When I started this running fiasco two months ago, I did so knowing it would involve a lot of personal cost. I mean things like the humiliation of bouncing my wobbly ass around a gym, or going to parties and only being able to talk about distance tracking apps. To be sure, other scenarios have appeared along the way, too. The indignity of red-faced, dribbly gasping in a public park, for example, or stepping into a shower and screaming in pain as the tepid water envelopes bleeding, blistered feet.
What I had not banked on, however, was the actual, literal cost of being a runner (if that’s what I even am). Just grab your trainers and go! says almost every patronising piece of blurb ever printed about the joys of running. Okay! Just let me dig out my credit card first. Behold:
Sign up to run race: £15
Off I go!
Wait, this hurts my boobs. Running bra: £30
And considering this one pair of jogging bottoms has a hole in the crotch, I’d better get some new running trousers, too: £30
“Hey Rach! You should get some professionally-fitted trainers. Professionally-fitted trainers make all the difference. I have professionally-fitted trainers and now I can run to the moon and back and it’s all thanks to my professionally-fitted trainers.”
Professionally-fitted trainers: £90
I haven’t the foggiest fuck what I’m doing here. Two months gym membership: £87
And now my back has twisted into an agonising mutiny. Physio consultation: £60
Physio follow up: £50
“These hideous orthopaedic insoles will help your back. People with hideous orthopaedic insoles are proven to run better, often to the moon and back, and it’s all thanks to hideous orthopaedic insoles.”
Hideous orthopaedic insoles: £40
Hurrah, these hideous orthopaedic insoles have really done the trick! Now I can ru- oh wait, my feet are bleeding.
Blister socks: £15
This brings the grand total spent so far to £417, which doesn’t include incidentals like painkillers, chocolate rewards, extra washing powder (because my God am I doing a lot of washing these days) and tissues to wipe away my tears of self-loathing and despair.
Thirteen days to go…