When did I become a runner?
I have had a strange and sometimes rocky relationship with
running. My first experience of running
as an adult was a means to an end: weight loss.
Having just moved in with the man who would one day become my husband, a
very happy Belle, had over indulged on pretty much everything, and for the
first time, discovered she couldn’t eat everything in sight without there being
consequences. Running was therefore the
solution.
Simple.
Not really.
Running was a half-hearted chore I would gladly skip given
the narrowest window of opportunity. Add
to that, the fact I thought running 2 miles every now and then meant I could
eat whatever I wanted and you have the perfect recipe for disaster.
This process was repeated over and over at various points in
my life, always with limited success.
And then I had a baby, a baby that never slept. And then my beloved grandad died. And suddenly-I felt suffocated. Already finding motherhood hard, weight loss
impossible and grief inescapable, I looked for something, anything that might
free me from these tumultuous emotions. So,
one day, I put on trainers, old jogging bottoms, and a one hundred year old
sports bra, and off I went-running.
This was it. This was
the moment I fell head over heels in love with running. To call it running at this stage might be an
over exaggeration: using the ‘Ease into 5K’ app, I walked and ran, literally
easing into 5K. The freedom I had needed
was here. I was alone. I couldn’t think
because music filled my mind. I couldn’t
worry about all the things I felt I should be doing. I couldn’t dwell on my grief. All I could do was run, and it felt great.
I was hooked. It was
my guilty pleasure. It felt almost
selfish to have this precious time just for me.
Why wasn’t everyone doing this?
Didn’t they know?
Weeks and months and years rolled on, and still I ran.
And still I run.
So, when did I become a runner? The moment I feel in love with running.
No comments
Post a Comment