Jogged. Sagged. Collapsed.

This is my body with someone elses head grafted on.

There’s not much to be said for exercise if you ask me. After many years of avoiding it I have volunteered to run a 10k. Of course I’d had a few at the time. Well obviously . After all no sane, sober person would offer themselves up to thud the cobbles of Edinburgh if they were  in full control of their faculties. The two main problems are 1. I hate running and 2.the booberama’s. Yeh yeh yeh I hear the word sports bra being universally chanted at me but I have challenged many a bra fitter to sort that or should I say them out but never, not yet anyway, have they found something that can take the pounding that will be delivered on such an arduous run. So bar strapping them down akin to the way the Chinese once bound their feet it seems I will be destined to walk quickly. A technique which can elicit hysteria from me if I pass someone on the street doing that ridiculous wibbly wobbly hip thrusty ministry of funny walks walk but it’s all for a good  cause. For charity, for firmness, for a challenge, for …………f**** sake HELP!


Writer & broadcaster.

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