I actually went JOGGING in Ravenscourt park. Yeah, joggers are my most hated things in London. It was sporadic with tits escaping. My prob is still my breathing. I can only jog the short bits I can see no holes in the path. I wish the real joggers knew I can’t see the ground, have 2 ankle injuries and chronic fatigue after waking paralysed most mornings. They just see pant flab.
Opinion- it feels like mundane hardship which I have always thought being panted and dripped on by others. Ever seen a happy jogger. It’s someone Orwellian is forcing them to.
It’s not dancing.