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A nervous beginner once said, “If you can make a runner out of me, you can make a runner out of anyone. Seriously. I don’t even run for the bus. I would probably only run if you were chasing me, or if there was some kind of gelato festival up ahead.”
Me. It was me. I said that.
You see, I was born a non-runner. The act of running is completely unnatural to me – like trying to get a dog to tap-dance or a cat to trust you. It’s just not something that my body wants to do. Swimming? Yes. Walking along casually listening to a podcast? Sure. Even power walking and pretending that I’m in the Olympics, doing that awkward fast-walk thing? Yep, I’m even into that.
But RUNNING? Real, sustained moving of my arms and legs at pace? Terrifying.
UNTIL NOW.
Or, UNTIL PRETTY RECENTLY.
I promised myself I would try to become a runner. I’ve wanted to be one for ages. I wanted to be one of those cool, calm, sweaty runners who get high on natural endorphins and just jog around loving life. That’s why I accepted a challenge from The Athlete’s Foot to put one foot in front of the other in as speedy a fashion as I could.
And now, well, look, I’m not a marathon runner. I’m not a fast runner, or a particularly impressive runner. I’m not nimble and I’m certainly not graceful. But goddamn it, I can do it. Because I told myself I would.
So, I know what 6am looks like now. I jump/stumble out of bed, lace up my disco-blue New Balance kicks, give my 10-year-old canine buddy a little pat on her darling head, and get to it.
I don’t like the thwack-thwack of concrete under my feet, so I always wander down to the beach or the park while I get my earphones sorted and my podcast episode lined up. I like making coy, fleeting eye contact with other people who are out on their morning exercise adventures. It’s like a little club, and we look at each other as if to say, “Yeah, man. Endorphins.”
I do some stretches and then I look around nervously, because there’s that tense, charged little moment when you break from a walk into a run, and even though I’m much more confident these days… I still feel like a proper hard-core running person might see me in that moment and realise that I’m not one of them.
When I’m running, there’s heat in my lungs and thumping in my chest, and I have to say, it’s true: You feel more alive. You feel exhilarated, like you’re pushing your body in a way that you never have before. You feel like you’re in your body more, if that makes sense. Like you and your frantic moving limbs are a team. You’re so focused on the motion of your legs and the air in your throat that you can’t really pay any attention to anything else in your head. It’s a little magical, and suddenly I understand how people get addicted to running. Even though it’s hard and it’s sweaty, it’s also strangely peaceful. For someone who has a lot of trouble switching off my brain… It’s a gift.
I don’t know if I’m comfortable calling myself A RUNNER yet. But I’m a person who can run, and I do it for that magical feeling of serenity and exhilaration.
As I said, if I can get to that point, anyone can. ANYONE.