Pronounced with a Silent J?

As part of this Swiss Life, I have decided to get out, get fit and make the open road my gym. This jogging malarkey has always been a bit mystery to me, especially in Ireland. I mean what tortuous bastard wants to run in the rain? Sure you’d still need a gym membership anyways all year long. I figured since Switzerland actually has a summer I could forgo the the eventual gym subscription fee until the frost sets in and hopefully I would have found gainful employment by then to cover the cost. 

So on our first Sunday morning living together in Zurich Husband and I got our training gear on and went for a jog. Please understand that if you actually knew me personally you'd know that the words ‘Sunday’, ‘Morning’ and ‘Jog’ are thoughts never materialised until now, let alone acted upon. New life, new me. They are a far cry from my usual staple of ‘Sunday’, ‘Evening’ and ‘Face-sore’ after a Saturday night of habitual binge drinking. Yay, I am growing as a person.

Husband maps our route, we are taking the scenic route along the river, looping back at the island in the middle and then home. A distance of five kilometres and the added bonus that the island is actually a  nudist bathing area. Sure we’ll have a goo*, I thought. After the stretching and checking our start time we began this jogging thing that seems to be the hip hobby du jour in Zurich.  I started well, not too shabby, I was thinking, yeah I can do this, not a bother, sunny morning, getting fit, well hello fellow joggers, welcome me to your ranks, I am one of you. I was starting to feel tired and my breathing was getting heavy so I checked my watch to see how long we had been going.

Two minutes, we had only been jogging for two minutes!

Oh dear, it was a little disconcerting to say the least. I managed to last five minutes before I finally admitted to Husband I was in absolute agony.  His response:

Husband: ‘Walk fast, keep your heart rate up, feel the burn’

Who the hell are you, I thought. Of course you are fitter than me, you are alway slightly better than me at most things, except talking shite for I have recently completed my doctorate. Fine Husband, I was kinda expecting this even though I’ve been hitting the gym more than you lately.  Fit I have never been, thin, in shape yes but fitness has always been slightly out of reach for me. I’m more of a quick fix kinda guy anyways. Metabolism pill to keep you in shape, yes please science.

The lengths between jogging and slowing down became shorter and shorter for me. My slowing down to a walk usually saw Husband jog back to me with a smile and: 

Husband: ‘Come on, walk fast, don’t lose the pace, keep your heart rate up’

I wanted smack the smile off his face but in reality it was my lack of fitness I was really frustrated with. First time, it will get better, just gotta build up to it. Yeah, well tell that to the stitch in my lower back. We get to the island and it was as Husband described choc-a-block full of naked people. The nudity did make me feel better, tee hee. 

I pretty much walk most of the way back, with a few short jogs here and there. During one Husband turns to me smiling (how does he do it) barely breaking a sweat:

Husband: ‘We’re nearly home’

My response: 

GBM: ‘I’m nearly dying’

I was being an overly dramatic sweaty mess, if jogging had a face I would have punched it at that moment.  I will master you jogging eventually, this was the first battle but I do not give up so easy (except at, Zumba, dance classes, heterosexuality, anything hard).

After five K, seven whinges, sighting three penises ( penii?) and one boob in 60 minutes I looked like this.

I’ll get there eventually.

GBM 

* a look, a stare, a gander