How was the New Year for you? Did you have any ‘New Year, New Me’ related resolutions? Maybe it was to go on a diet, or like the group of Mums we spoke to, maybe it was running.
Ellie, Sandra, Paula and Jessica or, ‘Run, fuckers, run!’ as they have become infamously known as in the news over the past few weeks, exclusively tell PF Magazine the story of how they have inspired the women of the United Kingdom to put down those Le Creuset casserole dishes and join them by running.
In this exclusive interview, Sandra, 41 from Plymouth, tells us all about ‘Run, fuckers, run!’ and how the movement came about.
“We decided to take up running together at the beginning of January. I don’t know why. I think it’s just because we were all fat and constantly pissed over Christmas. Ellie text our What’s App group to say she’d already seen that bitch from school jogging up the road in her size 8 active wear on Boxing Day, and that was the catalyst really.
We wanted to show the smug bitch that she wasn’t the only one who could jog in day-glow leggings. Plus, she didn’t invite Paula’s daughter to her son’s birthday party, so we had a grudge anyway. And nothing spurs women on like a grudge does it?
Our first jog was on New Years Day. It wasn’t so much of a jog, more of a couple of sprints before one of us would look like she was going to die. I thought they would have to call an ambulance for me after I tried to run through a patch of mud and almost had a heart attack trying to pull my trainers out.
We didn’t enjoy it much to be honest. It really just became an excuse to buy leisurewear because our jeans had been getting to small. We ended up just pottering about in the park drinking red bull, smoking and bitching about mums from school that we hate.
But the one good thing was that we were all out of the house. We all liked that a lot.
Then a few weeks ago, we were doing our daily lap around the park. Paula lit a fag and we slagged off her boyfriend’s Mum for a bit – you know, the usual. Then I looked at my watch to see that it was time to go and pick the kids up from school.
As I said we’d better head off to collect the ungrateful, whinging little bastards, we all looked at each other. And there was just this energy, y’know, just this collective idea. One collective thought of, “FUCK THIS SHIT”.
So we kept on walking. All four of us. We carried on, stopping for chips, but we carried on going.
And we have carried on ever since. We are three miles outside Bristol now. Okay, so we’ve interspersed it with the odd taxi ride and we’ve had a shit ton of fun staying in Hotels and shagging random blokes off Tinder, but the support has been enormous.
Everyday we wake up to McDonald’s breakfasts from the women who have started following us as we jog. There were 500 at last count, all chanting, ‘Run, fuckers, run!” They have banners and everything.
Of course our personal lives have been affected. We heard that Jessica’s entire family actually spontaneously combusted when they found out she’d gone and there was no one to make the dinner or iron their uniforms.
And of course, Ellie’s husband has passed away. He starved to death because he didn’t know which drawer she kept the tin opener in.
Then there is Paula’s baby. She used to jog with him in a buggy, but sod that, so we left him outside a hospital. He’s fine.
We’re sure he’s fine.”
Show ‘Run, fuckers, run!’ your support by donating to their just giving page, set up to buy themselves Vodka and Pizza.