Have you recently seen a sweating woman with a watermelon stuffed up her fleece, wheezing her way behind a bush mere metres from a towpath to have a pee? If you have, please say hello next time – for that woman, I suspect, is me.
At seven months pregnant, I am still running three times a week. By “running”, I mean hurling my lumpen body through various woods, fields and city parks at a speed slower than walking, while wearing a pair of gently disintegrating trainers. Do I have to stop every 10 minutes to empty my bladder? You bet I do. Am I running half my usual distance in twice the usual time? Yes, ma’am.
