Stop play

So, I started running. And then...I stopped.

I didn't enjoy running, but I liked the feeling afterwards. So I had every intention of doing it, of becoming one of those strange people you see running through country lanes when it's drizzling. I bought a proper sports bra, I gritted my teeth, and for about a month and a half I did it. Before I stopped.

And the only answer to why I stopped, pathetic as this is, is my mum.

My mum is in the throes of being made redundant. Whilst she is technically still employed, because her unit has closed down she has nothing to do. I am still at home from Uni and have very little money to go out and do things. We were spending all day, every day together. Whilst I love, like and respect my mum, this was too much. Especially since she was going quite insane from having nothing to do and only a few people to talk to.

Mum came running with me. She is, to use a phrase bandied about whenever she told people the new activity we'd taken up, built like a runner. Tiny thin legs, narrow shoulders, narrow hips. The only place my mum carries weight is her tummy. I am not built like a runner. Broad shouldered, broad hipped, thick legged, big chested.

Mum took to running like a duck to water. I took to running like my fat, arthritic labrador does to rivers when she's hot — gingerly and worried about the whole thing, but knowing that overall it's for the best.

I was the one who started going running. Mum tagged along, or so she said, and made me loathe the whole experience. She could do it easily. I couldn't. She could run fast. I couldn't. I was the one with the C25K app in my ear so she said she would follow me, but she didn't. I came downstairs one night to hear my father telling our neighbour all about how we had started running but how Mum found it easier because I was "hideously unfit". And I hated that I was hurting myself doing this and I was still counted as hideously unfit. And I hated that it was me who wanted to run, something that Mum had never suggested, and it became her thing.

Mum would tell me how much she loved going running with me, when I dreaded it and looked forward to days when I wouldn't have to go. When I was already in a bad mood with her, going running really wasn't helping matters. And I couldn't run on my own, because she loved it so much when I ran with her. If I'm going to run, it has to be with her or I'll hurt her feelings.

Running made me loathe myself, basically. I shouldn't feel like that about my mother, and I loathed myself for it. I loathed myself for struggling. I loathed myself for being so rubbish and feeling so fat and unattractive. I heard some boys I went to school with snigger as I walked past in my running gear, and saw the comments on Facebook about my fat arse, and loathed myself for that too. It should make me want to get fit. But I can't get fit by running. Not with Mum, anyway. And there is no way I'll be able to run without her without breaking her heart.

So...I don't run anymore. I needed to find something else to do. I started swimming, but then Mum started coming along with her friends to that which pissed me off similarly. So now I'm dog walking. It's like really, really slow running. Sort of.