Oh FFS I’ve gone and injured myself again which means a halt to running proceedings which results in me turning into a total grumpy bitch.
The even more annoying thing is I wasn’t doing anything remotely exercise related when I did it. Or swinging off a chandelier. Or jumping up and down on Mr Moore. Or chasing my kids. Or dancing the night away (I do have a rather spectacular big toenail injury from New Year’s eve but that’s another blog for another day….). Nope, I was putting away kids washing and I decided to move small boy’s giant wooden ride on aeroplane (I fucking hate that thing – sorry Dad) with my right foot. Cue agonising burning groin pain.
I have been trying to get fit and start running for quite some months now and although I know that I will never be the fastest or the fittest I actually really bloody love it! Why oh why has it taken me until 40 to realise that exercise is actually a good thing and that I actually love it? Well, I have MS for a starter which periodically scuppers things by making parts of my body not work properly and also depression has been a rather special unwanted friend in my life but more about that another time.
I think the biggest factor in my long standing hatred of anything sports related began in the one place that it should not have. School. I was geeky, gawky, slow and lacking in confidence. I always got picked last and I remember vividly our PE teacher yelling “A bunch of old age pensioners could run faster than you! My dead parrot could run faster than you!!!”. This was aimed at those of us girls who were not shall we say…as athletic as the rest. Motivating huh! I had had enough one time and did respond “That parrot must stink Miss it’s been dead for ages!!”. That was as well received as a shit sandwich, meaning that I was even further down the pecking order as far as budding sports star treatment went.
So, my dear departed Mum who also totally hated sports, wrote me a fake sick note every week so that I didn’t have to endure the humiliation and suffering that pretty much every sports lesson brought me. Especially if I’d forgotten my giant navy PE knickers – we all know that one right 70s girls?
Now, in my Mum’s defence she really thought that this was the right thing to do for her beloved tortured soul of an older daughter. But what she unwittingly did was fuel the fire for my disdain and to be honest, loathing of sport by doing exactly what my PE teacher was doing – excluding me. The only sport that I had ever remotely had an interest in ever had been swimming and we stopped doing that after we were 13 I think? No idea why. I have always found it very interesting that at that time (70s/80s) it was perfectly acceptable for sports teachers to ridicule and shame students who were not naturally able at anything physical. It wasn’t okay to laugh at pupils who were struggling academically but yet it was somehow encouraged to point and laugh and shout at those who were just quite frankly, totally shit at PE. At that time our options were Hockey, Netball (I ducked during a demo where the teacher had chosen me to show a new catch….), rounders (please god no) and in the summer, athletics. Now actually I didn’t mind running I just wasn’t very fast and because I was pretty consistently signed off with “female problems” (fictitious or real depending) I never got any better so Sports Day was the absolute worst day of the year EVER for me. I would be hiding down the bottom of the field smoking most likely ignoring the cries of “ANNA 400 METRES!!
Consequently I have always been somewhat sniffy (translate as actually terrified) of anything to do with fitness which is now pretty amusing as some of my closest friends are all about the sport. Lead by example they say? Well they have actually and honestly age has helped – I know I look like a twat in my running gear, I’m not going to win any prizes in MILF running magazine but you know what? I got fucking bored with being scared of it all. So when my gorgeous friend Ali Cooper asked me whether I might be interested in going if she started a bootcamp every fibre of my being screamed NOOOOOOOO FUCK OFF NO FUCKING WAY THEY WILL LAUGH AT YOU IT WILL BE LIKE SCHOOL!!! Then somewhere out of nowhere a little voice came out of my mouth and very very quietly whispered “yes”………..where did that come from?
So, some weeks later I rocked up in my lycra (yup I even braved buying SPORTS CLOTHES shhh) and I can honestly say that I have never been more terrified in my life. I thought I might die, they might have to call an ambulance, everyone would laugh and worst of all I might actually throw up, crap myself or cry. Still not sure why I think the latter is worse that dying but there you go.
It hurt. A lot. A whole lot. I had muscles hurting that I didn’t even know I had and it felt GREAT!! OMG I loved it!! I was part of a group of awesome women and we were exercising together and laughing and having fun and they weren’t laughing at me in a bad way! I do however have a tendency to be the class clown for which I have apologised but I can’t change everything…..only the size of my arse……hopefully.
So I am still going to bootcamp and I have started running (okay ambling would be a better expression) and have done the Couch to 5k. I ran 5.5k without stopping for the first time ever last Sunday with a very supportive lovely friend and it felt amazing. I am doing 3 miles in March for Sport Relief and I can’t wait. What the fuck has happened to me??? Exercise, that’s what and I love it. I helps me fight off the black dog of depression and keep my body strong and more coordinated with the MS.
So excuse me if I am totally fucking pissed off that I have properly hurt my poor old groin. I want to go running!!! I am going to stay calm and rest up and hopefully I will make it round without the aid of an ambulance…..although if any big strong men want to carry me that’s okay?