Thank you, boy racers...

Out on my 'run' this evening, there was a group of lads parked in a souped-up hatchback*, sitting on the incline (I am assured by certain Cornwall-dwellers that there are no 'hills' in London) at the end of mile 1, and as I 'jogged' past at a snail's pace, they jeered and stuck their heads out of the window and one of them yelled "go on love, you can do it", and I just turned my head, flashed them a huge grin and yelled back "thank you!". They laughed, and actually the whole thing made me feel great.

Because, at the end of the day, who am I running for? Not for those kids in my class when I was tiny who used to bully me for being overweight, not for my family's gentle (!) insinuations that I could do with losing a few, not the guys who stand outside the tyre shop in Hither Green and laugh at me, and certainly not for a group of lads parked in a souped-up hatch-back on an incline in Catford.

No, I'm running for me. Because it makes me feel good. About myself, about my life, just in general. Because I like how it affects my body. And because I want to be around for a while, and to get fit (not thin, mind - fit) before I have kids. And, you know what, those boys were right. I could do it. And I did.

Alright, it was a bit slow, but you can't have it all at once, can you!?

xx

*my word, you'd never believe I was under 30 to read this stuff, would you?! 'Souped-up'? Crikey!