Jog on.

To whom it may concern,

There’s nothing I love more after a full on week is a good run.
I like to run off any stress and clear my head.
In the winter months I tend to run on a treadmill in the gym.
But today the sun was out and I thought it would be lovely to run outside again.

So this afternoon I put on my trainers and started to run through my North London surroundings. My first outdoor run of the year. It felt great. My headphones were pumping out loud hip hop and my feet were pounding the pavement again.

It was a nice change to be taking in the pretty sights of trees and enjoying the space around me, rather than plodding along on a treadmill in one spot for an hour. I was in the zone and planning a long indulgent run to Alexandra Palace and back.

As I hit Crouch End I realised I wasn’t alone anymore. I felt a presence next to me. Jogging alongside me was a twat in a linen suit and deck shoes. I appeared to have collected him from the pub I’d just passed. He look very pleased with himself plodding along with his twatty floppy Hugh-Grant-hair bobbing up and down. He had horn-rimmed glasses on and a handkerchief poking out of his breast pocket. Twat.

Suddenly two more twats appeared. For fuck’s sake. I never had this problem in Brixton. We were all still running along together. I sped up and so did they. I was no longer in my happy place. I felt the anger rising in me. I felt stressed and like I was being mocked. I did not want to run along with blokes who looked like cast members from Made In Chelsea. So I pulled off my headphones.

“Do you guys find this funny?” I asked them. We are still running along.
“We’re just racing you.” said one of the twats with a stupid snigger.
The other two guffawed at his hilarious remark.

I stopped running. And so did they. I looked behind us and their mates had spilled onto the road to gawp at us further up the road.
I felt humiliated.
Before I could stop myself, I lost my temper.

“Was your conversation that boring that the best, most hilarious thing you could think to do with your time was come and gate crash my run? I was happily minding my own business. It’s not very funny is it? It was never funny. And never will be funny. Also – if you’re going to go for a run you really all should be wearing socks. Or you’ll get blisters. Now, stop being bell ends, go back to the pub and bore your mates some more. And buy some bloody socks.”

I then called them all a very rude word (sorry mum), put my headphones on and diverted my run down a side road.

But I felt drained. I didn’t want to run anymore. My run was ruined.
I walked home feeling very upset and more stressed than I was before the run.

So, this is an open letter to all the twats out there who think its funny to run alongside joggers.
Don’t be a dick.

Kind regards

Lexi Rose.



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2 responses to “Jog on.

  1. James Wildman

    Sorry the twats ruined your run Lexi! Crouch End is normally a great place to run. Use the Parkland Walkway – fewer deck-shoe wearing bell-ends.

    I was out for a run in Crouch end this morning too! Although I should probably be clear I wasnt following you. And I was wearing socks.

  2. Ian

    Sometime’s I wonder if your writings are wonderful anecdotes of fiction, or genuine real life occurrences. If it’s the latter, seriously… I salut you Miss Lexi Rose.

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