I can't remember how long I've been saying this - I'll start thinking about my health when I'm 35. I'll get fit when I'm 35. It seemed forever and a day when I was 20.
I'm 35 in March. It's now.
And it's becoming more than a little obvious that my body isn't necessarily going to look after itself. Two pregnancies, two fights with gestational diabetes (hobbyhorses left at the door please, I don't doubt it is overdiagnosed, but I didn't just fail a Glucose Tolerance Test, I had very real and very dangerous complications until I got my blood sugar under control). If cake is to be a continuing part of my life*, then I need to move more, and move faster, and generally get my metabolism working in my favour.
So what does an impoverished and impatient mother do, to get her muscles working and her heart beating faster? (Apart from objectifying Benedict Cumberbatch, that is). She runs. She runs away from home.
Except it's not exactly running yet. I've downloaded the NHS Couch to 5K podcasts onto my extremely ancient iPod, I have a cheap pair of trainers and an extremely ugly sports bra (I can see why it was reduced to practically nothing in the sale, but it does its job and under four t-shirts and a hoody no-one's going to see it). And this morning I closed the door on the riot inside, and I set out.
Originally I was planning to go along the cliff tops, because they're flat and pretty and there are no roads to cross once I get there, but it was blowing a minor gale and the place was infested with Proper Runners, doing strenuous things up and down the steps, and part of the point of doing running rather than anything else is combining getting out of the house with not having to talk to anyone at all. So I went inland, round and round the quiet streets, through the rain, through my snotty cold (I gather breathing through my mouth was what I was meant to be doing anyway, which is just as well). Walk for five minutes, then run for 60 seconds, walk for 90, over and over and over for half an hour. I'm not convinced my running is really faster than my walking yet, but it's a slightly different set of muscles, and I got all the way to the end without wanting to die or vomit. So it beats being pregnant.
Next 'run', Tuesday. Rain is forecast again.
* Cake is non-negotiable.