Nov 2020 – I Run Free

Why Race?

There seems to be a fairly set pattern for a runner’s first proper race, whatever the distance: book it in advance; plan your training; talk about it to psych yourself up; learn to cope with nerves; read through the registration instructions dozens of times, and don’t get injured!

This was very much my plan when I managed to get a place in the Marathon Eryri (Snowdonia Marathon) for October 2019. There was something undeniably awesome about contemplating this iconic marathon as my first ever race, but common sense kicked in fairly quickly, and I joined some of my running mates signing up for the Brecon to Merthyr Roman Road Race. This 16 mile race follows the old Roman road through the Brecon Beacons with a significant amount of elevation along the way, and takes place some 7-8 weeks before Eryri, making it an ideal warm up. So this would be my first race instead, and an excellent training race for the marathon.

Or not.

We’d decided to spend May half term just outside the Lake District, where the weather seemed to have got stuck in February that year. After a particularly cold, wet and windy day in the fells we headed back to the house for an evening of pie and mash, with a nice, warm fire to dry us out. But as we drove back into the village we spotted a sign that hadn’t been there in the morning – ‘Caution, Runners, 7-8pm’. A race?

A quick investigation revealed that this was the annual Levens 10k, and shortly before 7pm, with a belly full of pie, I found myself on the start line. No time to think about it, no friends to run with, no specific training. And the weather was horrible. This really hadn’t been the plan.

Maybe that’s why it was, in fact, perfect. It was a great route for me, down onto the plain for a very flat first three miles, then steeply up the hillside to run back through the beautiful Brigsteer woods. No trails, just narrow roads and wonderful views. With no preconceived plans or anxieties, without really even knowing the route, I just ran, and out came something I had thought long gone: my competitive spirit. I got pulled along by the crowd as we crossed the start line, starting much faster than I should have done. Then came the frustration at being overtaken, followed, in time, by the satisfaction of slowly overtaking people myself. Some of them I leapfrogged with for a while, but some I stayed past, and I discovered for the first time quite how energising that can be.

This wasn’t a run that needed to be a race – no need for road closures, limited marshals – which were precisely the races I’d always questioned. Why pay to run somewhere I could run anytime? Now I had an answer. A race is an event in every sense of the word, there are organisers and volunteers encouraging everyone to do their best, supporters who cheer on all the runners, not just those they know, and to top it all, a fantastic sense of being a part of something bigger, achieving just by being involved. This little, local race on a soggy May evening had opened my eyes to a whole new world.

Rain

It’s November. The days are shorter, the weather’s colder, and sunshine is in short supply. Getting motivated for a run when the world outside is grey and damp is not easy, especially when there’s a warm sofa and a good book beckoning. I could talk myself out of this very easily . . .

So why don’t I? The truth is that actually, deep inside, there is a part of me that actively enjoys going out in bad conditions. To know I’ve committed to a run in the wind and rain, when I’m going to come home looking battered and leave a puddle in the hall, gives an incredible sense of achievement. It doesn’t need to a be a long run, and it almost certainly won’t be fast, but knowing that I haven’t been beaten back by the weather is curiously empowering.

There are definitely some practical considerations here. I need to know that there’s time for a long, hot bath at the end of it, and a large mug of tea. Bad weather is not the time for running along exposed routes, with high winds more than rain playing a significant part in my route choice. This is also the time when all that techy kit comes into its own – fabrics that dry quickly are key, you don’t want to wear clothes that get so saturated they weigh you down. Unless it’s a wet day in the height of summer, a good running waterproof that is light and quiet will both keep you comfortable and get you out running for longer (I do own a very lightweight pair of running waterproof trousers, but they are very much emergency wear!). And don’t forget your feet, waterproof socks will keep your feet dry, warmer and (relatively!) cosy.

But there has to be more to it than just some practicalities that make running in the rain less awful. The first step is simple – I live in Wales, if I don’t run in the rain I’ll lose half the year, so either I embrace the weather or spend half my running life miserable. I run to make me happy, so there is no real option other than to embrace it, to open my arms and my eyes and understand that the sting of driving rain on my face is utterly exhilarating, that the downpour running off my nose and chin refreshes me better than any shower, that a steady drizzle awakens all my senses, and that the soft mizzle as I run through the mist is like a gentle kiss to remind me I’m alive.

When I think of it like that, I can feel myself smiling at the thought of the fantastic few months of winter running ahead of me. Bring on the rain!

Running Through Lockdown(s)

It’s hard to imagine what we would have thought back at the start of the year, if anyone had suggested so many of the freedoms we take for granted would be taken away from us for such long periods this year. As I write, Wales has not long come out of a second lockdown, while England is just a week into theirs, nor can we make any assumptions that we won’t be back in one again before this whole situation is properly under control.

In a world where so much has changed you could be forgiven for thinking that worrying about something inherently self-focused is narrow minded, given the challenges so many of us have faced to work, finances, relationships, and not least health. But these are precisely the reasons why running, for me and many others, has been more important than ever. When the world shrinks to only those places you can access from your front door, running takes you further, to explore unknown places or find new variations on familiar routes. When we had no option other than to run alone, there was camaraderie to be found in seeing other runners out at the same time, and joy to be found in a friendly wave from across the road. And then we came home restored and refreshed, better able to cope with the exceptional challenges this period has thrown at us.

Lockdown running opened my eyes to the benefits of an online community. For the first time in my life, I joined an online running challenge, in this case to run, walk or cycle 19k a week throughout lockdown. There were additional weekly challenges on top, to post photos of different coloured objects or scenery, different clothing items or to aim for specific route distances. So every time I went out I logged my run and found myself planning routes that would include whatever I needed each week, and then I posted them on the group’s facebook page. There were people there from all over the world, all of whom were unfailing positive and encouraging about the posts we all put up, supporting each other to get through this crisis.

There was also a wonderful virtual community created from my usual running group. Our highlight was entering a virtual relay during the summer, the aim being to run as far as we could over the course of 15 hours, with one runner out at all times. We all put ourselves forward for a timed slot, from 30 minutes to two hours, with each runner starting as the last one finished. There was no requirement to pass a physical baton, only a virtual one through the clock watching, but we managed to see some of the runners in and out, and the Whatsapp group was on overdrive that day. We were in an event, all pulling together to do our best and with the most incredible sense of being part of a team even in those most unlikely of times.

This is what I’m going to try and take away from this strangest of years. Not the trauma of missing family, the stress and anxiety of so much fear and uncertainty, but the sense of togetherness I found in my running community. I have always said that I run for my sanity, but this year I learnt that it’s about more than just lacing up my shoes and going out of the door. It’s also about the people, the support we give each other, the encouragement, and the knowledge that there are people out there with whom we belong, who understand this slightly crazy fixation we have with putting one foot in front of the other and smiling while we do it.

Injured

Being injured is, to put it very mildly, rubbish. From the little niggle that makes you think you should miss a run to be on the safe side, to the stress fracture that leaves you out for months, it’s all immensely frustrating and depressing. As I write this I am recovering from what we think is a stress fracture (no one seems to be 100% sure, but as everything else has been ruled out that’s about the only diagnosis left). In many ways the timing has been as good as it could possibly be, we’ve just had another lockdown, my husband has been at home throughout, and for over two weeks I haven’t left the house and have rarely left the sofa.

So I’ve been a very good girl. I’ve rested, I’m looking after myself, and as people who aren’t runners keep telling me, at least it isn’t anything worse. I’m still healthy.

Healthy?! The less I’ve done the more tired I’ve become as I’ve veered between wanting to scream in frustration at my lack of movement, and the next minute being overwhelmed by complete lethargy. Rarely has there been a time in my life when I so desperately needed to run, as we all try and find our ways to cope in this pandemic, and I can’t do it. I’m having to face up to quite how reliant I am on running. I use it to control my anxiety levels, to keep my mental health on an even keel, and over the last few years it’s become a crucial aspect of my social life. All gone. I should probably be using this time to find alternative strategies, but to do that would suggest that I might have to curtail my running, or even stop, and neither of those are even close to being options.

Perhaps it’s that last thought that has kept me on the straight and narrow throughout this period. I had always thought that I’d really struggle to stop if I found myself properly injured, but I’ve been lucky enough to have an amazing physio who was prepared to be blunt with me. He told me that if I didn’t listen to my body now I ran the risk of reaching a point where recovery became increasingly difficult, with a worst case scenario of having to stop running entirely. That prospect was such a terrifying thought that it simply hasn’t occurred to me to do anything that might risk this recovery.

I’m going to leave the house later, for the first time in 17 days. And later this week I can try a very short walk around the park at the end of our street. I can’t think too far ahead, that’s when the fear starts to overwhelm again, so one day at a time and slowly, very slowly, I will make my way back to running.