Running Towards Your Problems

I recently took up running after googling how many chins the average adult male is supposed to have and realising that, even including neck amputees, I was well over my quota. So I decided to take up running as it is free. All you need is some floor and there’s loads of that. Just look at America. Can't move for floor.

I decided I wasn't a serious enough athlete to justify buying all the official running paraphernalia like latex shoes, breathable leg sheaths, jock strap, running scarf and those special trainers with flashing lights on the side so everyone knows you are a serious runner. I just decided to go with a pair of swimming shorts with the netting cut out, some running trainers I'd found in a ditch on a boy and an XXL football t shirt that was in a sale at 75% off because the team in question had just been relegated and they couldn't give them away. Well they could give them away they just couldn't sell them at full price. Hence why they were in a sale, but I don't need to explain retail to you do I dear reader.

So I've taken to running around the place all sweaty and heart palpatitiony and it mostly goes okay. People move out of the way and cars sometimes don't speed up when I cross at pedestrian crossings.

But, like every time I try and do something to improve my health and fitness, I end up seeming like a sex offender.

It isn't anyone's fault.

It definitely isn't my fault.

What keeps happening is, as I get about a third of the way around my sixty four mile route (or about three tracks into my running play list, you do the maths) a quite pretty girl emerges from another street a few feet ahead of me. My heart sinks like a pounding, cholesterol coated stone as I realise she is running at almost exactly the same pace. I am no longer Corporal Joggy McSexington of the Fitness Regiment. No I am now a disgusting Benny Hill throw back in a too big football top.

Just spending a lovely summer evening chasing women about the town.

Just having a little chase, what's wrong with that eh?

They can't do you for that mate!

The can't touch you for chasing 'em eh! Lads? Eh!

What?! Come off it love it's my street too! If I want to follow this bird about calling her a frigid lesbian if she doesn't slow down then I will and there's nothing you or Emmeline Pankhurst are going to do about it!

But it's not like that! I'm just a nice boy having a lovely jog!

And sometimes the pretty girl looks round and catches my eye and I just feel terrible that, even inadvertently, I may have made another human being uncomfortable. Whenever this happens I am presented with a choice:

OPTION 1)
Stick to my guns and carry on at my normal pace on my normal route and risk, at best social awkwardness and at worst a lengthy prison sentence.

OPTION 2)
Slow down, and remain overweight forever.

OPTION 3)
Speed up and overtake, which comes with it's own set of problems. Most notably when the pretty girl turns round and sees I have apparently found the reserves of energy necessary to launch into my wooing/attack.

OPTION 4)
Do what I usually do when I find myself in an awkward situation with a pretty girl. Turn and run in the opposite direction.


It's dilemmas like this that have caused an obesity epidemic in this country. SORT IT OUT BLAIR.