<*dv_1*>I initially took up the noble art of jogging three years ago because essentially I was an unfit, unhealthy and unattractive fat bastard. And I had a 30 bet with my boss that Id lose a stone before him by Christmas, which I won if you were wondering (oh, ye of little faith, shame on you).
<*dv_0*> When you first start it really is a struggle and is predominantly walking based, or waddle based in my case, but it was also a good excuse to blow all my wages on some new Nike trainers and Adidas training gear. Well, you must be kitted out correctly and look smart as you never know whom you might meet when out jogging around the middle-class streets of Surbiton and Kingston upon Thames on a frosty and misty night: cottagers, piss-heads, muggers and drug dealers in my case.
<*dv_4*> As an outsider I had always assumed that joggers were members of a friendly and camaraderie-based union like that in which Beetle drivers belong to (you know when a Beetle sees another Beetle on the road they sound their horn and wave at each other). Sorry to be a breaker of myths and legends of the highest order, but when I first went out other joggers not only ignored me or mocked my attempts to make small talk (nice night for a jog, mmm like your cycling shorts etc.), but they started overtaking me at such rates of velocity that Police cameras were clocking them for breaking the speed limit.
With jogging being an aerobic pursuit of some note, one would assume that it is good for your health. Well, it is in terms of aiding weight loss and improving your respiratory system, but it should also come with a government health warning as well, what with all the abuse, ridicule and physical danger which is thrust in your direction night after night. Having a glass bottle thrown at me when I wasnt even thirsty was one thing, being pelted with eggs in a drive-by incident that was more Bugsy Malone
<*dv_3*> than The Godfather was another, but is there really any need to lean half way out of a speeding car shouting incomprehensible expletives at me, whilst demonstrating a hand gesture to suggest I once advertised Nescafe? Maybe that was just his way of showing me he liked my running technique or my shapely calves.
Despite all the pitfalls involved in the aforementioned pursuit which I partake in, which now includes the fact that I now permanently have shin splints due to my legs pounding the hard, concrete pavements night after night, jogging does have its merits. For one, when people ask me what Im doing of a night I can reply that Im just going out locally thus creating the illusion that I am a sociable animal of some repute, and that I am out and about of an evening at least three times a week. And for another I now feel sufficiently confident in my running ability that I have entered myself to participate in the 2004 Great North Run. So, come September youll be able to watch me on a late summer Sunday morning on BBC1 running along with all my celebrity mates (e.g. Lawro, Motty, Stubbsy etc), sharing in all the banter and anecdotes which come with these events, then as soon as the cameras switch to someone else my celebrity brethren make their excuses and mercilessly overtake me leaving me to eat their dust. Then you can have a quiet moment of contemplation and think to yourself, ah, but that is the life of the running man.
Jon
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