Wednesdays

(I was listening to this at the time)

Oh happy day!

For those of you who don't know, at uni (in the UK at least) no one has lectures or seminars on Wednesday afternoons because it's set aside for the sports teams to be able to practise or play matches.

Now, I have a lecture at 10:00 on Wednesday mornings, which incidentally is just in time to walk through the crowds of sports teams as they congregate outside the Union waiting to go to their practices and stuff. This is indeed a highlight of my day.

I go all high school and giggly and feel overwhelmed by all the 6-foot-plus lads milling about in their team tracksuits.

Now, ordinarily I don't go for the "jock" type, but all those self-confident lads milling about and preening themselves in their apparent overt masculinity is evidently too much for my primitive little mind. I've even caught myself looking at the initials on their trackies and putting them into some puerile hierarchy - these are the shameful not-so-subconscious judgements that go through my mind:

• rugby/hockey/rowing - yum.
• football - not too bad.
• lacrosse/volleyball - pshh.

Good grief. I'm so basic.

number 7 (well, it was a start...)

This morning I took a step in the right direction with number 7 on the list. I went... drumroll please... for a BLOOMIN RUN. Oh yes, I kid you not.

I was out there, at half six in the morning, in the pitch dark, pink as a ham and heaving for breath like an 80 year-old asthmatic smoker. Nevertheless, I managed it.

Although, on the way back I got the urge (which, I think can only be due to my body's shock at the unexpected exercise) to spit. Shocking I know, but I've seen footballers do it, so thought it must be the customary hooliganish sporty-type thing to do. So, after looking around sheepishly to check that no one was about (which I'm sure no sensible person would be at that unearthly hour in the cold and dark), I attempted a swift and cunning spit in the gutter.

What resulted, resembled more what happened at 6.14 in this video...

Ye-es, perhaps not so suave and casual.

Nevertheless, I bloomin did it - I conquered my first jogging session, and long may it last! Bring it on baby.

and some for all the running folks

OK, so my boyfriend is into running. In, it has to be said, a fairly big way. So much so that he is willing to put himself through - from my perspective at least - the annual torture of the Great North Run.

This year, being the supportive and loving type, I went along to watch, cheer, and wave enthusiastically from safely behind the sidelines.

I tell you, it was a sight to be seen.

And what a buzz! It felt like the whole athletic world had rolled into Newcastle (which, to be fair, it very nearly had) and was just pouring through the streets and over the Tyne Bridge. Such colours! Never had I thought that Lycra could be so supremely beautiful, but I stand corrected. When you've got over 54,000 people all running in the brightest (albeit tightest) outfits imaginable, it makes for a pretty impressive sight.

Now, I hasten to add (if you hadn't already gathered), that running categorically isn't my thing. But by the end of it, I could quite see the appeal. An event like that is incredibly spectacular, and I found myself secretly wishing I could join in. My blokey told me that, often, when they run past roundabouts and street corners, local brass bands are out playing for them as they run by. Now that, surely, is a precious moment. When else does something so wonderfully nostalgic as that happen in our busy and urbanised lives?

I watched as he ran over the bridge, then jumped on the Metro and raced him to South Shields, and the finish line. When I eventually found him amidst the crowds of literally thousands of people, all wrapped up like a jacket potato in his foil blanket freebie and grinning from ear to ear, I was so immensely proud. I realised that it was more than just running to him. This was an event that he anticipates all year long, which - for a couple of hours at least - allows him to be more than just one little person, but instead a member of a huge, surging, dazzling, and determined team. Surely a year's worth of training is worth that one perfect moment?

I was very proud of you, bird.

(Having said that, I didn't tell him that the Red Arrows were my favourite bit)