10 Things I Hate About Jogging (Author’s Note 5th edn)
by Callum B. Downes
Rising with the golden sun. Embracing the gentle, salty breeze in great invigorating gasps. Serenading, the melodies of fluttering orchestras, so purposefully composed, permeate within my joyous heart. Instilling calm, peace and sweet reverie, such gems of nature’s pleasant wonders, wisp my soul up into the overshadowing cumulonimbus, as I strap on my tattered Nikes. I lean into the initial revolutions of my stride, fighting the palpable urge to cry, “Carpe Diem!”
Yeah, right! Apart from a heavily bearded Forrest Gump, nobody relates to such #fitspiration babble. Jogging sucks most of the time, and here are a few reasons why.
Lycra clad prima donnas, these moving obstacles make jogging comparable to a quick dash across Omaha Beach on D-Day. A handful may ring a piercing bell to indicate your final moments of life may be approaching.
2. The Gravitationally Challenged
More often than not, these overweight individuals are seen walking between short, intense intervals of sloth like movements, saturated in enough sweat to irrigate Cambodia’s rice paddies in their entirety. Personally, I applaud their effort and wish them all the best. It’s just the fact that I feel obligated to slow down until I’m out of their sight, in some sort of futile effort to console and motivate them, which really throws off my groove.
3. The Genetically Gifted
Whether it be during a casual jog, or a fun run, they will usually leave you spluttering in a cloud of dust, as you question why God gave you lead blocks instead of legs. Of course, you shift up a few gears to keep cosy with their tail, until you eventually notice your burst aorta.
A few to many schooies the night before, a big breakfast, or watching “The Human Centipede” beforehand, can all lead to that horrible, Bruce Bogtrotter feeling in your gut. Occasionally, this feeling decides to materialise itself in the form of spew, and for the rest of the torturous jog, you’re left scratching your head, trying to remember when you last ate a carrot, let alone an entire crop.
5. Breaking Wind
An amazingly high percentage of joggers on Wollongong’s “Blue Mile” drop their guts. Whilst admittedly, such cheese cutting provides a brief bout of comic relief, the after effects tend to leave me with that same sick feeling I mentioned above.
“Get your hideous spawn off my pathway!”, are the usual thoughts running through my head when I spot a proud mother shedding those baby pounds. Although, there is no doubt I’ll degenerate into this monster one day.In the meantime, I restrain my urge to enact Grand Theft Pram and ditch the vehicle into Pucky’s Lagoon.
7. Fitness Classes
Travelling in a Jumanji like stampedes, these overly enthusiastic social joggers take a year to overtake. Whilst I contemplate the ways that year could be better spent, I overhear them comparing the meals they skipped to pay for their fitness classes and that one time they did a pushup without somebody ordering them to. Just thrilling!
Quite Frankly, I’d rather be competing in a Mahjong tournament at a Chinese Retirement home.
9. Guilt Tripping
That moment, after you’ve geared up for a jog, when you’re spread across your couch, which now feels as comfortable as your Mother’s bosom, and your finger twitches above the televisions power button. It is in this moment that your mind engages in a fierce debate, weighing up the pros and cons of committing to a jog. The pros gradually become less appealing once the bosom couch wrangles you in, yet a vivid image of washing yourself with a rag on a stick, finally provides sufficient motivation to gallop out the door.
Everybody who sees you is judging you. Based on your speed, technique and attire, they will feel one of three emotions. Envy, resentment or pity. They’ll envy you if you run like Captain America. Textbook style, super speed and a flawless haircut that could stay in place during Hurricane Katrina. They’ll resent you if you run like a catalogue model. Decked out in Lorna Jane gear, headphones in and GPS stopwatch strapped on. They’ll pity you if you run like Phoebe Buffay. Flailing limbs, super slow speed and a hot running buddy who makes you look like a toad.