Running with it: a novice runner's revelation

'Attention please, this is a platform alteration...'

It’s 6:15am, and the only people around town are either being paid to be there, or are on their way to be paid to be somewhere else. Most other people of sound mind are either sleeping or hunched zombie-like over breakfast, attempting to conjure up semblance of consciousness from their cornflakes. This just leaves the runners, bootcampers and cyclists who have dragged themselves out of bed, shoved their sleep-deprived bodies into Lycra and pushed them out the door for a dose of early morning exercise. To my shock and occasional horror, I am now one of this mad part of the population.

I’ve had an on-off relationship with running, mostly off. There were the PE lessons when we were sent to shiver or sweat a few laps around the track in the name of the curriculum and my school’s ‘Sports Mark Gold’ status. Then there was a fairly steady period in the Easter term of my first year at uni, which saw me doggedly running round the lake, being casually overtaken by lean and limber athletes while I tried to make it through one Killers track without having a heart attack. Sadly, a summer job as a chambermaid put paid to any serious fitness ambitions, since after a day of making beds, cleanings rooms and pushing a trolley the weight of a baby elephant around, I could barely drag my body to the fridge let alone put in a couple of miles of running. Seriously, chambermaids are the secret superheroes of the service industry. But that’s a post for another time.

Then, finally, there was a ‘Stress Run’ in January. Facing the potent combination of a 12,000 word dissertation and a recent break-up, all set in the arctic conditions of a student house, I snapped, dug out some antique trainers, a hoody and woolly hat, and threw myself down the street with a playlist of angsty lovelorn songs for company. I charged along for about three and a half minutes before heartburn set in. Love hurts.

Interestingly, it was stress that sent me running this time, too. My dad had just brought me back from university for the last time, leaving behind my friends, my independence, and the life I had spent three years building. I stood in my room, staring at the blank walls and piles of boxes, grabbed the same old antique trainers and decided to run it out. So off I went, down the roads I’d run during the aforementioned Easter sessions. Except that instead of getting round the route once and collapsing, as anticipated, I kept going. And going. And going. And then I ran home and collapsed. Looking back now, I only ran about two miles, but for someone who had taken weeks to get past five minutes several years before, this newfound fitness was enough to make me go out again. The challenge of improving gave me something to focus on, when everything else seemed to be covered in a fog.

Although I’ve only been going for a few weeks, I have learned a lot from running. Some of it is practical, and some of it is personal. For example, I still believe that Lycra was invented for currently fit people to show off their current fitness, and that joggers are just as good, but I have discarded my antique trainers for a pair of shiny pink running shoes. The noticeable difference led my poor feet to break into a totally involuntary jig. While we’re talking about feet, I now also understand terms like over-pronation (when the arch of your foot rolls inwards as you walk) and, unfortunately, plantar fasciitis (inflammation of the tissue or ligaments in the bottom of your foot. It really sucks, but more on that later.)

However, at the risk of sounding like a coach addressing his underdog team in a sports films, the most important lessons I have learned from running have been the ones that taught me something about myself. To get out of bed, throw on your shiny pink running shoes and boldly declare your intention to run or keel over trying is to take charge of your own body and your own goals. No matter what else is going on in your life, you have the opportunity to challenge yourself to improve at something. When I’m running, I am the one who has to push myself up that hill, to the next tree, all the way home, in thirty degrees or pouring rain. Thus, when it goes right, I can look back and see that yes, that bit where the guy with the zimmerframe overtook me was hard going, but I got through it, and I did it on my own. Of course, when it goes wrong, I’m also the one who has to pick myself up (sometimes literally) and agree that it will go better next time, but that’s part of taking responsibility for achieving my own aims.

Having decided to challenge yourself, you can always go further than you think. There’s a particular road on my regular route that I dread because it’s the point where images of myself walking home in the rain, with aching legs and the embarrassment of failure start floating before my eyes. But even as I picture this, my legs are still going (even if it’s at a speed that means snails are getting impatient with me) and eventually I catch a second wind (though it’s more likely endorphins). Not only will I get to where I planned, but the sense that I’ve triumphed over adversity means that my slightly disbelieving self, marvelling that my legs are, in fact, still moving beneath me, will possibly continue to run further than I planned.

While it’s important to push yourself, you also need to listen to your body. I don’t mean stop running the moment something starts complaining that this is all too much, and it would really rather go back to bed with a giant plate of eggs on toast and a bucket of tea, thanks. There are times when your brain needs to tell your body to stop whining and keep moving. Or to get up off the pavement or road and get running again. There are other times, however, when you need to allow it to have a rest. I learnt this the hard way, when my sudden surge in activity and some poorly chosen footwear landed me with the aforementioned plantar fasciitis.

It may sound like a plant species bred by Nazis, or maybe a planet from a sci-fi film, but it’s actually a painful condition in your foot. To get some idea, imagine there’s a piece of very tight elastic starting in your heel and running the length of your sole. Every time this elastic is forced to stretch (so when you walk or dare to move your foot too fast), it feels like someone is stabbing all along your sole with something pointy. At this point, you have to accept that no matter how much you might like to be out there, sweating and aching and red-faced,  you need to take care of this first. Running has taught me to appreciate my body as a pretty awesome machine, capable of more than it’s been given credit for, but also that in order to keep it, er, running well, I also need to give it attention, rest and scrambled eggs on toast.

In the last few weeks, I’ve transformed from a running novice with antique trainers and no clue to a running novice with shiny pink running trainers and a new perspective on what I can achieve. It’s hard, and there are times in every run where I want to stop, but the sense of control and achievement that comes when I don’t makes it worthwhile. If I, who couldn’t run through ‘Human’, can learn to run solidly for fifty minutes, there’s a good chance that anyone else with two working legs and reasonable health (and many without these) can too. There is a method to the 6am madness, so postpone the cornflakes, dig out some shoes, and run with it.

If this post got your mind racing (or just thinking it was fairly good) and you think your friends would enjoy it too, don't forget to hit the Google plus button below, and to share on Twitter and Facebook. Think of it as passing on the baton in a relay, except you can do it from the sofa. Don't drop the baton, guys.