“I am going to run five miles tomorrow.”
There is always someone running in Oxford. Any time of the day, any month in the year, there is always some lunatic on the road huffing and puffing his way to fitness, making you feel immensely flabby and lazy. In a place where six-packs and flat tummies are dime-a-dozen, it is not surprising then to find people making such bold promises, especially after getting outside another of Irena’s sumptuous dinners.
This most unoriginal of promises was uttered by good old Arabella, as she shovelled in another spoonful of chocolate mousse. Arabella had a simple fitness philosophy. She believed that good intentions and promises of running were sufficient to keep fit. At every dinner, she makes these promises of going for a run the following day, but nobody has ever seen her actually run. A lot of politicians would do well to follow her example.
“I’ll join you”, said James. Arabella eyed him suspiciously. James was a monstrously fit specimen, who bulged with muscle.
“Where do you normally go for your runs?”, he said, biting into an apple as if he had a personal grudge against Steve Jobs.
“The toilet, I would think”, I said, and regretted it almost immediately, for Arabella had flashed a searing look at me, that seemed to burn through my skin. I hastily picked up my glass of red and tried to hide behind it. Irena, who was sitting opposite me, gave me a benign smile. The evening might yet be a success.
“I don’t know”, said Arabella, “I just run wherever I feel like it. University Parks, Christ Church Meadows…”
“What you should do is to get a proper running plan that allows you to improve your fitness in an organized manner”, said James, proceeding to eliminate another specimen from the apple family. He always gave me the impression of someone single-handedly attempting to make apples extinct.
“Ha!” said Tony, derisively, packing into that one syllable a wealth of sarcasm. Tony was someone who loved his food. I strongly suspect that his name was the short form of one of the seven deadly sins.
“And what exactly do you mean by that?”, said Arabella, sharply. Her temper was so short that it could go through a pygmy’s legs.
“Just that I don’t think you have never run a mile in your entire life”, said Tony, a thing I wouldn’t have said to please a dying grand-mother
“And just what gives you the fucking right to say that, you fat slob?”, screamed Arabella, with admirable restraint. “And when have you ever run a mile in your life?”
“At least I don’t go around making tall statements”, riposted Tony, taking a bite out his cheesecake.
“Given your height, a tall statement would be out of your bounds, I suppose”, said Arabella, a rather smart riposte to Tony’s riposte, I thought. A re-riposte, in a manner of speaking. If Tony did manage to come with a riposte to that, it would have become a nice triposte. However, that was not to be.
“I am not short!”, said Tony, drawing himself up to as much as his tiny frame would allow him to.
“That’s true”, said Arabella maliciously, “You need to grow by another inch or so before you can qualify for shortness, you little squirt”
“Now, now, folks”, said Irena, soothingly, “Ease up. Let us listen to what our resident Mr Muscles was saying about a proper running plan.”
As always, when Irena spoke, there was a general murmur of assent. Arabella and Tony retreated to their seats. James, who was busy devouring another apple, looked up.
“Well”, said Mr Muscles, “I was thinking that maybe you could start off with running in half-mile spurts and slowly building up your stamina”
“And you will help me draw up the plan?” said Arabella, hopefully. She secretly harboured hopes about James, who was the male equivalent of the quintessential dumb blonde. Over the years, he had managed to convert every single ounce of brain he had into muscle, so much so that to call him a bird-brain would be considered an insult to the feathered community.
“Of course”, said James, enthusiastically. “Tomorrow we’ll start with a kind of a test run to see how much you can run, and based on that we can work out a schedule for you”
“That sounds fantastic”, said Arabella, “So where should we meet up tomorrow?”
“Better carry your NHS details with you”, said Tony
“Shut up, Tony”, said Arabella, refusing to rise to the bait.
“The Christ Church Meadows, of course”, said James, “Seven in the morning.”
“And maybe we can go for breakfast afterwards?” said Arabella. She was almost cooing now.
Tony rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.
“Oh yes”, said James, enthusiastically. “We normally head to the college for brunch after the morning run. We have a deal with Christ Church.”
“We?” said Arabella, warily. “When you say we…”
“The Running for Life Club”, said James, evenly.
Tony almost choked on his cheesecake.
“Enlighten us, James”, he said, barely hiding a smirk, “Tell us more about the Running for Life Club”
“It is an initiative by the diabetes society. It is an attempt to get people to fight diabetes through physical exercise rather than medicines. Every Saturday morning, I train about 20 such people to run. It is great fun”, said James.
“Fun is exactly how I would describe it”, said Tony, maliciously. “And how old are these club members of yours?”
“Various age groups. Some of them are pretty young. In fact, there is a woman who joined last week who is barely 40.”
“Just the right bunch for you, Bella”, said Tony, grinning like an ape. Irena looked like she was trying hard not to laugh out loud.
Arabella, on the other hand, looked like she had been kicked in the gut. She addressed James in a voice so icy that I actually shivered as she uttered the following words.
“So you were proposing that I start running with a bunch of old diabetics?”
James, strangely, didn’t seem to realise that the temperature in the house had gone down by a few degrees.
“Yes, that is a good way to start running. People in the club are very encouraging “, he said.
“Do I look like an aged diabetic to you, you stupid jerk?”, she lashed out at him, sending the mercury soaring up. “Do I look like I am obese and unfit and I need a walking stick to get along?”
Tony was beside himself with joy, but he wisely refrained from saying anything. Irena and I could hardly look at each other, for fear of bursting out laughing.
“Well, they are really nice people. I am sure you would like them. And running with someone is a great way to get to know them”, said James, seemingly impervious to sudden rise in temperature.
That was too much for us. Tony and I burst out with laughter. Irena laughed so much she had to wipe the tears from her eyes.
“Shut up, James. Just fucking shut up”, said Arabella, giving him the kind of look that could have shrivelled up a cactus. But before she could say anything more, Irena stepped in.
“Would like some more chocolate mousse, Bella?”, she asked smoothly getting between Arabella and James. “And maybe James would like some more apples.”
She busied herself getting another plate of chocolate mousse for Arabella and another bowl of apples for Mr Muscles, who promptly continued his mission of exterminating the apple species.
Arabella hyperventilated a bit and waded into her chocolate mousse. Peace prevailed for a while. After a few quiet minutes had passed, Arabella let out a contented sigh and said,
“I AM going to run five miles. On Sunday.”
“On Sunday mornings, I normally take the students from Christ Church Cathedral School for a run. Maybe you would like to join us for that?” said James, invitingly.
Irena looked at me with a twinkle in her eye. I quietly poured myself another glass of red.
