Run Run As Fast As You Can

I must admit to hesitating about writing this post.  I've unfollowed people on twitter because they constantly write about how much exercise they do. "Just off for a 10K run!"  I felt exhausted just reading about it and when I found myself wondering if I too should be out there doing the same thing, it easier to switch off the stream of conscience.

So why would I hesitate about writing that?  It's no big deal, just personal preference.  Well, I do run and I can see why people so many people (running perkily past my house) would do it.  It's just for me, every step hurts, my lungs want to explode, most of the time my shins feel like they are being stabbed with glass and today, by the end, there was a sharp pain in my left shoulder (what was that about?!).  But that's just the physical side!  On the mental side, there is the consent worry that someone you know will see you staggering down the road, parts of your anatomy wobbling with a life of their own, your face bright red, huffing and puffing like a buffalo.

By the end of my circuit, instead of looking off into the distance, setting myself goals to reach before walking for a short period, wondering if I'll ever get round without the walking parts, I'm looking down, watching with detached interest every rise and fall of my feet.  I don't know if it's because I'm nearly home, or if I've gone through "the wall" but this bit I can do, I morph into a running machine.  Everything is in harmony, my legs feel powerful and I could run for ever.  My brain registers new pains, accepts them and thinks, well if you think that hurts, Ha! you should have felt the back pain when we reached the allotments and she's still going!  Then I'm home and suddenly that's the last memory I have of my hideous exercise.  Until I set off on my next attempt, and run about 100 meters down the road.  Then it hits me like a sledge hammer, this isn't fun and it hurts and I sweat and it's really undignified.

So today, as I was staggering round and not quite meeting the targets I've met on previous runs, I did wonder why I do this.  I'm still (relatively) young and fit, what am I trying to prove to myself?  Watching my foot as it moves through the air to strike the road, feeling the impact absorbed by my leg before the muscles tensed in my thigh, as they pushed down, propelling me forward, it suddenly struck me. I tackle running as I tackle writing.  I've set my self goals and I'll push myself.  Sometimes I fall short of the goal, but I limp on until I've finished.  The words and ideas often bound like a gazelle, elegantly flowing onto the page, but mostly it's a careful, deliberate word by word effort, which with practice becomes easier and less laboured.  Running also gives me the space to think, to leave my everyday world and move into a different head space.

I'd just like it to be less painful and less wobbly!

My Essex White Van Man

A text came through on my phone from an old, old friend saying "U OK?"   He was just concerned about me because of something I'd written on a social networking site.

We live in different parts of the country and so seeing each other is really hard, but we'd worked together for about four years and we've always had each others backs.  Working in a male dominated environment, he was like a big brother, annoying, always playing practical jokes, but no-one else was allowed to mess with me.  He'd make me laugh when people got to me, let me bunny hop his white van down the road (OK, I wasn't supposed to be bunny hopping it...but we were laughing too hard) and has a heart the size of the England.

He still brings up the first time I went on a treadmill.  When I said I wanted to start going to the gym, he and his friend offered to take me and show me the ropes.  Like the old pro he is, he took me round the different gym equipment starting with the dreaded treadmill.  We decided to have a race, running side by side taking the mick out of each other as we went.  Slowly we got quieter as we focused, trying not to be out done by the other, concentrating harder on the running and the breathing. 

Finally realising I just had nothing left to give, and instead of slowing the thing down, I just stopped running.  I KNOW!  My graceful exit off the end, falling delicately in a heap (cough) nearly caused him to fall off as well.  As he was bent double, laughing, feet safely either side of the moving part, I knew I would never live it down, but you know what, I didn't mind because it was really funny!  There are other stories, but to be honest, most of them I can't repeat on here.   Life with the Essex white van man has always been interesting!

So instead of texting him back I gave him a quick ring.  After the usual banter he dropped the bombshell.  He has a growth in his brain.  It's not a tumour, but they can't remove it and its cutting off some of his glands.  If he has replacement hormones his liver will pack up and he'll have to go onto dialysis.  If he doesn't have replacement hormones.....

To my questions and worry, he laughed,   "Well, I've got a beautiful wife, fantastic kids, a home, a job and great friends.  What more could I ask for?" 

The conversation moved on and we went back to the usual teasing and laughing about the times I used to chase the shoplifters out the shop while the boys just waited for the police.  Knowing he'd appreciate sharing in some more of my humiliation, I told him my running style hasn't improved much, I was cat-called and wolf-whistled by a bunch of teenagers when I was last out running, denting my ego.

When he finally got his breath back, "Dandy, you should have stopped running the day you fell off a treadmill!"  

Maybe I will, but I'm not quite ready to give up on life and laughing.  He's taught me to embrace everything that happens to you, to have a go when really you're scared and most importantly to see the funny side.  You might not have a second chance.