The Day I (Almost) Died
Today I did my first ever 10km run. 10km!
And OK, I did it on the treadmill rather than outside, and I didn’t exactly break the land speed record in the process, but I did manage to run for the full 10km without stopping or walking, AND I did it without having my own choice of music to listen to, thanks to my iPhone deciding to reach critical battery when I still had two kilometres to go. I knew that if I reached my goal, I’d want to take the photo above (featuring a guest appearance by the enormous head of Lily Allen), so I had to turn off the phone and resort to watching the only music station available on the treadmill, which was called FLAUNT. And which played the most depressing video I have ever seen in my life. Evereverever. Seriously, it was by someone called “Just Jack” and it was called “The Day I Died.” Can you guess what it was about? CAN YOU?
“Now we have a song about a man who gets run over by a taxi,” intoned the disembodied voice-over man on FLAUNT. “And dies.”
And sure enough: the man got run over by a taxi. And died. We, the viewing audience, were treated to this event in all its heart-breaking misery. We saw the man get up, and have a jolly breakfast with his loving wife and cute little kids. We saw him kiss them goodbye, and leave for work, taking a quick moment as he opened the door to look back on his loving family and reflect on how very lucky he was to have them. The family, meanwhile, looked back at him, all smiles and thankfulness. And the whole time this was happening, we, the audience, knew that the man was about to be run over by a taxi. It actually made me want to die. I ran the whole of the last kilometre thinking “OMG! OMG! His wife! And those kids! It was just an ordinary day, but then he… he… DIED! Wah! What if that happens to me? Or Terry? Or my parents? What if, on this very ordinary Wednesday, I am, in fact, about to be run over by a taxi? And I’ll have spent the last 72 minutes and 38 seconds of my life running on the spot, on this stupid machine?”
What a total downer.
Seriously, if you run, and you’re looking for music to motivate you, don’t choose “The Day I Died”. Because at the end of my run, as happy as I was with the achievement, all I could think about was that poor, poor man, and his wife and kids. I hate FLAUNT. I’m charging my iPhone as I write this, so I never have to watch FLAUNT again. Then I’m loading it with songs called “Fluffy Bunnies Who Totally Don’t Die During the Song” and “No Taxis in This One!”
Anyway. I ran 10km, but I had the weight of the world on my shoulders for the last km, and was so depressed it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other, so it was more like 12km. It was like FLAUNT actually wanted me to fail, you know?
I also have another milestone to celebrate this week, as The Fashion Police had its 3rd birthday yesterday. So I’ve spent three years now writing about how much I hate Crocs and harem pants, which I guess is quite an odd thing to spend three years doing when you could get run over by a taxi at any given time. Still, it pays the bills, so happy birthday, Fashion Police, here’s to three more taxi-free years! I hope.