who'd've thought

So when I started this running malarkey, the last thing I expected was to actually enjoy it. On Sunday, Kerry and I headed out for our usual run/walk (sorry Kate, I know I've joined an anti-slash club but old habits die hard) but Kez's knee was playing up so when decided to just walk it. This seemed like a good idea except that when we got to the park I actually felt something I might label disappointment and felt quite like a dog on a leash. It was with a slight feeling of horror that I realised that I actually wanted to run. In fact, I realised that I'd even been looking forward to it. *shudder* I never thought it would happen to me. I'm not saying that I've become a die-hard-running-fan because, among other things, my body won't let me. I may get fit enough one day for that to become a problem but for now my rasping, gasping, wheezing attempts at breathing are enough to hold my new found enthusiasm in check. I guess the problem is my closet boy-racer-persona. My need for speed has teamed up with my endorphin junkie and the two of them enjoy getting high to a soundtrack of Queen and equally cheesey songs; I just don't seem strong enough to battle them. The only thing in my favour is the 7 hour sleep rule and even that isn't enough to save me at times, it's a sad state of affairs, let me tell you...