No. That was me. And right then, for the first time in forever, I remembered what that felt like.
11
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day Twenty
Waking up to howling muscles felt simply glorious. Swatting away the memories, fixing my eyes firmly on the future, and the successful completion of the Programme, I hobbled back out of the house on my creaking legs – let’s stop and marvel at this for a moment – BACK OUT OF THE HOUSE! FOR THE SECOND TIME IN TWO DAYS – and, feeling like an old pro, completed my loop of the woods two minutes quicker than last time. My limbs loosened, as I knew they would, and I ran with two minutes more confidence, purpose and joy. I’d spent years as a child learning how to shut down pain and forge on regardless, and then decades implementing this as an adult, as I trundled on avoiding confronting the utter crapness of my situation. Now, I embraced the pain and revelled in it. Pain meant I was waking up, coming alive again. I even managed to lift my head a couple of times, nod at a dog walker as I lumbered past.
Not the running men. I ducked out of the way as they sped by.
One step at a time.
Another email from Sean. Sorry, please, woe is me, terrible father, one more chance, blah blah blah.
Delete.
12
Stop Being a Loser Programme
Day Twenty-One
While on my third run-walk-limp, I thought hard about the glossy invitation in my desk drawer, wondering what to do about it. As I mulled over whether by Easter I would be in a position to accept, and whether, even if I could, I should accept, I spied a new runner heading towards me.
I guess it’s to be expected that I’d spot new people out here, after all not everyone runs every day, at the same time, along the same route. But even so, this person felt like an intruder. I instantly hated his yellow running top and stupid red hat. The way that he sprinted up the hill like a mountain gazelle, with a face set in calm concentration rather than a sweaty, flaming grimace (honestly, my fluorescent pink cheeks mitigated any need for reflective clothing) made me dislike him even more.
Pah!to his natural running stride and broad shoulders.
Now. Hang on a minute.While my recent experience of men was somewhat limited, if I remembered correctly, they did all come in different shapes and sizes. They did on TV, anyway. I recognised those shoulders from my actual real life male human portfolio, mainly made up of dog walkers, the two runners and the pizza delivery guy.
And, of course, the man who’d found me as a blubbering puddle in the street a few days earlier.
‘Hey!’ He pulled up in front of me, just below the crest of the hill, a smile breaking out across his unflushed face.
‘Hi,’ I squeaked back, hoping the darkness hid quite how grotty I must have looked. I had slowed to an even slower walk, but he pulled out his earbuds and stepped closer, forcing me to either stop or act like a total ignoramus.
I stopped.
‘So, you’re running?’
I shrugged. ‘Trying to, anyway.’ I imagined my cheeks must be glowing like hot coals, throbbing veins lit up like rivers of lava.
‘Well, good for you.’ He nodded, seemingly impressed, as in,I’m impressed a woman who couldn’t even cross a road without clinging to a stranger’s hand has made it out of her front door again.‘How’s your son?’
‘Oh, he’s much better, thanks.’
‘Are you running by yourself? Do you think that’s okay, I mean, safe? It’s pretty lonely in the woods at this time… Don’t you have a friend you could run with?’
Hah! A friend!
The heat of humiliation cranked up to nuclear. ‘You’reout here running alone. Is it safe for you?’
He quirked up his mouth in acknowledgement. ‘Fair point. I’m a pretty fit guy though. I know how to take care of myself.’
‘Unlike me?’ To my fury, my voice cracked on the words. ‘A completely unfit woman, who clearly cannot.’
I dodged past him, suddenly desperate to get away, and began to accelerate down the hill.
