The Weather

It's grey and damp, and even when the sun is supposed to be up it's dark. When I first looked around the edge of the curtain this morning it was very difficult to rustle up the desire to get out for the stipulated 12 minutes of jogging and 12 minutes of walking, and I got back into bed. As I was busy wallowing there for a few more minutes, I realised that after all my positivity and bluster on Friday about how totally into this I am, I had a bit of a rubbish weekend. I didn't get out on Saturday because it was snowing, and my run yesterday left me just that little bit dissatisfied because I'd set my route all wrong and missed off the last 3 minutes from a planned 40 minute circuit of running and walking.

But, at 10.00, having put my running stuff on just in case, having done the washing up and tidied the kitchen, after answering a few emails and checking my plans for the week and entering the autopilot mode whilst I considered some of the problems this week has offered me to deal with, I came to my senses to find myself all warmed up, outside the front door and pressing go on the stopwatch. I was 2 minutes into my jog by the time my brain started remembering I wasn't sure I was going to manage it today.

Someone who knows a lot about running once gave me 2 pieces of advice which have never failed to keep me going, although usually I have to actually be running to feel their benefit.

1) The weather always looks worse from inside.

2) The first mile is always the hardest.

The first one is especially true on days like today. I could've used it as an excuse not to go out. But then when I think about the light and warmth I was enjoying last week down there so much closer to the equator I might as well give up running altogether on the grounds that I'm in the UK. However, Saturday was a totally different situation. I will not run in snow of any sort. I'm not the most stable on my feet in proper snow footwear at a sensible walking speed, so running on the slippery stuff is right out. I've broken enough bones to know that I prefer them when they're intact. This was one reason why I'd originally decided to start running again on the 1st March, when winter's on it's way out, and there's less chance of sustaining a weather related orthopaedic injury.

The second piece of advice was only observably correct for me when I was confidently and regularly running 10k back in 2007. Even though I knew I could do it, and had fallen in love or become addicted or whatever that strange feeling you get is when you arrive home after more than an hour of just running over whatever the route throws up for you, and you're panting and sweaty and tired but you still just want to do it again. I remember the massive smile I'd wear while I was still getting my breath back, probably to do with all the conflicting emotions and sensations that wash over you when you're plodding along for so long. Hormones are wonderful things: pain and stress relievers especially, the waves they come in run in roughly 10 minute cycles.

The first mile, generally roughly 10 minutes, is difficult, regardless of what distance I'm out for. My body wakes up violently to find that it must pump blood and supply oxygen to the bits of me that are moving more than they really need to, just because I decided to move them, not because I'm being chased or trying to catch a bus or anything useful, and my brain is pleading with me like a stroppy 3 year old to just stop. I've often had the disastrous feeling that my legs will fail and that I'll puke within the first 10 minutes. Thankfully, I've been here before, and I know it's just something I have to get through, and now that I'm carrying extra weight it's that little bit harder.

So this morning, I ran for 12 minutes and experienced the "Oh dear God" moment, went through the bit where my heart realised it wasn't having an attack and my tired legs stopped protesting (which all happen in the first 3 minutes because on this route, I'm running up a hill), and settled into regular strides and didn't even check the stopwatch until I got to 10 minutes. And then I realised I was grinning, and got the sudden and welcome thought that I could probably keep running like this for ages. The only problem with this stage is that it's fairly rapidly followed by a contrary and more persuasive thought "Actually, no, I'm getting very tired." Thankfully, my 12 minutes were up, and I switched to the walking part. But I felt so good that I walked the uphill route back, and instead of walking 12 minutes, when I got to 11, I started running again and made it home with another smile on my face, especially as those last couple of running minutes made up for what I missed off yesterday. Where I'd started the session not feeling very hopeful, I ended it thinking I might just make it to the 10k distance after all.

I don't feel so guilty for having missed a session now. By the end of this week, I'll be running for 15 minutes solidly. A mile and a half, probably. Feels good.