"I think it's called yogging"

She is yogging hard.

The title of this post if taken from the legendary film that is course 'Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy' and I was reminded of it today at 6.00am when I embarked on my first run of the summer...apart from it isn't the summer yet. This was the first of many problems I had with this run.

It was cold. It was windy. I looked horrendous. Oh. And the most obvious, did I mention I am an awful runner or 'yogger'?

I am attempting to get back into running after a long, cold winter off but my god does it hurt. It hurt like hell. I am damn proud of myself for sticking with the ruddy though, as I was desperate to crawl back into my bed and schnuggle down, dreaming of muffins.

But, because I try and conform to the "flat washboard stomach and toned thighs" look in a bikini (pretty tough going when you're a bakers daughter let me tell you) I will grit my teeth and struggle through it. It's my own fault you would think as somebody with severe shortsightedness would just think "hell I cant see anyone so I'm fine pigging out and slumming with my pot belly". But no, I am your typical beach flapper:

" ok breathe in...breathe...is she looking at me...why is she looking...breathe...she is looking as well...SHIT! you bent down and now its all ruined...stay composed though...and again...breathe in".

Pretty pathetic seeing it in words up there. Maybe this year I should just get on and relax with a big ol' bucket of fried chicken on my belly whilst catching some rays with my perscription sunglasses and  get on with it.

How happy do they look?!

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