My First day of jogging

I've been to-ing and fro-ing with this dilemma for the past year or two. Ever since the post-menopause weight started to creep on and my face started to subtly change until it 'wasn't quite me' but that of an 'older' woman.

Do I let myself go? Relax, live on cream cakes and crisps like my rotund Grandma had done, or take stock and hold on as long a possible to the tiny fragments of 'youth' still lurking under the layers of newly formed fat.

Well, today was the start, time to begin again, get my life back into some sort of order and routine.

Life had taken a bit of a nose dive in the last four years since I returned to England, after a long break sailing round the Caribbean and living for a while in Florida.

Now, two short lived broken marriages later and the onset of arthritis, due to our wonderful climate no doubt, things seemed to be going in a downward spiral. Struggling to find work and a pending messy divorce my confidence was diminishing. Eventually after many false starts I managed to get a telephone sales job to keep the bills paid and clear my mind for the next phase of my life, slim or bust.

The first morning was tentative I'd toyed with the idea of jogging but with no real commitment. This day was no exception. I got up early, dressed in my usual dog walking gear including heavy boots, and set off with Bear on a not so brisk walk. Halfway round I broke into a jog. Nothing great, 200 paces over 100 seconds. The realisation that I may be having a heart attack followed. I could still see where I started from and yet felt like I'd run a marathon. I walked slowly to catch my breath, and then the realisation that this wasn't just losing a bit of weight but a rebuilding of a fragile heart, physically and mentally.