Alternative title: I must be ruddy stupid for even considering this…
“What…what are you doing?” my brain asked, quite bemused.
“Emailing a running club…” my finger hovering over the send button.
“The last time we went running we ended up lying down by the side of the road because the incline on the hill was just too much for us…”
“…It was a big hill…” (It wasn’t).
“Ruebi, we were passed by an old couple walking their dog…”
“…It was a very big hill…” (It really wasn’t).
“They even had walking sticks!”
“…It was a bloody big hill!” (It really, really wasn’t).
I’ve read some amazing articles by runners who spout some utter rubbish (in my humble opinion); beginners who swear that after their first run their backsides had dropped so much weight that they could run in shorts resembling hot pants without an ounce of chafing, or that they only meant to jog for a mile and somehow managed to run from Land’s End to John o’Groats before lunchtime without breaking into a sweat.
I call bull-poop!
When I started running in an attempt to improve fitness* I barely made it to the end of the street without sweating and chundering into my neighbour’s freshly pruned bush. What started that day was a total love-hate relationship with running; I loved the idea of it (of elegantly galloping with grace and ease and not once skidding in dog turd), I loved how strong it made me physically feel and above all I loved the confidence it gave me. However during the actual activity it was a whole different kettle of fish consisting of me tripping up over my own feet, constantly worrying about getting the runner’s squits and swearing profusely (quite loudly as it happened as I usually forgot I was listening to music at the time…Heavy, shouty music).
Initially I trained alone so the swearing wasn’t really that big of an issue…What I did have issues with though, was motivation – especially in the Winter months, the idea of running alone scared the hell out of me. So I stopped running, vowing that I would run again when Summer came about (yes I know that Lancashire hardly gets a Summer…stop rubbing my face in it!)…But I didn’t. I just stopped.The running shoes found themselves exiled to the space under the bed, running clothes were soon lost in the many clear-outs, the only items of the runner phase to remain were the sports bras (because they hold Pinky and Perky so tightly that they are ideal for yoga).
I need motivation to run, I need to feel safe when running…It appears therefore, that I need fellow runners for both of these. A surprising turn of events given that I’m hardly the most sociable creature.
Which leads us to this point, in which an email has been catapulted into cyberspace…An email requesting that this reluctant runner be allowed to join an athletics club…An email which my brain is actively cursing as I type this post.
How do you stay motivated to run (especially in the Winter months)?
*Rather than as a survival instinct borne of bullies threatening to stick their feet up my butt for liking Placebo…As an aside, it meant I excelled on the school athletics team (especially in relay when the twat passing the baton was the one who would later leg it after me bellowing “FREEEAAAAKKKK!”…oh yeah, I could fair sprint back then) and, if any of those gits are reading this, I STILL like (nay LOVE) Placebo! They fricking rock!
In honour of this awesome band (and the fact M has bought tickets to see them soon *squeals*), here is the first song of theirs that I ever owned:
Placebo – Every you, every me (my dad brought it home as a CD single…no idea where he got it from but hey ho!).