Thursday, April 27, 2006

Of John Prescott and Exercise.

I can't think of anything to write.

I can't believe anyone would seriously want to sleep with John Prescott. I know that this is the least politically important feature of 'Black Wednesday', what with all the hospitals and the criminals, but really. John Prescott? I am somewhat incredulous. It's like being passionately drawn to the dog in the Churchill adverts.

I went for a run last night. I have new trainers to run in, and they are very bouncy and springy. I haven't got a new sports bra, yet, without which I wasn't going to start running again. Last night, however, I felt all frustrated and wound up, and I so wanted to go for a run. In the end I cracked, and just put three normal bras on and went anyway. It's trickier to breathe with all the strapping down that has to take place, but it's worth it for the lack of black eyes and knocking out of innocent passers by.

I ran the route that I had intended to do the last time I went running, when I accidentally got lost and found myself pounding the streets of some of the dodgier areas of Brixton. My favourite part, and what has always been my favourite part, is the point when I am nearly home, and I speed up so that I am sprinting. More than sprinting, throwing myself along with adandon and taking longer and longer strides, urging myself on. I love doing that, because I can taste the impending satisfaction of reaching out and touching the front door with the tips of my fingers before bending to hold my knees and suck air in while my heart slows. I also love it because I feel like, at that point in time, I am totally and completely on my own side. I believe in myself totally and wholeheartedly, and for those moments I tell myself I can do it. I have a mantra for the moments that I feel that my body might burst and my heart might rip out of my chest (through the layers of bra, of course). I repeat "come on Léonie", chanting as if I was cheering someone else.

This is something I rarely allow for myself. I am too self-critical to be on my own side, to truly believe and back myself. I have one set of rules for myself and one for everyone else, according to my therapist. She's a professional, she must know. I am cruel and vindictive and callous to myself in a way that I would never dream of being to anyone else.

In this situation, in these moments where I am running my fastest, forcing my body to go harder and be stronger, I am on my own side. If I was telling myself I was weak, useless and powerless I couldn't finish. I would stop and sit. Perhaps cry. I don't do that, though. I tell myself I am strong, that I can do anything and that I have power.

People often say that exercise is good for people with depression and anxiety, and I agree, of course. People, however, often cite the reason as the injection of endorphins that rush through the system.

For me, as well as the endorphin rush, the feeling of being kind and encouraging to myself is so wonderful, because it is so new. I feel it and think simply, oh. This is nice. I feel empowered. I can do this, perhaps.

What 'this' is, exactly, remains to be seen. I know that I will have to work to get it, and I know I will have to change my boundaries and think outside the parameters that I have set for myself. I know I have to be brave and powerful, and it scares me. What, I ask myself constantly, if I am not those things? What if I am weak and pathetic?

I didn't know what to write today, so I started to write about John Prescott and then meandered into a long pontification about What Running Means To Me.

These two are not related, I don't think.

I am going to be brave (read: lazy) and publish this post without reading it through. Spot the typos.

11 Comments:

Blogger Dancinfairy said...

I guess it is the power (cos it sure as hell isn't the sexy butt) with John Prescott. Maybe he gave her a jag?

I want to start running but I am scared that I will go bright red and collapse and people will laugh at me. I like exercise but only in complete solitude. I don't care what I look like and what people think about me normally. Only when I exercise.

That is simply insane :o)

1:01 pm

 
Anonymous Adrian said...

In a world where Sven G.E. become a sex symbol, I guess Prescott was going to get lucky. i mean you know what they say, every dog has his day. Or was that about the dog inthe Churchill ads?

3 Bras. gods. It's way easier being a guy. Lucky girls don't do that one dates. I mean one bra strap is hard enough ...

I get the same feeling from running. I wish I knew how to draw on that last bit of energy in other times, on demand. Like on a dance floor, or when it's 3 am and you're really tired and um, you're in a situation that requires perfomance.

You should sign up for a 10km or soemthing. I've done the last two nike run Londons, and they are really good. Andhaving a goal and something to aim at is strangely motivating.

No typos spotted. But then I'm more a maker and than a spotter.

1:50 pm

 
Anonymous Tony said...

Fantastic post, that is exactly how running feels. Keep going and I'll have you doing a marathon soon!

3:52 pm

 
Blogger treespotter said...

adandon, 4th paragraph.

that halycon post must be one of your best writing. well, my favourite anyway.

you should run more often and get a sports bra.

3:54 pm

 
Blogger lady miss marquise said...

Ew. Have now had graphic image of John *2 Jags* Prescott naked.
And trying not to imagine what his face would look like before, errr... you get the picture.

I may now have to go for a run to clear my head of these nasty vile images...

5:56 pm

 
Blogger hen said...

The thought of Prescot having sex should make anyone want to run - very fast.

I get a similar rush from cycling - clears all the mental cobwebs and grot. But annoying I convince myself not to go because it always looks like rain and my glasses don't have windscreen-wipers and cycling in London is hairy enough when you can see.

5:58 pm

 
Blogger Steve said...

Wow. Everyone seems to be running lately. Ant, me and now you. Must be "Marathon Fever".

A cure is no doubt iminent.

And . . . JOHN PRESCOTT?! I dread the no doubt also iminent tell-all biography and/or News of the World 5-page spread.

8:06 pm

 
Blogger Ant said...

Really enjoyed that post! Nice, bright and perky... :o)

As for Prescott - hmmm, he looks a lot like Jabba the Hut but well, surely someone's gotta shag him?

8:29 pm

 
Blogger hooklands said...

1. Am I the only person in the world who thinks John Prescott is lovely?
2. Don't boys have a problem with those things dangling between their legs while running? I suppose not, or they'd be making a fuss like they do when they've got a hangover or a cold.

2:40 am

 
Anonymous Adrian said...

Hooklands

One would if one wore say silk boxers with hearts on them or ran naked ... but any normal decent boxers normally stop swingage quite well, and you can get tighter boxers (Calvin Klein does some decent ones) for sport.

If you are running naked, you probably have got over the swingage, and if you are wearing silk boxers with hearts on them you probably have deeper issues anyway.

7:05 am

 
Blogger Miss Devylish said...

Hmm.. I don't know who John Prescott is.. but the rest I identified with wholeheartedly.. sometimes, we're kinda similar.. you and I.. tho I'm way old.. and you are spry and running-y.. :) And maybe sometimes, you're funnier.. ok.. most of the time.

1:55 am

 

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