Sitting in Battersea Park watching the runners pass by, it is hard for me to believe that I am one of them now. They are faster, and fitter, and thinner. Nonetheless, I too am now a person who runs.
I've have put myself in the hands of my Get Running app, which is apparently going to take me from "Couch Potato to 5k" in ten weeks. I'm on Week 6, and have gone from a huffing, puffing person who was struggling to run for 1 minute to a huffing, puffing person who struggled through a 20 minute plod at the end of Week 5.
I fondly imagine that running will change my physique, change my metabolism, indeed change my approach to life. One thing I think it might do is give me an acceptable reason to leave the house (rather than slamming the door and driving around aimlessly, hyperventilating with stress). Having left the house, running may help me calm down, I figure. And even it doesn't achieve that directly, it hurts so bloody much in so many places that I can't really think about anything else.
Obviously I would lose more weight if I didn't drill a bottle of wine every evening.
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