Tash's Running Delivery Service

Studio Ghibli and anime fans may know a film called Kiki's Flying Delivery service.

A couple of weeks ago I was up bright and early for my morning weekend run, dressing in my Lycra running gear and kitted out with my sports watch and mp3 player strapped to my forearm. Just before I stepped out, mum (who happens to also get up early) collared me.

"Ah, Tash. I was going to pop out to the baker's to get some bread rolls for the week, but since you're going out, I was wondering if you'd run down there and get some for me?"

I considered this for a moment.

"So you want me to run there, in all my Lycra glory, straight into the shop, beet-red in the face and sweating like a pig, and run back with a bag full of rolls?"

"Yes, please."

"... Okay."

It's a mile to Mill Hill Broadway (well, 1.1miles) one way, which is just over half of my normal running circuit around my area, so I was quite happy to do it in terms of getting my usual workout. I was, perhaps, a little less happy to be running through a busy high street and into a quaint little shop where less-than-unusual things tend to happen for the poor unsuspecting owners, but I've never been one to give a fig about what people think (or so I try and tell myself).

Now, my face turns maroon (yes, maroon. Not red. Maroon.) at any sign of physical exertion. I don't have to be out of breath or the least bit tired, my face goes maroon, which is a terrible pity because it makes me look a great deal less fit than I actually am. Anyway, I'd only just managed to run my first mile non-stop a few days before, so I was glowing like Rudolph's nose and heaving like a fish out of water by the time I entered the shop.

Did I mention it had started to rain halfway through my run? It had started to rain halfway through my run. (So I was also quite damp.)

The owner watched me apprehensively behind the counter as I picked up a pair of tongs and began filling a bag with rolls, trying to act as nonchalantly as possible (an impressive feat, I think, whilst glowing like Rudolph's nose and heaving like a fish out of water). When I went to pay for the rolls, he gingerly dropped the change in the palm of my hand whilst leaning backwards, as if afraid I'd detonate like a bomb if he wasn't careful. I smiled as charmingly as I could whilst gasping for air, and made my way back home, clutching the bag of bread rolls to my chest to protect them from the rain whilst hoping passers by wouldn't think I'd stolen them from the bakery.

Last weekend, however: progress. I was a little less out of breath from my run since I'd improved during the week (if, alas, no less maroon), and managed to get a nervous smile from the owner when I handed the money over. I've decided that this is quite fun, and I'll try to do it every week. Who knows? Maybe in a few weeks' time the shops will decide my escapades are quite useful in a novel way and I'll become Tash's Running Delivery Service!

~Fin~