Hello friends,

Do you ever have those days where you just want to, "Run Forrest run away"? I do. Hence I've employed a running coach to help master my technique.

The reason? I've got a dubious past with running and as I reflect over the times I have tried to bolt in the face of adversity, or fire, I have to admit I have ended up in some of the most spine-tingling, face-meshing, beetroot, bright-red turning situations.

Take for example in year eight when I played the part of a disciple in the annual Easter liturgy at the convent I was schooled at.

My line was, "He's alive. I saw him in the garden." I then had to run from the top of the gym down the staircase and once down the bottom at the same time as all the other disciples crash through a foam board, (again supposedly in unison.)

Only I have a terrible habit of laughing when nervous so when I put my head out the window to the entire school, I wailed, "He's alive. I saw him". Then upon catching my best mate's face (who is still my best mate and sadly wouldn't be surprised if I did this now) burst into a hysterical fit of laugher to a blackened-out gym full of frankincense and a school girls supposedly mourning christs crucification.

Jesus hadn't even risen and I had run a riot.

By the time I managed to get enough breath to get down the flight of stairs I was well and truly behind and instead of being a disciple, I became a spectacle. When I arrived Jesus was rising from the dead, only the school seemed to be more taken with my performance. I was running so slowly, snorting, and shaking with laughter that I had failed to pick up enough speed to smash through the foam and instead, fell onto the floor.

Spectacles got suspended.

Still, all my life I've wanted to run. I've admired those slim line members of the human race who at the first sight of anything either troublesome or tasty, run like a thunderbolt in a hurry.

And because I've never seen where they run to and lived in a "runner's trainers" what it's actually like has always niggled away at me. I've thought maybe it might be a tropical paradise, or the end of the rainbow, or just something much better than reality.

I mean seriously think about it. The only thing running really has got going against it is people who can't or won't.

It's not that I'm saying it's good to run away, but I've got to admit I have always wondered if that's because I haven't ever mastered it successfully. Hence at a young age my failed attempts at the bolt left me to become very resilient at staying and facing the music.

Like today on my morning jog. FYI a jog is very different from running, hence the "coach". Had I been offered the soundtrack of "Chariots of Fire" I don?t know if I would have chosen Fawlty Towers.

Anyhow, this morning at around 6.45 I took myself out for a run, which is more like a heavily accessorised jaunt featuring bright yellow hooded top with love heart buttons and a fair amount of silver bracelets, clips, necklaces, oh and a matching Nike running bottle and sweat towel (like that's going to happen!).

Anyways, it was early and I had a lot of adrenalin pulsating through my veins and a trillion, billion thoughts regarding a meeting I had in a couple of hours shooting through my brain like deep-lodging bullets. 

Because I was barely moving, but in my world this was a run, my thoughts did not escape me - they invaded me.

I decided I needed guidance, from a flower bush.

I know, I know, it's fucking ridiculous there isn't anything else to say. However, for some reason in that moment I decided to ask a very serious life question revolving around my position in an important business transaction from (well there isn't any cool way to say this so I'll just come out with it) a daisy.

I picked one off and started ripping off the white petals. Sign, sign not, sign, sign not, etc.

However, every time the answer would come I would get confused if it was right or not. So after a few minutes and what would have looked like a grown up bumble bee wearing a Ronald McDonald wig standing in a stranger's garden furiously accosting their flowers, I was snapped out of my daisy picking moment by a familiar voice. 

Not a warm, loving voice but a booming voice from the past. Not unlike God in a bad mood. "Well if it isn't Emma-Kate. May I ask what you are doing"? she said. As I looked up at her face, JC had looked after her. She didn't have a wrinkle, not a freckle, not a single thing had changed except for her uniform. She was wearing a silk nightgown (how the worm turns) and it was the now-retired nun (teacher) who ripped me off the floor in the liturgy when I gate crashed Christ's resurrection.

As I stood there I could have run but I knew I would have more than likely fallen over (not unlike the liturgy) and started convulsing.

So I said, "Hi Sister A, I'm really well (insert cringe of Richter scale 999). I've got a meeting today I just needed some answers.?

Now the colour of a burning bush!

She looked at me in a way that said, well it said so much I don't think she needed to do anything but what she did - turned around and practically ran inside.

Anyways, later in the day I saw my running coach and she commented that I had a "really good running style.?

The only thing I can think of that would have lead to that is giving up the notion at an early age of running with the pack.

No doubt Sister A is on the phone ringing all her mates now saying, "She's alive I saw her in the garden." 

Email me, Emma-Kate Dobbin
editor@tootstar.com