Today was a strange but memorable day. I set out on a 5 mile run with my (then) running partner for the first time in around a month at 08:35am. It was cold, raining and downright miserable. But my partner forced me to do it. Don’t get me wrong, he’s well-intentioned but half of me really didn’t like him this morning. The other half knew he was right. So with that, I wolfed my scrumptious oats up, downed my shot of tea and tied up my Skechers. The mud from my last triumph was now dry, brittle. We laughed off the cold, stretched and started.
Running in his hometown with not a clue where the next turning would be was quite an experience. Steady at first, then slowly dropping behind. Running had felt so easy before today, effortless in fact. It was like breathing, I just did it. But now I’d forgotten how to move my legs. Was my stride too long? Was I breathing too slow, or too fast? Shoulders tight again, I had forgotten all the tips my own father had once given me. I was a new runner again; a fish out of water. He was a shark, slaying the seas of Cheltenham. Fishing in and out of the pedestrian’s path on their morning route to walk. I was a baby dolphin, unsure how to swish my fins.
I have only ever stopped running to walk once. Several years ago, running just behind my dad in a local park, I felt stitch running through my veins, piercing through my muscles. I was a mere beginner, unaware of the stitch-avoiding tactics. So I’d dropped my arms and walked briskly. But walking in a hurry is not running. The moment from running to walking is disappointing and self-pitiful and it was nothing like the disappointment that showered through my body from my wet eyelashes to the filth of my pink laces.
“That’s a mile” he had twisted his head from meters in front of me to shout down the street. Deep down, part of me appreciated his letting me know. Thanks, but was I really starting from scratch?
We ran for a few more minutes and then I walked. I was four years younger again – only worse, by a mile, or 26. My legs weren’t aching, it was my breathing and mental game that was down. I looked ahead of me to see my very own Rocky Balboa steaming ahead like it was marathon day. I quietly thanked goodness that it wasn’t and then allowed my eyes to meet the floor for a few moments. Mumbled yelps were ringing in the distance, so I glanced up to be met by Balboa himself effortlessly jogging downhill towards me. With one breath, he asked if I was okay.
My heart was thumping. My arms had lost rhythm. The air was frozen, pushing against my face. Ice cream isn’t good for sensitive teeth. This precipitation and coldness was not good for my mind, pressing against my forehead, slowly squashing all of the strong mentality I once stored. So, naturally, I exhaled with a yes. The two of us walked side by side for three and a half miles. I trust you get the gist when I tell you that those 15 minutes were a breath of fresh air. With the little breath we both had in our somewhat tired lungs, mine less than his I swear, he told me I could do this, despite how behind schedule I insisted I was. “You’re life of a miss fit, right?”
Disbelieving and self-loathing as I was, we had turned the corner, literally and metaphorically. With 50 yards to go until the warmth of the flat, I picked up my pace after catching a glance of the chocolate eclairs in the nearest patisserie. I may have felt lost in the last three and a half miles, but I was going to win the rest of the race because I took Balboa by surprise. I was not about to waste this head start. It was seconds before I heard the familiar sound of his stomping again so I pelted my way through the last dozen yards. It had been a bumpy ride to say the least and barely marathon training. But that’s when I realised it was exactly that. Training is mental and physical. I hadn’t managed to run the whole distance. But if I could beat my Balboa on our first training session after 40 minutes of battling my own mind, that’s a successful training session in my eyes.
I am slightly behind schedule. I do need to re-train myself to breathe properly, swing my arms and bounce my feet off the floor. Today was not easy, neither is running. But it’s true. I am life of a miss fit and I don’t plan on letting my readers down, nor myself.
