Читать книгу The Café in Fir Tree Park - Katey Lovell - Страница 18

My heart’s pounding in my chest and my mouth is uncomfortably full of saliva. My bedraggled hair’s sticking to the sweat on my face and neck too, and that’s not to mention the unpleasant sticky sensation under my armpits. Every part of me feels grimy. No wonder everyone I passed on my last lap of the park kept a wide berth. I must look like some kind of wild beast, a freakishly unkempt animal that’s escaped from the circus or something. Ick.

I thought I’d be finding this running malarkey easier by now. That once I’d got past the first few horrific runs it’d suddenly fall into place and I’d be like a victorious athlete heading into the stadium at the end of a marathon – tired from the physical exertion, but with that athletic glow and built-in grit that compels the naturally sporty to push themselves until the bitter end. In reality I’m a hot mess of sweaty exhaustion. Whoever made up that crap about women ‘glowing’ rather than sweating obviously never saw me doing laps around the park when it’s already scorching hot.