by Allegra
We thought we'd start slow. I haven't done any running in about two years, and Pete's not exactly the healthiest person in the world. He'll never walk anywhere if there's a bus going the same way. So we figured we'd go for a gentle 2k run around a park. Pete begged and pleaded to be able to run in Battersea Park, which is minutes from his flat, but in my "North London is totally better than South London" head, and not wanting to drag all my kit to Battersea, I insisted we would be totally fine running near my flat in Haringey. There is a park next to my flat, and from my front door, one lap of the park and back worked out at exactly 2k. Perfect.
What I didn't realise, is that this park has no streetlights. I'd never noticed before, I've never been down there on a winter evening before! So we set off at 7pm, and spent most of the next 20 minutes stumbling round in the dark trying not to trip over tree roots or at one point going face first down some steps!
Pete sprang happily round chatting away - "How was your day? How's work? How's your cold? Are you feeling better now?" ... I was feeling nowhere near as sprightly - my chest that was burning and I couldn't breathe. "We'll... talk... about... this... later" was the only answer I could get out.
We made it back, just about, with me puffing and wheezing and Pete still chatting away. Then I turned to look at him for the first time in actual light since we'd left. "Jesus Christ, what's happened to you?!" I squeaked. "What?" he asked. He was covered in sweat in a way I didn't know was possible. "You're sweating... a lot. Are you ok?!" "Oh, yeah, it's fine. I sweat a lot when I exercise." No kidding.
We stumbled back into the flat, me exhausted, Pete drenched, and both of us looking like we'd just run a marathon.
"That was quick!" my flatmate exclaims.
Right, fine then.
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