Couch to 5k 1:1: Run, Chubby Girl, Run

When I moved into my flat last summer and was all full of good intentions, I mentioned that I'd intended to go for a run as if it was something I did all the time. Not so. I had never been for a run in my life. I did join a gym, briefly, but I hated it with the fire of a thousand suns, and it cut into my book-buying budget to an unacceptable level. It did at least have the benefit of being indoors, but running outside where people can see you was something I had never attempted...until two days ago.

The NHS, bless it, has a 'Couch to 5k' program. One of my friends and co-workers is on Week 3 of the nine week plan, and as she was telling me about it I had a Barney Stinson-esque 'Challenge accepted!' moment. I then told as many people as possible about it, so that they would point at me and make oinking noises if I showed up to work the next day having sat on my posterior all evening.

So, on Thursday night, I downloaded all the handy podcasts onto my iPod, put on some tracksuit-type things and my beaten up trainers, shoved my keys into my sports bra, and set off. It is worth noting at this point that it was pouring with rain and I started off going uphill. I will not be making this mistake again.

So, the Week 1 plan has you walk for five minutes, run for 60 seconds, and then walk for 90 seconds, and this goes on for half an hour. Hah, I thought, even I can run for 60 seconds. That's the length of a really long nose-blow! No problem. But oh. My. God. The first run was the longest 60 seconds of my life, including that long pause before you find out who got kicked off Strictly Come Dancing. When the happy, peppy lady on the podcast broke through the music to tell me I could start my 90 second walk I could have sunk to my knees in gratitude. Before the second run, she asks 'Are you ready for your next run?' and I am so glad that there was no one around to her my anguished cry of 'No! No! Please God no!'. But the thing is, I did it, and I kept doing it.

After getting to the top of the hill, I zigzagged back down it, circled the (flatter) streets by my house a few times, and was arriving back at my front door just as the five minute cool down was ending. I felt amazing. Sweaty, rain-soaked, and achy, but utterly amazing. The feeling of achievement from that one run was incredible. I've been peer-pressured into doing a 5k in October, so I guess I'd better get going again! This time I'm taking The Boyfriend with me. He volunteered. This is either the best idea ever, or a recipe for disaster. I'll let you know.