I’ve joined a running club.
I’d always thought I’d hated running. I got tired, my legs ached, I was puffed out, I couldn’t keep going. So I avoided it whilst secretly admiring those that were jogging round the streets or entering marathons or spending more than 5 minutes on the treadmill at the gym. I could never do it.
Then I attempted a couple of 5k runs. I got round, but only by interspersing the running with walking – more walking than running – whilst secretly admiring those who managed to keep running all the way.
Then I saw an advert for a Beginners Running Club – the important word here being beginners. So I signed up and at the start of last month found myself in a park on Sunday morning with the running club coach and discovered that at least for that week I was the only one stupid enough to join it. My heart sank because this meant that there was no-one to deflect the attention from me. But I soon started to realise the benefits: the session was done at my pace and the coach paid really close attention to what I was saying and doing and set challenges according to my capabilities. I survived the session. He promised to find me some running buddies for the following week. This meant I had to turn up.
This weekend will be week 5 of 6 – then we should be ready to leave the baby running club and join the grown-ups. Last weekend, I ran a mile without stopping, the last part of which was up a hill. I have done my homework – two midweek runs – every week. I’ve met some really nice, supportive people. This week, I opened the blind to a beautiful crisp, sunny morning and my first thought was “What a lovely day for a run!”
And that’s definitely something I thought I would never say!