When I first wake up in the morning, I do not want to go out for a run. Nothing could drag me from the cosy confines of my bed to face the wind and the cold of the outside world. But after a cup of tea, a little flick through a magazine and a bit of stretching, I really quite fancy it. I don’t go far, I don’t go fast, but I am a runner. It’s rather pleasant to run through our local park, seeing the dogs chasing tennis balls, kids running after the dogs and the parents catching up with their children. The wind rushes through you as you pace past the duck pond, which has the most charming shimmer on a sunny day. It’s tough, when you’re breathing heavy and there are still four more corners to go, but when you get jelly legs at the end of the final sprint, you can feel it’s all been worth it.
The more articles I read, the more programmes I watch and the more I look at the world around us, the more I love exercise. For a little input, you get a tremendous amounts of benefits, from the inside out. I suppose it helps that I run alongside the chap, both of us encouraging one another and cheering each other on. I don’t run in the rain, I’m not that dedicated. But I do make the time three or four times a week to lace up my trainers and get outside for at least half an hour. I don’t exercise because I hate my body, I exercise because I love it.