shortBLONDE KERRE McIVOR
Making a
RUN FOR IT I
KERRE’S UP FOR SOME SHORT-TERM PAIN FOR LONG-TERM GAIN!
t’s time to lace up my sneakers again. In fact, it’s long overdue. I need to head back out the door and begin again, as I have done so many times before. I’ll start with hour-long walks that incorporate 10-minute jogs. Slow, ugly, painful jogs but they will be something more than walking. I’ve done this before, so I know the drill − get fit, lose weight, run a marathon and decide that’s it, I don’t have to do anything any more, ever again. In my mind, the fact that I’ve done something so monumentally athletic as running a marathon means I have a golden ticket to be slim and fit for life. So I revert back to a life of indolence, gluttony and excess, and expect to stay a size 10. I don’t though. Over time I blow out to a very large 14 – oh alright, a 16 – and then I have to begin all over again. I’ve done it six times now. Clearly, I’m a slow learner. And here I go again. Double bag the boobs with one soft, lovely boneless bra and then a second more brutal and confining brassiere. Find a T-shirt long enough to cover my great big stomach. Wait until it’s dark and then hit the streets. I’ll stand at the top of a hill, let my double F boobs carry me forward and kind of shuffle-jog – shog – down the slope and slowly, painfully, step by step, claw my way back into fitness. I know what the key is. It’s all about consistency. It’s doing something every day rather than exercising in mad boom and bust cycles. I don’t think I want to run another marathon, although my good friend and fellow marathon runner Niva Retimanu and I have mentioned New York to one another as we’ve had such splendid times in the Big Apple. But then I think why don’t we just visit the city as ordinary tourists, rather than as marathon runners? We’ll see. We’ve got a year and a half to
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New Zealand Woman’s Weekly
think about that one. In the meantime, my goal is to get up to 45 minutes running twice a week, with an hour on Saturday. Combine that with gym sessions and Pilates, and that should be enough to undo the damage I’ve done to myself over the past four years. The word I keep coming back to is consistency. Do less more often. Every day do something for your body and something for your mind. I really like running when my boobs aren’t so big and I’m not carting round so much excess weight. I have, on the very odd occasion, even been able to get in that magical zone where running is easy and enjoyable. I am a long way from that right now. My boobs, all trussed up, look like an airbag that’s exploded on impact, and the pain in my body is well and truly reflected on my face. If you were driving by, you would look at me, heaving and lumbering and grimacing, and think, “Good lord! Why on earth does she bother when she’s clearly not having fun?” But I’ve been down this literal and metaphorical road, and I know it’s just a matter of getting out the door three times a week. Then slowly and surely I’ll be running further and enjoying it more. My boobs will become manageable and I may even find my waist again, which is presently concealed under layers of Champagne and red wine and cheese. And if I persist... No, not if, when I’ve persisted and I’ve been running a year, I’ll start to get the eyebrow raises from real runners as they go by, instead of the looks of pity I get in the early stages, and I’ll know I’m back on track.
