Running Late #3

Running wasn’t in me — isn’t in me. I have never been a ‘runner’ — I was a kid who ran for football, for mucking about, for legging it playing chappie. I went through much of my 20s running 10 times a year, often in little bursts of activity which quickly faded.

I wasn’t a runner at all.

But now running is all I think about.

Night and day, I watch videos of Kenyan and Ethiopian runners completing their drills, I set alarms to get up early to watch Marathons on the internet.

And last month I ran a (virtual)marathon of my own.

Round Hogganfield Loch in Glasgow’s glorious East End 21 times, among the dog walkers and spring strollers, I ran, then trudged, then walked to the 26.2 mile total in a time of 3hours 49 minutes and 18 seconds.

It wasn’t pretty, it certainly wasn’t graceful and it wasn’t fast but it was done.

I stepped to the imaginary starting line on my own and finished surrounded by the people I love most in the world.

I thought I was fairly relaxed about taking on the distance, but only after the run did my partner R- tell me that in the days leading up to it, I was pensive and on edge. She didn’t want to say anything in case it threw me off, bless her. I know my mum was worried about me behind the scenes but as ever played it straight telling me I would almost certainly break a world record time. “I don’t see why not.”

The run itself started smoothly enough, I decided to wear a hydration pack as there would be no water tables laid out in my honour. I ran in Nikes.

I pretty well cruised at 8min 15sec miles to the half marathon point at which time my pal C- joined me for a few miles. Frankly, speaking, his energetic chat and upbeat outlook was just what I needed at that moment. I could feel the tiredness in my legs starting. I could feel the salt gathering under my eyes when I touched my face and I could feel the slow creep of nausea gnawing in my stomach, along with slight pressure in my head.

But in those six miles he ran with me we talked about the future, journalism, music (Neil Young, his third album, and his story writing, which is coming along nicely), we talked about like in those 50 minutes or so. He probably thought of it as distracting me from the pain but I’ll remember it for being a talk worth having run or no run.

As he left me to carry on, I knew I was in a bit of trouble. At around mile 20 the looming wall which features in the nightmares of anyone who tries the marathon distance appeared.

It appeared fully formed, without holes or ladders or climbing holds. There was no way up it and no way around it. It was a great hulking wall.

The pain in my legs was something I had never felt before, the weakness I felt throughout my body was actually frightening, I questioned whether stopping would actually simply be the safest option, particularly as my support crew (fam) were not around yet and not scheduled to be for another little bit. But I decided to keep going, didn’t I.

I had a little voice in my head saying, “plod forever” over and over, which I think come from that British explorer Ranulph Fiennes.

I walked a few short periods and I shuffled the rest, my miles now ticking by at the 11-minute mark — not much faster than walking pace.

I wanted to quit more than anything. I had my excuse ready, I hadn’t really trained as I should, next time with proper prep I’ll be grand. I’ll just stop and get a wee seat now.

But then I saw V- with her wee sign urging me on.

At mile 23 the Fam-a-lam showed up and so despite the pain, I could not stop, I couldn’t let V- see me stopping and giving up. So I kept going, running on fumes and the misplaced fear of f*cking the kid up later in life if I didn’t finish.

And so, I did. Though given the layout of the park I finished on my own, about a miles walk from where the Fam were waiting for me. It was a very slight anti-climax but it actually gave me an opportunity to gather myself and my thoughts before being the center of attention. V- didn’t want to leave my side, she could see her old da was hurtin’. I hid it (I think) but I was incredibly emotional at the end, I could have burst into tears. I have read elsewhere this is common among marathon finishers, but I hadn’t expected it. I felt vulnerable in that moment like I had laid bare my soul, and I suppose in some ways, I had.

And there they were, the people I love gathered to gather me up.

The next day or so is a bit of a blur — I didn’t recover very well, I lay in bed but forced myself to get up and ate Chinese food. And then I thought about the next one and the next one and the one after that. Because now I’m a runner.