And why should I have?!? They may not be very stylish and, sure, their prehistoric look doesn't put them on the fashion map (and let's not forget that it is a major sin, we are talking French here peeps) but they are endangered, people love them, they make cute plush toys (they could use a little Disney promotion though...really, what are they waiting for?) and delicious soups.
Well - yeah....but no. You shouldn't eat any. Forget it.
Except that now I am species-confused.
I might have suddenly joined the stressful world of mammals, given up my wrinkled skin for fur, my short little paws for bouncy legs and - supreme horror - my roomy condo for two long, silly-looking appendixes.
And I am not even talking about the skyrocketing libido...
See, I started running.
And to my (almost) shame, I really like it.
Now - you have to know that people - normal, clear-minded, I-feel-good-in-my-own-skin people - don't run in France. Mayyyyyyy-be once a year to catch a bus or a train in order not to miss the meeting of their life. Or the beginning of a soccer match. But really - if you are a gal - you are not very likely to sprint. Like, EVER. Running shoes?!?! Whaaaaaa? We do feel the deepest sympathy (embedded in many layers of stunned disbelief) for these NYC wonder women who half-jog from home to the subway to work to unsuccessful first dates in their sneakers, high heels thrown in their shoulder bags.
Ze poor little zings.
Because if you are a faithful reader and practitioner of Crosswords, you know that we, lucky us, don't get fat.
So the benefits of running don't really occur to us. And to take care of our hearts and cardiovascular systems, we have red wine, thankyouverymuch. A glass a day keep the doctor and the Nike away. Besides we have more lovely ways to take care of her feet - Christian Louboutin, I am calling your name. (Now that's free advertisement and I would highly appreciate if you could send a pair of comfortable 3-inch heels this way please. US 8.5, FR 39 - whatever color. Thanks.)
I painfully remember the 3 most excruciating hours of the week back in school. Physical education - it was (so elegantly) called. I was so bad it was just pure oppression. My own special peeves: volleyball, gymnastics and athleticism. Which is a big word to describe what we were doing at the time. Dragging along, trailing behind, huffing and puffing would be more appropriate. That must have been a heart-breaking sight for our instructor, Mme Evesque (yep, I remember her name very clearly. You can never forget a torturer). I am grateful that there is no video footage of these days - I would probably die on the spot out of embarrassment.
Anyway - if I had to pick up the worst of the worst it would definitely be "la course d'endurance". 20 minute-run on a track.
That.Was.A.Nighmare.
And a vastly shared one. We were all complaining and grunting all the day down to the field. And it shows. Can you name at the top of your head 3 French athletes? under 10 seconds? without looking up on Google?
I am laughing by myself as I am typing this. Last week I completed a 7.25 mile run in 1 hour and 20 something minutes. Not a great time, but geeze!!!!!!!!!! 1 hour longer than my teenage-years ordeal. 60 long minutes. 3600 seconds.
What happened to me?
Frankly, I am not quite sure. Even when I started working out here in the US (because it's what you have to do in order to : 1. be cool; 2. fit in your jeans) running was at the bottom of my list. I was making up excuses in order to avoid climbing on the treadmill, or at least cranking up the speed button. "It hurts my shins", "I can't run since I had strep" - which was partially true. After a bad case of strep and a treatment left unfinished I had developed painful nodules on my legs and almost died of heart failure.
Dramatic pause.
But I have since totally recovered, and it was merely a mental blockage linked to the memory of Mme Evesque, which was - I have to be honest here - a really nice woman.
Wrong profession, but what can you do about that?!?! I learned since that these things happen to the best of us.
I started training a year ago. Emulated by a friend, ex-marine, fit as a fiddle. Shyly first. I was really not sure of what I was doing. Sounds simple enough, you put one leg in front of the other and you try to walk fast. Really fast. Right? But there is more to it than that. I learned, on the belt, the asphalt, the dirt. I read on the screen and magazines. "Runnersworld.com" became my new bible. I signed up for my first race. 5K with a finish in Wringley Field, the heart of hearts of Chicago. Followed by another one to celebrate Bastille Day. Plans were made for a half-marathon.
I swore though that I would NEVER do a full one. Too sick. Too demanding.
Fuck, I am still French at heart!!!
But a year later I am still running, and enjoying it more than ever. It's only a beautiful physical challenge - and a way to keep my jodhpur thighs (and butt) at bay - for me, it's the best therapy out there. I run and I forget. I get winded and I unwind. I pile up the miles and I get rid of my burdens.
That's the real treasure, and what keeps me running.
Next stop: April 24. Another race to Wrigley. And a less than 30' objective.
I just do it.
So the benefits of running don't really occur to us. And to take care of our hearts and cardiovascular systems, we have red wine, thankyouverymuch. A glass a day keep the doctor and the Nike away. Besides we have more lovely ways to take care of her feet - Christian Louboutin, I am calling your name. (Now that's free advertisement and I would highly appreciate if you could send a pair of comfortable 3-inch heels this way please. US 8.5, FR 39 - whatever color. Thanks.)
I painfully remember the 3 most excruciating hours of the week back in school. Physical education - it was (so elegantly) called. I was so bad it was just pure oppression. My own special peeves: volleyball, gymnastics and athleticism. Which is a big word to describe what we were doing at the time. Dragging along, trailing behind, huffing and puffing would be more appropriate. That must have been a heart-breaking sight for our instructor, Mme Evesque (yep, I remember her name very clearly. You can never forget a torturer). I am grateful that there is no video footage of these days - I would probably die on the spot out of embarrassment.
Anyway - if I had to pick up the worst of the worst it would definitely be "la course d'endurance". 20 minute-run on a track.
That.Was.A.Nighmare.
And a vastly shared one. We were all complaining and grunting all the day down to the field. And it shows. Can you name at the top of your head 3 French athletes? under 10 seconds? without looking up on Google?
I am laughing by myself as I am typing this. Last week I completed a 7.25 mile run in 1 hour and 20 something minutes. Not a great time, but geeze!!!!!!!!!! 1 hour longer than my teenage-years ordeal. 60 long minutes. 3600 seconds.
What happened to me?
Frankly, I am not quite sure. Even when I started working out here in the US (because it's what you have to do in order to : 1. be cool; 2. fit in your jeans) running was at the bottom of my list. I was making up excuses in order to avoid climbing on the treadmill, or at least cranking up the speed button. "It hurts my shins", "I can't run since I had strep" - which was partially true. After a bad case of strep and a treatment left unfinished I had developed painful nodules on my legs and almost died of heart failure.
Dramatic pause.
But I have since totally recovered, and it was merely a mental blockage linked to the memory of Mme Evesque, which was - I have to be honest here - a really nice woman.
Wrong profession, but what can you do about that?!?! I learned since that these things happen to the best of us.
I started training a year ago. Emulated by a friend, ex-marine, fit as a fiddle. Shyly first. I was really not sure of what I was doing. Sounds simple enough, you put one leg in front of the other and you try to walk fast. Really fast. Right? But there is more to it than that. I learned, on the belt, the asphalt, the dirt. I read on the screen and magazines. "Runnersworld.com" became my new bible. I signed up for my first race. 5K with a finish in Wringley Field, the heart of hearts of Chicago. Followed by another one to celebrate Bastille Day. Plans were made for a half-marathon.
I swore though that I would NEVER do a full one. Too sick. Too demanding.
Fuck, I am still French at heart!!!
But a year later I am still running, and enjoying it more than ever. It's only a beautiful physical challenge - and a way to keep my jodhpur thighs (and butt) at bay - for me, it's the best therapy out there. I run and I forget. I get winded and I unwind. I pile up the miles and I get rid of my burdens.
That's the real treasure, and what keeps me running.
Next stop: April 24. Another race to Wrigley. And a less than 30' objective.
I just do it.
This is a very emotional post, and a little more stream-of-consciousness than your usual writing, which I really like. I am very impressed that you write with such ease in English, when French is your "mother tongue". You are a good writer. I look forward to your next observations. Don't sweat the Bonjour stuff. Keep going.
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