Teaching oneself to jog: literal story, an analogy, to take as you will.

‘I’ve been teaching myself how to jog,’ I told a friend today ...

Nearing your next birthday it is possible that you might realise you’ve gathered a million excuses as to why you’re not physically strong, a mountain of reasons not to do a great many things. You realise you have become, and are a little too comfortable in being, a certain kind of person who is defined by a certain number of years in which a certain number of habits have managed to take a firm grip on your neck, a grip which makes most everything feel uncertain.

You’re stationary.

You notice that there are those on the periphery of your world that hang on by small threads. Sometimes it’s you clutching on tight, sometimes them.

Neither of you are game to shake off the grip.

You realise that over however many or few decades old you are that the faces have changed but the dramatic overtures are the same.

You become aware that you are wearing different clothes, that you have more freckles, yet your heart still beats with that frightened tone you thought you muted.

In many moments you have said ‘next time’.

On many days you have said ‘tomorrow’

But today you wake up on a day that’s somewhat close to your birthday and you decide to teach yourself how to jog.


(Image: Chris Scarborough)