The more I stare at it, the more something occurs to me. It’s pink. All of it. All of it is pink.
Sixty minutes later. I’m dressed. Resembling the love child of a blancmange and a character from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Now, what about my music? Must make sure the right tracks are downloaded onto my phone.
Thirty minutes later. Out of the flat. Run approximately six strides. It’s raining. I need to go back and get my hat. Which, of course, is pink. And not just any pink, it’s a Marks and Spencer’s fluorescent pink. I plonk it on my noggin . Voila. The cherry on the top, the piece de resistance of my *stunning sartorial choice.
Not to worry. Who cares what I look like? No-one will notice. I eventually set off and after a few minutes forget about my appearance. “Good, good, doing well,” I tell myself.
It is all going well. But they say every run brings its challenges. And for me it’s the binmen. I spot them a fair bit off. They are already staring at me, intrigued and baffled. And -of course-with the sleazy look of men who have never seen a woman before in their lives. Grrr….
As I get closer, their expression turns to amusement. I narrow my eyebrows and glare, as one of them pretends to run, moving his arms, huffing and puffing. Then the other one points and laughs.
I realise I have two choices. Continue to be grumpy or laugh it off. Aware the ridiculousness of the situation, I choose the latter, My cheeks burn as I turn and wave at them. Well at least my blushing is in keeping with my colour scheme . Willy Wonka would be very proud.
Three miles, done. Muscles aching, but happy with my achievement.
As I stuff my running gear into the washing machine, I realise I’m going to be out a lot over the next six months. And you know what that means? I’ll have to buy even more clothes. Although maybe not all in pink…
* Stunning: Causing, or capable of causing bewilderment, shock or insensibility. Disorienting.