Back in the running

Rediscovering the joy of running slowly

Mar 17, 2024

After five years without running, I have decided that 2024 is the year I will lace up my trainers and get back out there.

January begins with a two-mile run. I open the door and step outside into the chilly winter morning. It takes a while for my watch to pick up a satellite, so I stand shivering on the doorstep, trying to convince myself that going for a run is the right thing to do. Never mind that I could be warm inside with a cup of tea and a book; it will be good for me physically and mentally.

The watch clicks into action, and I set off, taking my tentative first steps. My body is older, wider and definitely slower than when I used to run and race. Gone is the effortless gliding of my younger years. This is feet stomping, heart pumping, arms swinging, lungs bursting hard work. I’m all too aware of the impact on my knees, the breathlessness, the heaviness in my legs.

Everything about the movement is unfamiliar, and it takes most of the two miles to settle into a rhythm. But, despite the initial shock, it is good to be out pounding the pavements.

When I get home, the endorphins are surging through my veins, and I’m more energised and excited about running than I have been in years. It’s like being reunited with a long-lost friend.

‘I really want to get back into it,’ I tell Chris, my husband. ‘I want to be fit again.’

He smiles. ‘You can do it.’

With the first run completed, the next stage of my comeback is to buy some new trainers. My current ones are lacking the cushioning that, now I’m older, seems more important than ever.

I go online and order three pairs of Mizuno Wave Rider. One pair is for trail running and two are for road running, and at £110 for all three pairs, I am pleased to have bagged a bargain.

They arrive the next day and I ooh and ahh over them. Then I put them away, and life gets hectic, and before I know it, it is March, and I haven’t run or even thought about going for a run at all.

Running used to be everything to me. I trained. I raced. I worked for an athletics magazine, wrote a blog, qualified as a coach, and had a lot of fun socialising with running friends. Being a runner was who I was.

Things changed in 2017, when I got a new job, which involved a long commute. I was also studying for a master’s degree, finishing my bachelor's degree, and planning a wedding, all while attempting to race and keep up with my training.

I was trying to do all the things and, inevitably, it became too much. To avoid burning out, I adopted a more relaxed approach. Instead of training six days a week and racing a few times a month, I ran when I had time and just for fun. Soon, I wasn’t doing it much at all. My last race was in 2019.

Years passed. There was the pandemic. We had three house moves and lots of elderly pets to take care of, and I forgot how much I love to run. There is something special about being outside in the fresh air, putting one foot in front of the other and enjoying the moment. It’s incredibly relaxing and helps me cope when life gets stressful. The problem is that I’ve struggled to find the time or enthusiasm. But now, I want to make a change.

The next part of my comeback happens unexpectedly one Saturday morning when I am scrolling on social media. There’s a post about a new 10k in my hometown. I have an overwhelming urge to take part. I remember the joy I used to feel when I was racing, pushing my body to its limit, trying to run faster, better my times and get in the prizes.

Perhaps having a goal to work towards is what I’ve been missing. It will give me motivation to not only put on my new trainers and run, but to keep training. And that’s the hard part.

Before I talk myself out of it, I sit down to complete the online entry. While I’m doing it, I call my friend and persuade her to sign up too. I’m very good at encouraging others to race. I once convinced a group of friends to join me doing a marathon in Florence. Unfortunately, just the thought of 26.2 miles sent my body into panic, and I picked up an injury on week one of training. My friends did the marathon, and I supported from the sidelines. They’ve never let me forget it.

This time, I promise myself, it will be different. I will make it to race day in one piece.

‘What is your predicted finish time?’ the entry application asks.

‘Within the day’ is not an option. They require a time.

How fast can a middle-aged woman who has a fondness for chocolate, cheese and cake, and who hasn’t trained for half a decade, actually run?

I opt for forty minutes, which is my personal best. I’m not sure I’ll ever be that fast again. But with a bit of training and a fair wind behind me, I could try.

My mind is willing.

My body, unfortunately, is not.

My first run after signing up for the race is a reminder that I am not the runner I used to be. I struggle to manage two miles and have to stop several times to catch my breath.

I do a few more runs, but my fitness doesn’t improve. I worry that the race is only a few months away and I’ll not be ready for the 10k distance. So, half a mile into my next run, I decide to do some speed work—something I haven’t attempted since 2017.

‘It’ll be easy,’ I tell myself. ‘It’ll be fun.’

I run hard for a minute, recover for a minute, and repeat. My forty-four-year-old body does not respond with the pace of my thirty-four-year-old self, but it’s great to change my shuffle to more of a stride.

On the fifth attempt, pushing up a hill, my legs seize up. But I ignore the warning signs and keep attacking to the top of the climb.

My legs and lungs are screaming at me to stop. I’m two miles from home and might not make it back. My stride becomes a stagger but, somehow, I survive.

At home, I open the front door, kick off my trainers, stumble into the kitchen and collapse onto a chair. ‘I feel like I’m dying.’

Chris is at the table, reading the paper. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks, looking up.

‘I’ve done some speed work! And gone into shock!’

My temperature plummets and I start to shake. If my aching limbs could talk, they’d be shouting, ‘What the hell have you done to me?’

Chris makes me a cup of tea and then slowly, trying not to cause myself any more distress, I go upstairs for a bath, where I stay for a long time.

‘Are you alive?’ Chris asks, peering round the bathroom door.

‘Only just. I feel dreadful.’

‘Maybe leave the speed work until you’ve done a bit more running,’ he suggests.

I nod, all too aware that I have made the classic mistake of doing too much, too soon.

To get fit again, I need to do it sensibly, building up my base fitness and listening to my body. If it tells me I need to recover with a hot chocolate and a book, who am I to argue?

‘I might have to rethink the forty minutes,’ I say to Chris when I eventually emerge from the bathroom.

‘Do you think?’ he asks.

I smile. ‘Slow and steady is the way.’