Those that know me in real life will know that I am somewhat sporadic in my exercise regime, even more so since having children. I’ve been up and down more times than a yoyo. Which is made all the more difficult by having a fairly determined husband who runs marathons, half marathons and thinks nothing of doing a 7 mile “plod” at a faster pace than you’re very best ever 3 mile pace. But what about me? What about a normal, non-running Mum of 2. A stay at home mum who runs. Occasionally. What about my running journey?
My running journey. MY running journey. My RUNNING journey. There are 3 words that I would never have put together. Ever. I was a reluctant runner. (I still am.) But I run nonetheless.
Huff. Puff. Whinge. Whine. Plod. Gasp. Huff. Pushing one foot in front of the other. I run, therefore I am a runner.
March was my best running month, I got consistent. Went regularly. Followed a rough plan with my husband as my “coach”. Then I went and did this….
Hobbling home, covered in sand, my knees bleeding, sheepishly knocking on the front door to be let in. What a sight for my husband to be greeted with! So that was it for me and running. My running journey ending abruptly. I didn’t want to go again. And I didn’t. For the rest of our time in Dubai, despite the husband asking me nightly, despite the sight of my husband pulling on his running shoes and heading out making me feel guilty. I refused to run. I decided I didn’t want to be a runner, reluctant or not. My running journey had ended.
I hated running. I was rubbish. I had the scabby knees to prove it.
Then it was time to say goodbye to Dubai, to head for cooler climes of the UK (and hello heatwave for the second year running…..) with my running shoes firmly packed at the bottom of my case and a half hearted promise to my husband that I would take place in that Saturdays Park Run.
That I would once again pick up my running journey.
I huffed. And I puffed. Even before I started thinking about my running journey. I came close to sending the husband on his own, but in the end we left the boys with my mum and headed down to the park. I watched the husband warm up. I scoffed at his techniques. I, silently, worried about the fact that my running journey had taken such a hit then we lined up. And I stupidly lined up with the husband. Near the front. With the fast runners. I went off at a million miles an hour and I was walking before I even hit a kilometre. Less of a running journey, more of a shambles. I ran a bit more. I walked a lot. I ran. I walked. The important thing? I finished.
It was a long way off my personal best. I was disappointed in myself. And my glasses fell down my face a lot as captured here from the Darley Park Run Flickr gallery:
BUT I’d finished. My running journey had started again.
And continued. Slowly. But as I discovered to my joy there is something about muscle memory. The runs I had put in back in March were still hiding in my body somewhere. And a steely determination to beat myself came back into play. I made a plan to run every Tuesday and Thursday. And week one I did. I went out, I went running and I went back to Park Run…..
My running journey continued and I smashed my original time. More importantly I ran the whole blinking thing. Plod. Plod. Plod. Plod. Every single step was jogged. But as they say:
And so my running journey continues. Two park runs down. 3 runs in the week. A rough plan in my head. And now. A new toy to play with while I run in the Tom Tom Spark Cardio watch which seems to be doing it’s job as a motivation tool so far….
I’ll be reviewing the watch in the coming weeks, and putting it through it’s paces with my new routine of running twice a week, with a 5km park run on a Saturday – I’ll be posting all of my running times on Twitter – I might even think of a snappy hashtag of my very own to track my runs – suggestions in the comments appreciated!
Do you run? Any tips for a reluctant runner??