The Fat Bloke Diaries

 

Episode Forty-Six – The Apple Tree Woman

My Beloved only runs with me on the shorter distances these days. We didn’t need to discuss it, it was just one of those things that couples who have been together for a long time automatically know, like which one of you is in the wrong when you argue (for you single people reading this, it’s the male one, every time).

One day we both just realised that the distance was more than she was comfortable with. I went out alone. Neither of us needed to mention that it was going to be a ‘long run’ day. She didn’t offer to come and I didn’t ask her to. But she still braves the elements on the shorter, faster runs of under two miles. She’s far quicker than me over these distances and her motivation and pacesetting are hugely appreciated, especially as I get closer to my date with destiny and the Great Yorkshire Run.

Recently though she’s been distracted during these still impressive jogs by an unexpected source. We live in a pretty rural area, and we run as much as possible on the paths and lanes away from the main roads. So it shouldn’t really come as much of a surprise when every half mile or so she suddenly pulls up and calls me back. And like a fool, I fall for it. Every time.

“What’s up?” I’ll ask, backing up (
‘Beep! Beep! Wide vehicle reversing’) and trotting breathlessly on the spot beside her. It’s at this point that she’ll point into the depths of some wild hedgerow and say “Look at all those blackberries”. That’s it. That’s why she’s stopped me, to look at some blackberries. Or maybe this time it’ll be apples, or wild cherries perhaps. These last ones actually turned out to be plums, but what do we know? We’re displaced city kids.

You can imagine how frustrating this is, when I’m training hard for my ‘event’ (get me, talking like an athlete). It throws all my pace and timing out, starts me cooling down just at the point when I should be warming up… and makes me sound like a fat bloke who’s taking himself far too seriously.

This has been happening all summer and is getting much worse now that we’re into peak foraging season, so now I’ve begun taking even these shorter treks on my own. My beloved Beloved has started going for walks in the daytime while I’m working, replacing me with a basket as she plunders the free fruit along the way. Nature will always exact a price for Her bountiful harvest though, and I think that She may be a little annoyed at how we’ve covered our front garden with bark chippings instead of the lush green vegetation that was there before. Mother Nature may love weeds but we don’t, so out they went. So maybe the wasp that launched a vicious attack on the Beloved’s fingers as she reached into the berry bush was working to higher orders? Or maybe lower ones. There’s an old proverb that roughly translates as ‘God made bees but the Devil made the wasp’. I’ve always heard it told in German, but I think that when it stung her she may have been screaming the Swahili version.

So I mostly run solo routes now, short ones and long ones, like the 10k that I did last Sunday. It was just me, the road and my music, the usual eclectic mix.

[WARNING! Music geek alert!]

I was listening to Meat Loaf as I hit the bottom of the Hill of Doom for the second time. Todd Rundgren’s dramatic ‘motor cycle’ guitar chords kicked in powerfully and I was transformed from being a fat bloke into The Barnsley Bolt. I almost literally flew to the top like the proverbial album title, singing along quietly under my non-existent breath.. Strangely enough though I don’t recall ‘Bat Out of Hell’ finishing with a refrain of “Come on you lardy bugger, get up there”.

I’ve discovered, as so many have before me, that longer songs with a faster beat help me to run better. There’s no way that I’m going to stop in the middle of a track so the length of the remix helps, but who’d have thought that I’d ever listen to techno. I’ve no idea how some of this stuff made it into my collection, but I’ll keep it there if it makes me run faster, if only so that I get the track over and done with quicker. And anyway, the Beloved dislikes that kind of bum-tish bum-tish even more than I do, so it’s a good job she’s not with me.

And we’ve not fallen out over her not increasing her training at the same rate as I am; we’ve turned it to our advantage. Like tonight, for example. I went jogging alone, at a speed and distance of my own choosing, and I came back to a freshly made apple and blackberry crumble. It was delicious, and made even better by the fact that she got many of its ingredients for nothing.

If you don’t count the wasp sting.


© Shaun Finnie 2009
 

 

Back to Index