We are now on week two of January out of four and a half weeks.  Resolutions made – tick; sticking to resolutions – semi-tick; challenges to resolutions – double tick.

Apart from trying to only see the good in people, and say good things about people, is the resolution I call “project body beautiful”.  To be honest, this has been a resolution for a few years now, but this year that is 2013, I decided I really do want to take it seriously. 

So the new eating plan has begun – less wine (the hardest part), less carbohydrates (bear in mind that if I were on death row and I was asked what my last meal should be, it would a four cheese pizza, as large as possible, extra anchovies), more exercise, more water, more raw food… blah blah, we all know the tricks of the diet trade.

Seeing as how I have now turned the big 4-0, I decided that today was the day to re-look at the running programme.  Waking up early is never a problem for me - given nearly seven years of motherhood - lazy late mornings are just something I used to do.  So off I set looking what I thought was uber cool.  New York Yankees t-shirt, long grey track pants hiding a multitude of sins, followed by one times ankle guard for messed up ankle (party injury) and one times knee guard for messed up knee (skiing injury post cocktails halfway up a mountain in Switzerland).  Uber cool?  Perhaps not.

So off I set, and in the spirit of all things weight loss, I decided to tackle a hill before anything else.  The first five meters were actually not too bad, then things started going downhill rapidly.  Before I knew it, I was huffing and puffing my way up what would be to others a gentle gradient, which to me, was like running up Mount Everest without boots on.  I made it twenty five meters and had no choice but to stop, and look around for where I had left my lungs.  Two security guards in a neighbouring complex started to laugh at me, and frankly, who could blame them?  I had a Bridget Jones moment right then and there, and wondered if I should be wearing the undersized bloomers to match the rest of my now sweaty attire.

Ever the persistent one, I broke out into a gentle jog, and attempted the hill again.  The heavy legs started to shake, the derriere broke out into a speed wobble, and quite frankly, any New York Yankees player would not be happy to see me wearing one of their fan shirts.  But carry on I did, head down, praying for the end of the road with more enthusiasm than I would have for that four cheese pizza. 

Finally, the end of the road was there to meet me, and I turned around, and managed, with some weight literally behind me, to shoot down the tar track with such speed that even good old “Beep Beep” from the Road Runner cartoon would not be able to catch me.  Imagine the surprise of the security guards when they saw the haggard individual who minutes earlier staggered past them, come shooting past in front of them, with such speed and glee, they almost had whiplash as they watched me pass.

This pattern, I am afraid to say, was repeated more than twice, and became funnier and funnier as the footsteps progressed.

And so, the moral of this story:  When life throws you that desperate uphill, put your head down and tread carefully; when life throws you that long and easy path – run as fast as your legs will take you, appreciate what it is you have managed to achieve to get there, and enjoy the rush of the summer wind through your disheveled hair.