The Good Run

If you are one of those lucky, LUCKY people who never have a “bad run” then stop reading. Because all of this will be things you already know. So off you go and be smug and stuff.

Right. That leaves the rest of you. Those of you who know all too well what a bad run involves.

For those reading who don’t run or have yet to draw the line between what you yourself consider to be either type of run, let me clarify what, to me, defines both “good” and “bad.

Such Good Many Run Such Wow

Let me point out that all runs have some degree of suck. Unless you’re high or mental or both or one of those “natural” runners. There are varying degrees of suckage. The Good Run involves the least suckage. Maybe only your left shin hurts. Maybe you got a stitch at mile 6 of 7 instead of mile 2. Maybe you didn’t shit your pants or puke. Maybe you even set a PB (Personal Best).

Yuck Very Bad Such Horror

This involves pain. Puke. Possibly crapping your pants. Possibly having to piss in a hedge and accidentally squatting on a nettle. Maybe tears. Probably shouting. Definitely a stitch. Legs so heavy it feels as if two full sized Orcas have somehow adhered themselves to you.

So now we’re clear on the definitions, I can begin.

The Good Run

I had one of those today. Naturally it sucked until 5k in. Because most runs suck until my legs stop hating me for making them get out of bed and my stomach stops trying to digest itself.

I often get asked why I run when it’s so damn bad for your legs/ankles/knees/hips/face and in my blog called But Why? I answered some of those questions. I didn’t so much discuss my love of running though.

Therapy

There’s something strangely therapeutic about running through the woods and fields sporting a face more twisted in anguish than a sock caught in the door of the washing machine. Ask yourself, when was the last time you were truly alone with your thoughts? My phone stays at home or in my pocket. I have no web-based distractions. The only distraction I have comes in the form of a friendly beep every kilometer to tell me I’m still moving. Occasionally a badly behaved or growly pooch will launch at me, which usually prompts some loud reminding that YOU ARE IN A NATURE RESERVE PUT YOUR OVERGROWN RODENT ON A LEAD.

But that’s it. Just me and my 1000mph brain. I have my best ideas when I run. And quietly berate myself for my worst. I clear my head of work stress and other life-nuisances.

If I’m out on a PB seeking 5k, I’ll probably just be moments from vomiting the whole time. But afterwards, a kind of zen-like calm descends and I have my most productive days following a run like that.

On a slow, easy 10k, I put the world to rights. By myself. It’s tremendous and in my crazy, chaotic life, I absolutely cherish those quiet hours alone with myself.

Noticing Stuff

When I’m out for a ride on the MTB, I rarely have much time to take things in. The only wildlife I see tends to be the deer that I startle or a local Jakey with his carry-oot. When I’m out running, I see much more. I’ve seen whole housing estates spring up house-by-house in the town and the trail I run has changed and become established and overgrown. I’ve seen every season on the trail for two years now. I like that.

My favourite animals to see are Robins. Granny used to tell me if a Robin hopped in front of me, it was someone I know checking in. That makes me smile. They don’t hop though, they fly like they’re racing. Or sit and watch me run by. I say hello to magpies, and sheep and cows and horses. I stop to fuss over collies and labs. Not yappy little pretend dogs though. Yuck. It’s like I’m Dr sodding Dolittle.

Fit Folk Bants and Lolz

I like to say hello to other runners and cyclists. Ones that are so deeply in the pain-zone that they can barely lift their eyes from focusing on a spot ahead. When I did hill-repeats on Saturday, a guy wearing the most complex Camelback I’ve ever seen asked me to wish him luck on his two-lap Marathon PB mission. Mental. One lap of the loch used to break my head. Imagine two. IMAGINE.

When the weather is shitty, (and I mean REALLY shitty, folk of sunnier/milder climes) and the ice is hitting my face and the wind is so strong I fall over, the exchanges become that of people who are equally bloody mental and they give not even the smallest of fucks. “lovely morning!” or “thank feck for thermals” are common hello’s that I get.

When I’m on my bike I don’t get long to converse in passing. But running is slower and more laid back. People always seem surprised when a runner smiles back. But I’m not looking for the pain-zone yet. I’m still getting my mojo back.

Trying a New Thing

On Saturday, I decided to get in my car and drive to another section of The Heritage Trail. A hilly section. Because flat is fabulous but I want a better ass. So off I went in Sheldon the Mini and we found a carpark and it was tremendous. Not the hill bits, because fuck that shit. But the change of scenery did me a world of good.

When it all just….works

Very occasionally, if I’ve been ever-such-a-good-Sensible, nothing aches. The breathing is labour-free. The lungs open. The snot goes away. The legs turnover without a second thought. And I could go on for HOURS. These runs are rare. I honestly never ever thought I’d have one. Marathon training will do it’s absolute best to destroy every ounce of fondness that you have for running. So these runs are the very bestest. The icing on the cake of Fit. The jar of Nutella you find in the cupboard after a shit day at work. The Jaffa Cake your colleague gives you at coffee time. Cherish this run.

Next time you find yourself growing bored of a route, change it. I read an article lately that recommended changing a route every so often so that your body has to re-adjust. There is an argument that not following a routine or pattern can make you more efficient, faster and stronger.

Notice things. Look at stuff. Stop to take pictures (the light was so amazing last weekend that I couldn’t not stop… this is where I run…)

run trees

Lastly, SMILE. Because running is a privilege.

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