Some fiiine man boobs, or 'moobs'.I went for a jog earlier!

I don’t own any trainers, nor training pants… or vests… or a portable music player. In fact, it’s safe to say I don’t own any kind of exercise-related tedium-reducing paraphernalia. But I do own shoes, and shorts, and t-shirts — I did the laces up tightly in the hope of increasing ankle support. I think it worked.

Ankle support was the least of my worries, anyway. My main concern, actually, was passing out. Or haemorrhaging. Collapsed in a bush somewhere, discovered at some later date by a farmer, or my stupid fat pet cat. And I’m not overreacting, that’s the sad thing: the last time I had a run-in with this fabled ‘exercise’ beastie, about six years ago, I blacked out. I used to cycle a lot, when I was younger. It was the only way to see my friends, because we live in the middle of nowhere. Then my friends left; I have very few friends now, outside of the digital realm. No friends, no fitness. That’s how, six years ago, I ended up blacking out — I tried to cycle into town. Bit off more than I could chew. Ended up falling off my bike about half way.

But, as it turned out, losing consciousness was also the least of my concerns.

Man boobs. Man boobs were the main stumbling block to jogging. Well, not actual stumbling blocks — they don’t hang that low — but… they jiggle. Seriously. Enough to pull me off balance and slightly out of step. Tick, tock-tock, tick, tock-tock… Maybe I have my technique all wrong — I mean, I haven’t run since I was 15 or something, when I was forced to play football; forced and bullied. But how hard is it? One foot in front of the other, heavy but firm THUD! footfalls, arms swinging, synchronized… but my boobs! Swinging! Bouncing! Unrestricted and fancy free! I tried tensing my chest muscles — pecs? — to tighten the region… but… I don’t have any.

Eventually, after pondering if this would be the closest I ever get to a young teenage girl (they’re surprisingly heavy!), I got on with it. My pulse quickened to a pace that my muscles and arterial walls haven’t experienced in months… years. I tried slowing down for a bit, walking the same distance I’d jogged. Up and down our road. I jogged some more — about 10 minutes, all told! — but eventually my leg muscles gave up. Lack of oxygen, I guess.

I didn’t pass out! I felt nauseous, though. Limited by my weak heart and weighty boobs I didn’t even exercise long enough to break a sweat. But there’s always tomorrow! I will get stronger! I will perspire!

* * *

I’m writing this at about 1am and I can hardly keep my eyes open. I blame the jogging thing for tiring me out! Lots of fragmented sentences, I know. Will write some more when I’m less tired! Oh, that’s not me in the picture, by the way…

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The jogging diary


I am a tall, hairy, British writer who blogs about technology, photography, travel, and whatever else catches my eye.