The Running Blog, soaring in popularity, from amateurs,
professionals, to the launch of The Guardian’s Running Blog last week, I give you my
slant... and hopefully, a little motivation to get off that couch!
A running blog: not solely a collection of technique, but a
medium for the real life tale. Sometimes it is in the story of the ordinary
that we are truly inspired, that story which ultimately ignites that spark of
self belief and encourages others to lace up those trainers and pound the
pavements.
There’s a runner in all of us, clichéd as it may sound.
How do I know?
A former gym bunny with a fondness for the outdoors and a
ludicrous notion, that putting one foot in front of the other for 30 minutes a
day at your fastest possible speed was a little mundane. I couldn’t see the
appeal. However, the notion that 2
million people were connected through their love of this activity, yet as a
sport it was renowned for its solitary disconnection from the world, left me
curious. So I began to run; simple as. A daily 7km for fitness purposes I told
myself, sure wasn’t that why the other 2 million were running?
Herein lay a depth I did not realise existed in such a
sporting activity. I was hooked. The hour I devoted to running on a daily basis
cleansed the mind after a notoriously bad day in work, it became my escape.
Some days it hurt like hell, but I wanted to run on, for on some level I enjoyed
it. The infamous “No pain, no gain” mantra finally resonated with me. I’d rid
myself of any lingering anger I may had to deal with whilst my two legs carried
me that extra mile. Furthermore, I made my best life changing decisions when
out there on the road. It must have been akin to a therapy session I told
myself. It was my release from the everyday, from life, and from the world for
a mere 60 minutes.
A year later, resultant of an injury sustained whilst out
running, was a time out – 3 months exactly. Sheer devastation. I invested in
the Dean Karnazes, (The Ultramarathon Man, for which he is better known) autobiography in the interim to ensure
my motivation did not wane, for in the back of mind was the ultimate challenge,
a burning ambition to take part in a race. Injury healed; registration
complete; my first ever running race was to be a marathon. 26.2 miles, aim high
I told myself. I downloaded a first timer’s guide to running a marathon, pinned
it on my wall, and told myself 4.5 hours was the target. Giving myself 5 months
to rebuild my fitness following my injury, and run in a registered race, I was
to run the Belfast City Marathon on May 7th 2012.
I would like to say I religiously followed my training
regime, but I didn’t. I ran as often as possible, the short distances, to the
long distances. In the months leading up to the marathon, Saturday and Sunday
mornings were consumed by running. I began to question had running become a
chore? Did I still harbour the great love of the pavements I once had, or did I
now see it as a ritual all in aid of 26.2 miles? Had the punising running
sessions been in vain? No, alas, running still served its function of
disconnecting me from reality, an iPhone free world, if only for an hour or
two. Bliss.
Two weeks before I undertook my 26.2 mile test I was glued
to the coverage of the 2012 London Marathon, the atmosphere of which was
infectious; energy from the hoards of people all with the same goal, scampering
to the start line was tantalising. Headlines to follow that day included the
story of the 101 year old Indian runner, Fauja Singh, who had proven that
anything is possible finishing the marathon in a time of 7 hours and 49 minutes.
Yet later that day, the headlines were marred with sadness. The news of the death
of a young lady, Claire Squires, who had been undertaking the marathon, dominated
our screens. For it touched not only the hearts of the UK, but those across the
globe, she was one of the 2 million runners in the UK, that non exclusive club,
for which we all know someone in. It was a humane story one to which we could
all relate too – it could have been any one of our 2 million fellow runners.
A mere 2 weeks later, I ran the Belfast Marathon on May 7th
2012, in what was to be a culmination of
my training to date, an extremely amateur training schedule, my physical
ability, but more importantly, my mental strength, which would keep me fighting
until I saw that finish line. And it did, I did see that finish line, 3 hours
56 minutes after I crossed the starting line. My first race complete, my first
record, and although I raised over £1,000 for a charity of my choice in running
the marathon, I realised I wasn’t merely running for them, I was running for
myself, and those other 2 million members of that unofficial running club, that
anyone of us from any corner of the globe could be part of.
Those 3 hours 56
minutes were torturous yet exhilarating, fraught with emotion, but far from
solitary, as one by one, those lining the streets of Belfast City were united
by one common goal, quite simply, to run.
I once asked a keen runner if 26.2 miles as first race was
an ambitious target to set for one self, to which they replied ‘Do it, and
decide then’.
I did. Turns out 26.2 miles isn’t all that ambitious, and
what’s more, you’ll find your fellow runners and supporters on the day will be
the ones to carry you across that finish line, albeit a little bit of training
in the build up to the big day can be somewhat beneficial.
Happy Running guys!
The Forgotten Irish Graduate, 13th Feb 2013
