Page 18 of Wish You Were Here

Ben

‘Parkruns are littered with fit women in tight Lycra, and I swear it’s the perfect place to meet because you immediately have something to talk about.’

‘He’s right,’ said Flatmate Simon, tucking into a slice of pepperoni pizza.

‘How would you know?’ I asked incredulously because in all the years I had lived with Flatmate Simon, I had never seen him actually run.

‘Because, Mr Cynical, I know a couple who met at the Brighton parkrun. They met running and still run together to this very day,’ said Flatmate Simon.

‘See,’ said Will. ‘The perfect place to meet women. So, are you in?’

‘I don’t know, I haven’t trained, I—’

‘You don’t need to train for a parkrun!’ said Will, laughing as though I had just suggested the most ridiculous thing in the entire world.

‘Training for a parkrun,’ scoffed Flatmate Simon.

‘Then why don’t you come too?’ I asked Flatmate Simon. ‘If it’s so easy.’

‘Oh, this Saturday? Yeah, I can’t. I have a shoot in North London.’

‘Right, a shoot,’ I said, and Flatmate Simon was suddenly quiet, while I had to go into the very back of my wardrobe to find my workout gear.

Fast-forward four days, and I am standing with Will in my best running outfit, doing some light stretching, while checking out the amount of attractive women in Lycra, and as it turns out, Will was right.

There are a lot of very attractive women, all limbering up, stretching and maybe I might meet someone here.

I am attempting to stretch too, but I really don't know what I am doing. Luckily, I’m with uber-fit Will, and so I just copy him, although even some of his stretches hurt and I have to stop before I injure myself.

Nothing is as embarrassing as being injured in the warm-up.

Instead, I do a bit of light jogging on the spot and a couple of star jumps – memories of PE with Mr Warburton flash through my mind.

‘Right, so what’s the plan?’ I ask Will.

‘What do you mean?’

‘What’s the plan? This was your idea, so obviously you’ve done it before. How do we actually meet these women?’

‘Oh, no, I haven’t done this before,’ says Will, who is on the ground in a yoga position that is apparently stretching out something called his IT band.

I have absolutely no idea what an IT band is – definitely not a technology based musical group – but according to Will, it is very important to stretch it out before running.

‘What do you mean, you haven’t done it before? This was your idea.’

‘Yes, it’s a good idea for you, but not for me.’

‘What? I thought you said it was the perfect place to meet women?’

‘Yes, I think it is. For you.’

‘But not you?’

‘I don’t need an excuse to meet women, Ben. I meet them all the time through work, at the gym. I met a woman on the tube the other day.’

‘Wait, so you don’t need to do this to meet women, but I do?’ I say, looking at Will, who is now standing up and doing big arm circles and then little arm circles. I copy him. Big arm circles, little arm circles, big arm circles, little arm circles.

‘Exactly, mate.’

I should feel some sense of frustration and anger towards Will because he thinks so little of me that he believes I need this to meet women, while he can just go about his days meeting women willy-nilly.

That I am somehow inferior to him, and without organised events, there is no way I could meet the love of my life.

However, unfortunately, he is right. Will is one of those tall, handsome men with a great body, who is also funny, clever and just really nice.

I am sure he meets women all the time without having to do anything.

So, after a minute of pretending I am mad at him, and doing big arm circles followed by little arm circles, which actually hurt my shoulder – I really should do more exercise – I tell him it’s fine, and then it is time to actually start running.

As soon as everyone begins jogging, Will tells me he’s going to leave me for two reasons.

Firstly, he says he finds it humanly impossible to run as slowly as me.

This would offend me, but when I see him running away, I realise the word jog means very different things to us.

Secondly, he says I am far more likely to meet someone if I am on my own.

So, after a minute, Will sets off at lightning speed and within seconds I have lost him in the crowds of people ahead of me.

I am on my own. I need to use this opportunity to talk to women, and luckily within the first few yards, I find myself in the same vicinity as a pretty woman, who looks about my age.

She is in full running gear, her hair tied up in a ponytail, and she is jogging about the same speed as me. This is promising.

‘It’s my first parkrun,’ I say, jogging up next to her.

Not exactly an electric opening line, but it does the trick.

She turns to me and smiles. She has a lovely smile with incredible teeth.

They’re white, straight and make my slightly yellowing, crooked teeth look like utter shit.

I should probably make an appointment at the dentist.

‘It’s a great craic,’ she says with an Irish accent. I can definitely work with an Irish girl. She’s slim, clearly in decent shape, with strawberry blonde hair. ‘This is my forty-third.’

‘Wow! That’s incredible!’ I say, starting to get a little puffed out already. We aren’t even at the one-mile marker yet.

‘I’m usually faster, but I’m just coming back from injury,’ she says, making me feel even worse about my physical condition. This is my best and her ‘coming back from injury’ pace.

‘Right, yes, totally,’ I say, while trying to remain calm and in control of my breathing. I can’t let on that I am already out of breath. ‘I’m Ben.’

‘Aisling.’

‘Nice to meet you, Aisling.’

‘So, are you a runner, Ben?’

Am I a runner? Do I enjoy running? Am I a physically active person?

‘Honestly, no, but I want to do better.’

‘Then parkrun is a great start. It took me ages to fall in love with running, then I got injured, but fortunately my boyfriend is a personal trainer, so he’s helping me a lot, you know?’

‘Boyfriend is a personal trainer’ – five words guaranteed to destroy the hopes of every single man in the world.

Great, now I am stuck talking to a girl who, although lovely, is dating a personal trainer.

I have no chance. Luckily for me, fate intervenes, and a man in front of us trips, falls and we have to stop.

As it turns out, Aisling is a nurse, and insists on helping the man, and she also insists I carry on without her.

So, as I finally pass the mile mark, I am once again running solo.

I have a quick look at my watch, and it has only been fifteen minutes, but I am out of breath, my legs hurt and my chest feels very tight.

I am about to stop running and start walking when I come across another woman running by herself, and she looks just about as tired as me.

She is red-faced, puffing heavily and is wearing the sort of outfit you put together when you definitely aren’t a seasoned runner.

She stops ahead of me and starts walking.

This is my chance. I stop running just behind her, and then I walk.

‘I’m so unfit,’ I say, playing the ‘we’re clearly in the same group’ card.

She laughs. ‘I’m doing the couch to 5k thing,’ she says with a London accent. ‘I was on the couch this morning, and now I wish I had stayed there!’

‘It’s tough, isn’t it? This is my first parkrun.’

‘Mine too. I’m Ruth.’

‘Ben,’ I say, offering her my hand to shake, and she does. She definitely seems more like the sort of woman I should be dating than Aisling, who was clearly out of my league on so many levels, but mainly health, fitness, and the fact she is dating a personal trainer.

‘Do you think we should try jogging again?’ says Ruth after a minute.

‘Sure, why not. How hard can it be?’

‘How hard can it be?’ she replies, and we start jogging again, and we both quickly realise as we approach mile two that actually, it can be quite fucking hard. We start walking again, puffing and panting. ‘I should probably quit smoking.’

‘Oh, right, yes, probably.’

‘And eating out every day.’

‘You eat out every day?’ I ask.

‘Pretty much. I hate cooking, and my flatmate isn’t much of a cook either.’

‘Boyfriend?’

‘Currently single,’ she says, and I get a momentary pang of excitement. She’s single, isn’t a runner, attractive and needs a man who can cook. Tick, tick, tick and tick!

‘Do you live nearby, Ruth?’

‘Not really.’

‘Somewhere else in London?’ I ask, hoping she isn’t too far away. At least let it be south of the river. I would happily take a Bromley, a Sidcup, or at a push, Orpington.

‘Bristol.’

‘As in, Bristol, Bristol? West of England, Bristol?’

‘The very one.’

‘But I thought you were on your couch this morning?’

‘My brother’s couch. I’m up for the weekend visiting, but I live in Bristol. I moved there for university and never left.’

‘Oh, right, cool,’ I say, and that’s another one that can’t go anywhere.

If I am not prepared to travel across the other side of London for love, I am certainly not going to travel across the country.

It’s possible, but why start something with someone you know is going to be difficult and will eventually mean one of you having to uproot your entire life?

As I think this, I immediately think about Saskia, but this isn’t really the same or fair because she lives across the world.

If Saskia lived in Bristol, I would be there in a heartbeat.

I would move to Bristol, adopt a Bristol accent and start supporting Bristol City.

As Ruth and I seem to be getting on well, and we are clearly at the same fitness level, I decide to walk/jog the rest of the way with her.

Clearly, meeting women at parkrun isn’t the best idea, no matter what Will says.

Ruth and I walk the last mile together before we cross the finish line in a time of forty-seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds.

Will apparently had time to get a coffee and is waiting for me just after the finish line.

I say goodbye to Ruth, wishing her luck on her couch to 5k journey, and then Will and I head off to get breakfast together.

‘So,’ says Will. ‘Any luck with the ladies?’

‘I don’t think parkruns are going to lead to love, mate.’

‘Sorry to hear that, but worth a punt.’

‘It has definitely reconfirmed my belief that I am not a runner.’

‘Amen to that because I had to wait twenty-five minutes for you to finish,’ says Will, and we walk off towards a nearby cafe – a sharp pain in both knees, tight hamstrings and a strange ache in my shoulder – and all I want right now is a large coffee and a full English breakfast. So far my search for love has encapsulated two blind dates and a parkrun, and has elicited exactly zero romance.

It makes me think and wonder about Saskia even more – is it possible that despite the distance between us, she might somehow be The One ?