Only I knew how far I’d come on my own personal running story
As we desperately await the return of Parkrun, it’s about playing the long game says Tom Albrighton
When I was young, running meant freedom. Running was hurtling across a playing field, whichever way you felt. Running was intersecting vectors of play, the vapour trails left by the spitfires and superheroes we became at playtime.
Later, at senior school, running came to mean the opposite. It was a prison, a torment. The start of every school year was marked by a crosscountry run in the local park. It wasn’t supposed to be a race – but that’s just what you told yourself when you’d finished last. Steve Jackson, who was already six foot, invariably cruised home first, leaving the rest of us labouring up the hill in his wake.
Later still, as an adult, I got fat and unhealthy. I didn’t like my body, so I ignored it, and it repaid me by becoming even less likeable. What goes around comes around – and I became round.
Eventually, something clicked. I had to take some exercise. I worked through a set of exercises from a book. Counting out 100 high-knee jogs on the spot in my bedroom, I felt something that I hadn’t felt for many years. You know that feeling well. It’s the one you only get after a run. Emboldened, I ventured out on to the pavements.
It wasn’t so bad. Someone beeped their horn at me derisively, but I turned the other cheek. Hey, at least I’m on the right track, I thought. (Now, when I see novice runners out and about, I try to telepathically convey the same sentiment. You go girl. Keep at it mate. You’re doing great.) I got home feeling exhausted but exhilarated. Running was a drug – and I wanted another hit.
Next day I could barely walk. My quads were burning embers, my hamstrings two red-hot steel rods. To get downstairs, I had to awkwardly rotate my entire body, looking like a statue trying to descend a cliff path. I’d learned an important lesson – stretch before and after.
Undaunted, I started running once or twice a week. I liked running to music, and still do – but all I had back
then was a Minidisc player. In terms of reliability and convenience, it was scarcely better than pushing a record player around on a trolley. The ipod Shuffle, when it came, was life changing.
My runs steadily lengthened. Every so often, I added in another segment of ring road, another block of houses. I was doing three miles, then five. I discovered that I could run in the dark, in the rain, even in the snow. Anything but icy pavements, I could deal with. Soon I was tracking runs on my phone. The data didn’t lie and was often weirdly at odds with how I’d felt during the run. A run that had felt lightning fast at the time turned out to be fairly sluggish. Then another that had felt mediocre turned out to be a PB.
Talking of PBS, I read that many amateur runners aimed for a sub-45 minute 10k. Could I do that? I tweaked my route to be bang on the distance, and reasonably free of hills. At first I was always 50 plus. Then high 40s. For several agonising runs, it was consistently 45 something.
To have any chance of making it, I needed all my ducks in a row. That meant just one attempt per week, or I wouldn’t have enough beans. No alcohol and a sound sleep the night before. A positive, can-do mood in the morning. During the run, I needed certain songs, which I duly curated
into a ‘10k quick’ playlist. Oh, and no obstructions when crossing the road.
Eventually, I got there: 44:13. Six consecutive miles, each in less than eight minutes. Even a few years before, I’d have thought that was impossible. But even as I celebrated, I think I knew I’d never do it again. My age, like my 10k time, seemed stuck in the high 40s, with little chance of going much lower. But I’d done it, and that was what really mattered.
Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe what really mattered were the many hills I’d climbed between my teenage years and now. Not the quick sprint, but the long distance.
Now, I’ve started running when we visit my parents. I run my old walk to school, the bus route to the pub, the route my dad took to the garage. On my headphones are the songs we loved back then. It’s glorious. I ran the school cross country course again. Once, it had been a place of dread and anguish. Now, just a park with some ducks – nothing special. I cruised up the final hill, barely breaking a sweat, but nobody cared. Only I knew how far I’d come.
Running Stories by Runners of all Ages, Speeds and Backgrounds is edited by Jerry Lockspeiser and Andrew Roberts priced £8.99, and £5.99 for the ebook with all revenue
going to The Running Charity, www. therunningcharity.org