I went for a run

This is going to be a short post because I am currently in a state of trauma.

I went for a run today. In China.

Let’s take it back a few months. When I was at home, in Caversham’s luscious pastures, I ran 10k twice weekly (BRAG BRAG SPORT BRAG). Feeling sassy, I went today for the first time since Caversham. The weather seemed tender, I’d had pork fat for breakfast and I needed to get away from the kid.

WHY WHY WHY.

That would’ve been a good time to remember that the pollution levels in China are apparently the equivalent of having a pack of cigarettes a day (my sole excuse for smoking – “well it’ll make no difference”) and China can make watermelons explode. I’m not sure how bad the environment is in Chengdu compared to Beijing, but since the sky is just a grey haze, it’s safe to say running is probably a death sport.

Anyway I started out all sassy like I said, thinking about all the bragging potential I would accrue. Within about 20 seconds my internal organs started failing, which I put down to not having run for ages. Within 20 MINUTES, my eyeballs were rolling back into my skull and I was throwing up a pool of greyish gloop at the side of the road, whilst Taylor Swift squealed mockingly into my eardrums. (Usual music tastes do not apply when wheezing around dressed in lycra). The pride was no more.

Safe to say I’m not doing that again for a long time. I feel hungover now, but a pollution hangover which is worse because there are no fun memories from last night or phone calls from randomers who might kill me. No, the pollution can do that instead. But it could strike at any time. Maybe when I’m sleeping, maybe in a few days when I’m finishing the Lego castle the kid got for Christmas. I don’t know.

Am I paranoidly blaming pollution unfairly? Maybe my recent lack of fitnesse and renewed taste for cancer sticks are the real criminals. But seriously. The air cannot be serious.

At least now I don’t have to pretend I like running, I can just say I don’t want to actively give myself a tumour, and a smog-induced “runner’s high” might be so extreme I end up writhing on the floor trying to lick soot off my brain.