Murphy’s Lore

Sam has the desire to run in solidarity

By the time you read this, the lockdown may have been lifted and we’ll be busy preparing for those postponed marathons and other races. But…maybe not. I don’t know about you, but I’m finding it’s better not to look too far into the future at the moment. To live, as much as we can, day by day. For some, lockdown has been a gift for running. The chance to run more than usual – time freed up from commuting, school runs, visiting family and friends, even from work itself. Runners share Instagram photos of newly discovered routes, train for virtual races and declare themselves feeling fitter than ever.

For others, running itself has been the gift during lockdown. A legitimate reason to get out of the house, find some headspace, brush shoulders (not literally!) with the outside world and gain a sense of normality. I’ve been heartened to see so many new people taking to the streets, having been denied access to the gyms, fitness classes, courts and swimming pools that normally serve as their exercise environment. How lucky we runners are that we fell in love with something so simple, something we can continue to do in compliance with exercise guidelines.

But I confess I have a problem. Running – my hero, my saviour, my go-to in difficult times – has been failing to work its usual magic these last few weeks.

I’ve frequently returned from runs as anxious or depressed as when I set off and many a run has felt like a pointless slog. It hasn’t been easy to let running come down from its pedestal. I’ve felt a bit like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz when

Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal that the mighty wizard is just a middle-aged man with a special-effects screen and a microphone. Running has felt similarly exposed: ‘I’m just one foot in front of the other,’ it tells me with a shrug.

But deep down, I know there is more to it than that. So I’ve been seeking inspiration from others’ experiences – online and in the real world. I’ve been moved by stories of how running has helped people – newbies and veterans alike – find some peace in stressful days on the front line; how it’s brought structure to eerily vacant days; how it’s provided an escape from four walls, squabbling siblings and 24-hour news reports.

Stories of runners in social isolation completing 10Ks in their back gardens and marathons on their balconies have brought me to tears and shamed me into making the most of my liberty – if not for myself, then for those who can’t.

But what’s compelled me to get out more than anything is, if I’m honest, a sense of defiance. Never have I heard runners so vilified! We clog up the parks (where, until recently, it was just us and the pigeons). We shouldn’t be on the pavements! (Presumably we should take our chances with the traffic, then?) We’re not maintaining social distancing (he’s my husband!). We’re not meant to be running for more than an hour (false). We’re spreading the virus more than others, through our heightened respiration (a claim based on a non-evidence-based scaremongering animation that was put out by a tech company).

I know runners who’ve been forced into the verge by cars whose drivers were using a ton of metal to express their disapproval. I know runners who have been ‘shamed’ on social media for maintaining their running regime when they should #stayathome and do a Joe Wicks workout. When I called out a greeting to walkers up ahead the other day, they pressed themselves into the hedge as I passed; stony silent, they regarded me as if I had infection seething from every pore.

We runners are no strangers to being regarded with bafflement and bemusement (You do this for fun? You ran how many miles?). But the hostility I’ve witnessed since lockdown is disturbing. For me, though, there’s been a silver lining. Seeing running under attack has galvanized me to spring to its defence. I might not be feeling its magic just at the moment, but I’ll be running in solidarity with those who need it more than ever.