I’m feeling quite pleased with myself today. Last night I ran the furthest that I have ever run (in my life, ever). In the light of people who run marathons, half-marathons and so on it’s not such an achievement, but I was very happy with my 6.08k (3.78 miles).
It reminded me of an article that I read on the guardian website last week about women and exercise. It made the point that exercise is often sold to women as a means to lose weight and that “the idea that exercise is a chore done to improve our looks is omnipresent”. This struck a chord with me because the sole reason that I started running was to shift the stubborn little bit of fat which sits at the top of my legs, just under my bum. No other form of exercise seems to touch this bit, but running really does. I wanted to do this specifically because I’d bought a dress for a friend’s wedding which wasn’t very forgiving round that area.
The article went on to point out that “for most women who exercise regularly this is a side issue. Instead they rhapsodise about how exercise makes them happier and proud of what their bodies can achieve.” I can also relate to that. Although I wanted to improve my figure, that is a side issue. I know that if I don’t exercise I get depressed, especially at this time of year when the nights are long and the light is in short supply. I know that if I feel blue than exercise will sort me out and make me feel so much better. I also know that knowing this is one thing, actually dragging yourself out to exercise when you feel down is a very different kettle of fish.
I haven’t been running for long, but already I’m beginning to feel proud of what my body can do. I’ve run further than ever before and today I feel good (no aches or pains yet). It’s exciting to think that I’m probably fitter now in my mid thirties than I’ve ever been before. So exciting in fact that I just signed up for a 10k race for life in May. Eeek!