I’ve recently discovered this big lovely stretch of track that is landscaped and cool, with beautiful views…I don’t know if you’ve heard of it? It’s called the Corniche.
So I have been in Abu Dhabi for a year now and just this month, I have taken to enjoying walking/running (as in running in intermittent bursts of ten steps). Who knew the Corniche was so lovely, welcoming and runner-friendly? Everyone except me actually… And after a mad day’s work, I am currently a fan of putting on my running (okay, walking) shoes and trotting down to to the waterfront. I don’t know if you are familiar with the trials and tribulations of being a pedestrian in Abu Dhabi, but boy is it entertaining! Open man-holes, foot paths disappearing, trudging through construction sites – it’s an adventure, which motorists seem to enjoy slowing down to watch… particularly when I’m forced to traverse narrow walkways whilst tripping on large boulders.
So as I am bopping along to my tough, empowering exercise music (okay, Enrique Iglesias), I am loving myself in my pink running pants and my flowing blonde locks draped down my back.
As I am pounding the pavement, one foot in front of the other, looking like Charlize Theron with my blonde tresses blowing out behind me, the wind in my hair, high energy music in my ears, I tune out the admiring glances. I know I look glorious and I can tell everyone is thinking ‘good on her, working out, I really should aspire to be more like that girl in the pink pants.’
I silently congratulate myself on what a fit body I am going to have in a couple of days.
As I reach my mark and prepare to retreat back home, I flick my hair, turn on my heel and march on. I did good, so I applaud myself. As my music is blaring in my ears, I push myself into running mode again. Puffing loudly, as the song finishes I realise I am exhaling at the level that Serena Williams grunts as she whacks a tennis ball. I inhale, a little embarrassed… how long was I panting that loudly for?!
Ah well, I tell myself, I am working hard, no harm there! But I make a note to breathe a little more quietly as I push my legs forward. I jog past more impressed spectators and smile to myself, it gives me the push I need to run that little bit further, so everyone can talk about that fit girl on the Corniche in the pink pants…well, they will soon anyway.
Strolling through the underpass, I congratulate myself on a job well done. It’s not easy to work that hard and look great doing it.
As I trot the last few blocks home, riding the high of endorphins amongst the buildings, I catch a glance at my reflection in a window…only I am not there.
All I can see is what seems to be is a person with a bright red face who has been dragged through a hedge, hair that belongs to a woman on a broomstick and black eye makeup smeared down her cheeks. I stop and stare in shock… apparently it was NOT admiring glances I was receiving on the Corniche, rather looks of fear that I might have today confused with Halloween.
Needless to say, I have been less enthusiastic since.
