Marathon Women
Word of week is 'stagnation': stagnation like a pond overflowing with green scum and sodden sherbet Dip Dab packets, stagnation like a former supermodel who sits in front of the telly all day eating Wotsits and refuses to wash her hair, stagnation like... like, a lonely old boarded-up pub on the outskirts of a once-thriving city, rusted sign flapping desolately in the wind. Feel v poetic today. Must transmit my woe: the woe of a woman who cannot cast off the shackles of physicality and learn to fly. In other words, am lazy and didn't run today.
Amazing! Somebody finally honked at me! In midst of run (50.49 mins - v. proud of self), lost in own thoughts, when large red van suddenly pipped horn at me as driving past. So shocked that did not initially respond. Quickly scouted area for groups of miniskirted girls who might be intended target of said aural assault, but none to be seen. Came to conclusion that intended recipient was indeed self, and continued run wearing new, smug, grin.
Essay crisis. Nuff said.
Feeling witty today as running. Must be serotonin euphoria. Observe witty new phenomena whilst wittily surveying crowds, wittily: 'Age-Dependent Belt Location'. Wish made witty acronym, but unfortunately doesn't. Relevance to running minimal, but shall continue, wittily, nevertheless. Theory concerns general northwards migration of male trouser waistband in positive correlation with increasing age, in manner of following: 1) The Child: trousers constantly falling down; 2) The Teenager: too-big trousers deliberately yanked halfway down arse in Fred Durst fashion to expose CK boxers; 3) The Twenty-something: fashionably low-slung distressed denim boot-cuts perched on hipbones; 4) The Dad: trousers starting to move worryingly near to where mum thinks they should be, though belt still nestled below growing stomach bulge; 5) The Aged Geezer: As longer in tooth, shorter in leg, with Littlewoods trousers held by braces at armpit level above implausibly large stomach bulge, exposing pale, hairless ankle and withered grey sock pulled up in attempt to keep out nasty draught. And that's it. Gosh am witty.
Today, am presented with clear choice: run, or take nap to ensure bright-eyed presence at college 'Halfway House' dinner, (featuring exciting free lollipops in assorted fun and wacky flavours). Sleep wins every time.
And again clear decision presents itself: get pissed in Union bar with boyfriend followed by pizza and movie (plus packet of chocolate-coated Crunchie nugget things), or run. Hmmm...
And again: run, or consume large McCoy's baked potato (have experienced no more symptoms of E-Coli, therefore product confidence restored). Must change! Only 9 weeks to go!
Can you give Marathon Woman a boost of much needed willpower? Email marathonwoman@oxfordstudent.com.
14th Feb 2002