Tonky Talk

Paul finds races in the funniest places

O nce lockdown fear drained away and keeping abreast of all the information became impossible, a deep relaxation came upon me. I realised this was the opportunity to get fitter than I’ve been for a long time. I had been freed from all social and professional obligations – no meetings, no gigs. So the things I did, I did because they meant something. It was like an activity audit. Amazingly, it seemed that booze wasn’t so important, after all. Ditto social media – it was rendered almost irrelevant. Turns out that when push comes to pandemic shove, the good stuff was there all along. Family. Friends. Food. Films. Books. And running.

More than ever, that hour in the woods has become a necessity. So I’ve been doing it, six days a week, gradually increasing the distance – and I’m getting stronger. The running is a bit different with the distancing, but it’s very doable. I go out about 5.30pm, it’s less busy then but still, there were a few out on one particular balmy spring evening, new runners and craggy old goats like me.

I’m not in a rush, so if you’re faster than me, I’ll step aside to let you pass. On a steepish uphill of a circuit I was doing twice, I jogged to the side when I heard steps behind me. The runner who passed was young, fit-looking and stocky. His stride was short and choppy. With his blonde hair, slightly chiselled cheekbones and baseball cap on back to front, he could have passed as Tom Cruise’s best mate.

Now, people who’ve been reading this column for a while might suspect how this pans out. All I’ll say is, I didn’t set out to race him; I just clocked him. I’m sure he didn’t even notice me at first, but I couldn’t help myself; I just fell in with him, matching his pace. Initially, it felt like an experiment. I hadn’t run anything like fast for weeks. And even now I wasn’t; I’d just sped up a bit, following his path through the walkers and dogs, at a pace I would describe as a steady lick.

After a few moments, he glanced to his left and spotted me – this old bloke with the labouring stride who seemed to be following him. Every now and again he’d do a little movement of both arms, a kind of rotational chest flex, like a body builder right after a set of weights. For some irrational reason, he began to annoy me. I’d defined him as a new runner and, as an old runner, I saw my role as being to teach him a few tricks. He had, entirely innocently, become part of my psychodrama.

Subtly, the pace began to increase. I stayed with him, he’d glance back; I’d be there, 10 metres behind, lingering like a bad smell. It’s weird when you are following someone’s pace. Nobody’s saying anything, but you can sense when the pace increases. There’s no real physical sign; you’re just both running faster, while trying to conceal that fact from the other. That’s part of the game – looking casual.

I was aware that up to this point I might have been imagining the whole thing, but then, after a semi-despairing look back, he adjusted his baseball cap so it was on the right way round, and launched into a real surge. We were racing now, my breath coming in sharp gasps. After about two minutes, he looked back. There I was, pattering along, managing to seem at least seminonchalant. It was at this point that he slowed down and stepped aside. Maybe he was bored – he was clearly tired. Whatever it meant, I took it as an invitation and went for it. It was full-body running; as smooth as possible, but I was going for it. I didn’t look back until a turn about 600m along. He was 90 metres behind – this race/not race was over. I coasted home alone but something in the experience reminded me of something.

Life will return to normal. The things that developed in society will bounce back because there is a reason they developed in the first place. We like them and we like each other. We like to eat in a restaurant, to cram up close at the football, to dance and sing together. And we like to race. I like to, that’s clear – and, I fancy, I always will.