I Am Not Late...

I've started running.

I am fed up with having a bigger rack than Mrs. Amazing.

Actually that's a lie. I love the rack.

I am not running. I'm jogging. Ew.

Running would be good. Running is what I am striving for.

I want to be able to just run, fast and ideally in a sexy way, without having to warm up. That fit.

I don't want to become a K(ilometer) monster and endlessly discuss distances. I just want to be able to chase (my) children and play at their speed, without becoming a big sweaty mess that needs gas and air, and a sit.

Running is what I picture myself doing...

[17:29:22 at work]

<Is doing calf stretches>

Boss: 'So we need that super important work in the next five minutes'

I am all over it like a fatty on a cake

<Does lunges>

[17:29:36]

Boss: 'What?'

I'm doing it right now

<Bounces>

It will definitely be done on time

<Crouches>

[17:29:55]

Boss: 'Well, it certainly needs to b...'

[17:30:00]

<Runs off like the roadrunner leaving me shaped hole in the wall>

Beep Beep!

(I was wearing my coyote ears at work today… I also work within sandstone…)

Really, I am currently jogging.

Sometimes limping to be truthful. Sometimes leaning against stuff and taking deep breaths. Sometimes wondering why I can see fairies everywhere, and then realising they are normally called 'spots before the eyes'.

Sometimes I feel quite healthy and good about myself.

Yes really.

<Eats earn't pie>

When Boy8 was a mere Boy4.

We met a nice OtherBoy4 and his Dad. I got on really well with the Dad.

We agreed on lots of things...

Thundercats?

'Awesome. LOTR?'

Life defining. Star Wars?

'Life defining. Board games?'

You mean Un-board games!

'Oh nice. Cheese?'

As essential as oxygen. Pie?

<Shows pie t-shirt>

BROTHER!

<Hugs>

The only issue was his size. He was a big fella.

Not in bones, or height or anything. He clearly liked to eat.

In a wrestling match I would lose, always. If we played see-saw it would be crap, I would get cold up that high. We could not lend each other clothes, except when I was attending clown school and he wanted tourniquets for his fingers.

Fitness wise he was doing bad. It was his choice. Not medical.

Obviously I cared not about his size. Boy4 cared not too. OtherBoy4 cared not obv...

... Except when we played, physically.

We were all at soft play together.

I chased the boys and smashed my knees through the UN-padded tunnels, I climbed, I leaped, I dived into the ball pit and got told off, I let the boys knock me over etc. All fun stuff. I got hot and sweaty and had a right laugh.

OtherDad sat drinking coke. 
He would not fit through tunnels. He could not run. He could not, physically, play like that.

That sucked for everyone.

But that was years ago.

They moved away. And I now I have Boy8, Miss4 and BabyBoy1 who all need their Dad to chase them, run with them, carry them and teach them the finer points of crick-ball (cricket played with a soft football)...

<BOING>

Boy8: 'Nice hit Dad'

<Starts running between wickets>

<Miss5 Runs after football crick-ball>

Boy8: 'Reckon you'll get at least six for that...'

Cheers man... <Gasps> ... I agree <Pants>

<Miss5 stops running to poke something>

Four! <Gasps for air>

Boy8: 'Yeah... you'll make six easy'

Five! <Gasps more>

Boy8: 'Come on, run man RUNNNNNN!!!'

<Uses last of breath up...> S....i....x!

Boy8: 'Well done Dad, right next ball, hope you're ready...' <Bowls next ball>

What?... <Gasps>... Wait...

<Is clean bowled>

<Miss5 and Boy8 high five>

<Hangs exhausted head>

Many years ago, before children. (B.C.)

I had a very lovely boss who ran at work.

And no I don't mean he went to the gym, or left at lunch time to exercise.

He ran in the office. There were long corridors, and rather than walk down them. He ran.

In a suit. No matter who was watching. He care-ethed not.

I always thought that was very cool.

And now I do it.

Well not in my office, it's too small for that. But when I get about. You know to buy comics buy cake and pie do important Dad stuff.

I run.

I don't wear exercise clothes, or optimum sports equipment. It's just the clothes I am in. Work clothes, home clothes, bat clothes. It doesn't matter.

I have become a chancer exerciser. 
If I am alone and walking, I jog run. I do wait until I am a fair distance from Miss5's school before start though. And of course out of sight at work before I gasp off and then have to lie down.

But I still do it.

(Run!! RUN!! There a fashion designer loose and they are attacking everyone with colour and non-symmetric patterns! ARGHHGHGHGG!!!)

I get a lot of funny looks.

I think it's because I am dressed incorrectly for what I am doing. It's like turning up for golf in normal tasteful reasonably priced clothes. You stick out like a sore thumb.

The uniform for running is stretchy, skin tight, luminescent, patterns, urgh, clothing.

Anyone know why? Lumo for night, right got that. But the rest?
Are the colours meant to scare people off?

I tend to be running in jeans and jumper, and big coat, and hat, and gloves (it is UK March).

I get funny looks because I look late.

Kids run and no one notices.

They run all the smegging time...

BabyBoy1

He doesn't ever walk, unless he is made to.

BabyBoy1 either stands and wobbles about or... HE RUNS, with arms flailing about, as though David Cameron the boogie man himself is chasing him. 
Although with a lot more joy.

Miss5

She currently has two speeds. Awful, painful, mind numbing, dragging, eye ball cleaning, slowness. Being lapped by snails and BabyBoy1. URGHGHHG

Or RUUUUN! I need some glue RUUUUN! I need a cup RUUUNNN! Upstairs RUN! Downstairs RUN! I need a wee...
RUN GIRL RUN!

Boy8

Weirdly he seems to have slowed down at home. He moves around the house like a ghost barely breaking a sweat. Flopping from room to room.

Especially when he has a job to do. The need to run in him is fading.

Except when he's outside or the whiff of competition in the air. Then he runs.

He runs like they're giving out free Lego, sweets, plastic noisy crap, and rubbers (erasers).

He's quick too. But no stamina.

Heh heh.

They all run like loonies...

Without a costume change. Or fuss, or loser special designer water bottles.

They do it because it's fun. It gets them places quicker.

That's what I want.

I want to run for fun...

(NOW… NOW!… I AM DRESSED TO RUN…. <Coughs>)

So if you do see a 30-Lots man limping running past you.
In full work clothes. Don't mock. Don't try and trip him. That’s mean.

Cheer! Pass him pie and a cup of tea. And Chocolate.

Try not to stare too much.

He may be doing this for his kids, so he can keep up with kids.

He may also be late for work.

<Runs past gawpers>

Gawper1: 'That oldish, yet still handsome, idiot man limps jogs slowly past here every morning...'

Gawper2: 'Does he? Ohhhh...'

<Time passes>

Gawper2: '... wonder what he's late for?'
<More time passes>
Gawper1: 'Well... Not a haircut!'
<Both piss themselves laughing>

Dear Legs

Dear legs,

I'm sorry. 

<Fights back tears>

I'm sorry for all the hurt and pain I have caused you. 

I'm sorry that I betrayed your trust and let you down. We've had so many wonderful times together you and I. You mean so much to me. You literally take me places.

I wish I could change what I've done. I wish I could change what happened and we could go back to like it was before. No one was supposed to get hurt, it was only meant to be a bit of fun. It wasn't planned. It just... happened. 

<Sniffs>

(Harmless fun…)

I woke up that morning and thought, yeah, let’s go for a jog. I’ll take Boy8 with me, that’ll burn off some of his grumpy extra energy. 

It seemed like a good idea...

I realise now, as I write this, that jogging isn't something I normally do. In fact have ever done. 
I have a car, a bike, a scooter, a teleporter. I don’t need to jog.

Why that day? 

Why that morning? 

I don’t know.

Boy8 was so super keen to go with me, he just made it easier.

Oy smeg face Boy8!

I’m going for a jog before work, if want to come, be ready when I am

<Looks stunned at me>

'Dad, it’s 6:30 am'

Yes I am aware what the clock says

'But you’re awake and making sense, and not shouting'

<Grumbles off>

Amazingly Boy8 was ready when I was and after reluctantly letting the cat in, we went out into the cold morning, a light rain falling, and started to jog.

I'm sorry legs, I know this must be hard to read. 

I just feel that if I can explain myself you’ll understand what happened better and be able to forgive me sooner.

We stretched before we left. Well I did. I was careful. I didn't want anyone to get hurt, especially me. We were only gone ten minutes. We just jogged, and talked.

Boy8 found the morning world fascinating to see. He loved seeing all the street lights lit, the dew still soaking the world. And I loved just chatting to him like two mates as we jogged around the park. We bonded.

I should have noticed then. I should have seen that when we got back he wasn't even slightly out of breath. He was still full of energy. That was my clue, and like the smuck I am, I missed it.

If we had left it there, no one would have been hurt. Me and Boy8 would have a nice memory of that day when I went mad and we jogged and everyone would have carried on, as though nothing had happened.

You legs, didn't even mention that first time. You were amazing. Not a single complaint. No gripes, no twinges, you took it in your stride (!) and never said a word.

<Sobs>

If only you’d had said something...

We jogged again the next day. Yes I know you know, I am just trying to explain. 

I felt great, Boy8 was happy too. 
We chatted and talked about life. My blood was pumping and I was bonding with Boy8 through excise. It felt good. It felt right.

I don't regret going out again that next day. I don't think Boy8 has ever got dressed that quick in his whole life. He was excited just to go out for a jog with me.

It was as we got close to home... the badness happened.

<Pulls self back together>

We were nearly home. 

I could see our house and all we had to do was gently walk home and everything would have been fine. But no. That isn't what I did, is it?

<Looks to heavens>

I raced him.

It was my idea. ‘Race you back to the house pants breath’ I said as I sped off.

How did I forget I'm 30-Lots and it was 6:30 am. 

That’s not my best time of day at all. Or best age.

I raced off confident in my victory. 

But then Boy8 did something that surprised me. I wasn't expecting it. He caught me up.

As I glanced to my side and saw Boy8 easily matching my strides I thought no.

NO bloody way!

Not yet. I am not ready for Boy8 to beat me in a race yet. No!

Not yet.

And that’s when the damage was done. 

<Whimpers>

I asked too much of you, legs. 

I knew you had more to give. I pushed and pushed. Made you give every single ounce of energy we had. You responded like a stallion and pulled on every muscle and sinew you had. I don’t think we have moved that fast in a long time. We ran as though our very pride was on the line.

<Fans tears from eyes>

And still we lost. Boy8 won. 

<Hangs head>

I thought he would be older when this happened. Me too.

Boy8 overtook me without really trying. He was even smiling as he did it.

(I am fine with being the very competitive additional winner...)

Boy8 celebrated and even did a little victory dance.

Well actually a long and excessive victory dance to be honest. It was tempting to deck him. But I didn't, people were watching it felt wrong.

Instead I patted his shoulder and wheezed ‘well done’, before limping home.

I know you are cross and are hurting, legs. 

I can feel it in my every movement today. I sound like a dramatic pirate every time I sit down at work.

Arrrrrrr

Oooooo

Eeeeeeeee

Arrrrrggggghhhh

<Trips over own sword>

(That’s gonna leave a mark...)

Maybe, though legs, you could lighten up a little on me. 

You were there too. You joined in.
So lets just forget about all that lactic acid, muscle pain, and just move on with our lives.

Next time we'll prepare better, we'll practice. 

Eight year old's have little stamina and find running up hill exhausting. Their legs aren't strong enough yet. Next race? 
Up hill, jumping tyres, with a back pack full of balloons, and at least a 1/10 mile.
#GonnaWin

With kindest regards,

Body Overlord, Dictator for life, Grand Decision maker,

Brainzilla X