I don’t like exercise clothing. It doesn’t do me any favours in the ampersand-hip department. So – I’ve worked out that if i wear my naff-yet-comfy runners with kinda-slim track pants and a smocky tee shirt dress over the top – then a short trench coat over that then i don’t feel quite so stupid. Like, people might just think I’m walking somewhere – rather than walking aimlessly (which I am) or exercising (which i kind of am). I admire the girl I saw this morning who was jogging in her pink jumper and black leggings.. but that’s not for me (the pink jumper or the jogging) I could see she was defo jealous of my outfit as she kept looking back at me… She hadn’t thought of wearing a trench coat, you see. You don’t think she was thinking I looked dumb, do you?!
I don’t know why I care what people think, actually. Perhaps it’s like the first day at school. Or perhaps it’s just part of starting a new exercise routine – you feel like a twit… like everyone is looking at you and going… “Oh there’s the girl that fibbed her way out of her Curves membership last year – and now lookee here.. she thinks she can WALK?! As if she’s going to keep that up!”. Of course they’re not thinking that at all (they’re probably just trying to keep their hands warm and their noses from dripping in the freezing temperatures) and it’s probably really more about self-doubt. But it does feels nice to pass the buck – even if there are only 2 other people in the park -and entertain myself with the conviction that they REALLY are saying “There’s the maniac smiling girl again – steer clear of that nutter.”
Today I wised up to the fact that the iPod will keep me entertained for the walky twenty or so minutes – and also keep my inner ear cosy. But I didn’t count on the fact that every time a favourite track came on I would start grinning like a goose. “1,2,3,4” GRIN! “I’d Rather Dance With You” GRIN! “T-Shirt Weather” GRIN! “Get Into The Groove” GRIN! A whole new problem, actually – and I’m learning to tame the corners of my mouth by setting my brow firmly. It’s so hard not to be super-nutcase-walking lady when you’re me.
There’s also the problem of trying to keep the beat with my steps – which I feel compelled to do. So my pace seems to fluctuate crazily with each track and I am finding I nearly trip over myself when the song changes. I need to work on my co-ordination a bit… maybe I could do that thing where your run madly in and out of a row of tyres – like they do at bootcamp. But I’m unsure where to find a row of tyres – although there are often rows of half-empty beer cans on Brunswick Street on Sunday mornings – so they might do the trick in terms of weaving in and out grand prix style. Who knew it was so hard to walk?!
But back to the park. There was a man sleeping by the pond at the park on Saturday morning. Despite the desperate conditions he seemed cosy under his piles of blankets and plastic sheeting on the grassy edge of the pond. Today, however, he wasn’t there and I thought he must have a wet-weather program and had hopefully found somewhere less soggy.
Yesterday there were no ducks in the pond… but today in the drizzle there were six. I wonder why the duck’s wet-weather program is so different to ours. ‘Nice Weather For Ducks’ is really so apt, isn’t it… but who coined that term ? Some maniac park walker like me perhaps? I wonder why the coiner didn’t say ‘Nice Weather For Snails’. What was so good about the ducks, nice as they are! I think snails are much rainier than ducks.
Another Thing I noted in the park today –
Looking for Notes. I realised, that if I see a piece of paper on the ground – I always assume it’s some sweet romantic note – or a lost poem… closer examination usually reveals it’s some one’s unwanted receipt. But still every single time I see a paper on the ground, my eyes light up and I am so sure that it’s a note. And then it isn’t. But I never lose hope. Hope for notes, I say.
xx Mikes
PS – The first Softies for Mirabel Auctions will be going up tonight! Watch this space!
PPS – For those of you that have suggested bike riding might be good for me – I would remind you of the emotional scars of my styley five-year-old feet-off-madly-whizzing-pedals career down driveway on bike into brick wall. It wasn’t pretty… Walking might be safer for me, i feel.