Running in shiny trousers

I have been running a lot lately.

Or training, as I like to think of it.

I've noticed since I started that there is a definite sense of community amongst runners, as though we are all part of an unspoken club, a chosen minority of human beings born with added virtue and accompanying smugness.

But there is a hierarchy within this club. 

It starts at the bottom with those who are most obviously novices. They wear hilariously unsuitable clothing and carry silly objects such as large water bottles or cd players, flailing about with their arms thrashing wildly as they try not to fall over their own feet.

Then at the other end of the spectrum you find the runners who mean serious business.

These men and women have iPods strapped to their arms, and very tight shiny trousers meaning they have made the decision to swap their dignity for extra aerodynamics, which I personally find to be a laudable life-choice.

There is also an etiquette to running in public places.

For instance you must never make eye contact with another runner who passes you. 

Ever. 

It shows weakness and a lack of concentration. 

And overtaking can be awkward, especially when you find yourself confronted by a walking civilian.

Not long ago I turned out of my house to begin a short warmup before running properly. I realised immediately that I had manoeuvred straight into the path of a young lady walking up this fairly steep hill. For a few disastrous seconds I was jogging alongside her as she walked, and it became clear we were travelling at the same speed.

This was obviously unacceptable so I put on a burst of power to gain some distance between us.

Unfortunately the hill was spread out ahead, becoming steeper and steeper, and in order for her not to catch me up again and complete my humiliation, I had no choice but to continue at the same speed, which had accidentally become something of a sprint. 

So up I went, for a good 90 seconds, until fairly sure I was out of sight at which point I threw up into a bush and called a taxi home. 

That was one of my shorter runs, but I'm gaining in strength and confidence now.

I have always heard that after exercise one feels far more energetic for the rest of the day.
I have not found this to be the case.
No matter what time I run I feel exhausted until bedtime, and often find it's the most I can do to stay partially awake whilst lying on the couch with a cold flannel on my head.
At such times I am thankful that my daughter is now of an age (4) where she can be sponsored to go and fetch things from other rooms, which helps me to avoid any excess movement. A single jelly baby will buy you a favour ranging from passing the remote to fixing you an iced drink, although the latter often ends in tears and a clear up more painful than the initial task would have been had I done it myself.

I am trying to be less sedentary though, and to make more sensible life choices.
Having years ago found that coffe made me anxious, I started drinking decaf. But this, it turns out, still makes me anxious. So I switched to hot chocolate, as I decided it was surely better to be fat than to be anxious.
Missing the taste of the old decaf espresso, and now addicted to the sugar rush of the Starbucks chocolate syrup, I have now opted to be both fat and anxious by selecting the Mocha as my daily drink.

In any case, I try.  In certain senses I even enjoy my efforts to reverse the ageing process.
However I shall be holding off on the inevitable shiny trouser purchase for a little while longer.