Welcome to the Great Church of Running

I am an atheist. I am comfortable with there being no God.

I took GCSE and A Level Religious Studies all those years ago, and having examined the arguments, I came to my conclusion and stuck with it. If there is an all-powerful and beneficent consciousness in our universe, it is not invested in an external deity, it rests in every human beings' conscience, and works through individual and collective actions.

Whoo. That's pretty deep stuff for the morning after a great night out with a very dear and long-loved friend. Considering that we split 2 bottles of white wine over a couple of pizzas and spent 4 or 5 hours putting the world definitively to rights for what felt like the first time in years, I'm in a pretty good shape this morning. A few years ago, there would have been more wine, probably some dancing, and a much later night, but we're older now, and we almost always know when to stop.

However, I am in no shape to go for my now-customary very long Sunday run, and I'm trying to balance a mild feeling of guilt with enjoying the luxury of a Sunday morning alone, in my jamas, drinking tea, with a catch up of the latest installment of The Walking Dead and the cat. I suppose, now that I regularly like to get 10 or 12 miles under my belt before breakfast on a Sunday morning, that I am a serious runner. Not the fastest or the best, but that's not what I'm out there for. As I've hinted at in previous posts, there is something spiritual that I find in running which is acceptable to me, where in any other form I would be uncomfortable. 

My understanding of religion, learned as a subject in school rather than being brought up as a believer, comes through the filter of a Western Christian cultural background and leads me to conclude that all religions are based on early attempts to make sense of and explain the physical world. These early, and usually logical assumptions (based on limited scientific knowledge and empirical observations) then became encoded as rules that would help to build sustainable identities among, and sometimes in opposition to, disparate groups of people. By observing certain customs and performing specific behaviours, one distinguishes oneself as a member of one culture, and not another. Most of my life though, has been spent refusing to be defined and resisting belonging in any category. In Groucho's words, "I don't want to belong to any club that will accept people like me as a member". I am the only example of myself, and I do not wish to be like anyone else, but it's part of the human condition to seek out people who share your experiences, values, beliefs, interests. People give you strength. We achieve together.

In accordance with the Zen of Running, lessons for life can be extrapolated from things learned through learning to run. On my long runs recently, I've realised that what I do when my body clicks into autopilot is as close to meditation as I've ever been. My mind is free and it wanders, flits, picks, circles and dances and does things it's not usually allowed to do. I can come back from a run with no real idea of what I've been thinking about, but with a new knowledge of my opinion of a subject I'd previously not given a thought to. My favourite was a realisation that the film "28 Days Later" was a different type of zombie movie because the thing that made people like the living dead was a disease called Rage, and represented the mindless spewing of intolerance which can infect society, where most clever Zom-flicks use it as a representation of relentless and unthinking commercial consumption. Not ground breaking, but not bad for a 5k on a cold morning, and it coincided with a pretty quick time too.

I've come to decisions about difficult situations I've been unwilling to tackle, and I've run through every emotion it's possible to have. Embarrassment runs are awful - you are running from whatever it is you did that makes you cringe. They need hills and speed and still the memories are there. Broken-hearted runs are the same - there's occasional angry outbursts as thoughts spill into spoken words when no-one's around. This week I've very much enjoyed 2 "I DID IT!" runs, with a great big smug smile on my face. Sometimes I have a good argument with myself about whatever's on my mind, giving a voice to each of my mixed emotions and allowing my head to be an impartial judge, instead of sticking with what I "should" do or think. All of these thoughts are sometimes used to distract myself from the physical act of running, blocking out the messages coming from the rest of my body. Occasionally, I encourage these voices too. I think of myself now as less of a single monolithic entity and more as the speaker of a parliament of emotions and sensations, and I address the parts of my body separately - "Feet! How are you feeling? Left one's a little tight, eh? Ok we'll see what we can do. Knees! You ok? Heart, you ticking along alright? Shoulders! All good? Nice one guys, lets keep going. No, bladder, you do not need a wee, we went before we set off. Besides, you can hold it for another 40mins, til we're home, can't you?"

And when I do get home, I always feel better. I know I've achieved something. Sometimes it takes a while to set in, but it comes. This is what those good hormones do, soothing and fixing sore muscles and rewarding the brain, the body's own thank-you for all that exercise.

My long runs are my meditative time to reflect on everything, and I suppose that this is what prayer feels like. I release my worries to a higher power, but in my case it's not God, it's a less inhibited thinking. Usually, the longest runs are on the weekends, with Sunday being the usual, as I don't generally have work to do. When I'm out, and I encounter other runners, we nod and smile at each other. Walkers and cyclists get the same. Being out there gives us a shared experience and identity.

Last week, it eventually occurred to me what the start of a race reminds me of. Lots of people are gathered in one place, all appropriately dressed for the task of performing a collective ritual. We are addressed by someone with an inspiring message, and then we all go out together and do our best. We all believe in the power of running to do good. It is first of all good for us - we are slimmer, healthier, happier and more relaxed, but the vast majority of runners raise funds for charities through sponsorship - asking other non-active believers to contribute. At the finish line, we all recognise the effort each of us has had to put in, and strangers dispense heartfelt congratulations, without prejudice or reserve. If you've struck up a conversation on the route with someone, the support you each draw from the other can be essential, and although you will probably never see each other again, a hug is often necessary, acknowledging the fleeting closeness and unspoken understanding.

Last Sunday, I ran the Leeds Half Marathon: the longest and fastest run I've achieved yet. I am still quite high on the numbers - 2hours 13mins 40secs; an average pace of 10.08mins per mile. I have a medal and a t-shirt that tells everyone I did it. It would appear that I am now a fully paid up member, even an evangelist for the Church of Running (or other physical exercise). Freely available and welcoming, open to all who approach. You will find no judgement on who you are, or whatever you've done before, as long as you accept that you are a body which needs to move. Respect and love your fellow man, eat wholeheartedly and share your life with friends and family, but ensure you put on the lycra and burn calories afterwards. Smile at people as you go past, and do not point out their wobbly bits lest yours become pointed at too.

Running is a religion, and it's the only one I'm happy to be part of, but this morning, I'm dodging observance of one of my worships and indulging in a different ritual.

Now - where's that big fat Sunday breakfast? 

Cancer Research UK Race for Life 10k at Temple Newsam

I have just woken up after the first afternoon nap I can remember taking in years. I meant to have just a little lie down when I got out of the bath I took to unwind when I got back home, but ended up lying face down on my bed, naked, in a patch of lovely warm sunlight for 2 hours.

It was a difficult one today. The course was much hillier than I expected. I woke up to the rain at 6.30 to get ready, and it was still threatening rain all the way across town, and it was muddy as I entered the field in front of Temple Newsam House where Cancer Research UK had set up their stalls and the start/finish line. It didn't bode well.

Having got bus times from transportdirect.co.uk, I left the house just before 8am and then spent 20 minutes waiting for a bus that didn't come, which meant I missed the connecting bus to Temple Newsam. Luckily, I wasn't the only person heading in that direction, I got talking to 3 other women waiting at the bus stop (which was not where the website thought it was) and we all got there just in time for the warm up. By now the rain had stopped, and it was warm and quite humid - not my favourite running weather, in fact the sort of weather that stopped me running in Atlanta when I first thought I might try getting healthy.

The race organisers divided the 1000 women there into groups of Runners (those who would complete it in under an hour), Joggers (an hour upwards) and Walkers (those who had no intention whatsoever of breaking a sweat), and set us off with a gap of a minute or so between each group. I put myself into the joggers group, and watched as the runners shot out of the starting line. A minute or so later, the Joggers group were set off too, and although I'd walked downhill to reach the line, it somehow hadn't occurred to me that I would have to run uphill to get out of the field.

By the time I passed the 1k mark, I was already pissed off. Grass is much harder to run on than the roads and hard canal paths I've been training on, there's much more bounce and no hard push off, and it tires me out much quicker. The marker was just before the route took us around the perimeter of damp green playing fields for 3k. I found myself looking for short cuts, and having to tell myself that's not the point of a measured race.

As the 4k mark approached, shortly after giving up on defending my back sign against the strong crosswinds, I noticed I was running in front of a Mum and Daughter running together, and I'd been listening to their conversation. The little girl was only around 9, maybe 10 at the most, and she was shattered, and whinging that she wanted to stop, needed a drink, didn't like the wind, or the heat, or the puddles, this was stupid and why did she have to do it anyway? Poor old Mum did her best to cajole and explain, encourage, praise and generally talk her daughter round, and I felt simultaneously sorry for and really proud of them both, because even whilst she was complaining, the girl had not stopped running. They overtook me just before the 5k mark, after I'd turned to them after a particularly whiny bout and said "Listen sweetheart, you're keeping me going! I think you're amazing. Everyone else has legs twice as long as yours - you're running twice as far!" A few other people around us joined in the encouragement. I hope they finished well.

After the 5k mark is where it all went wrong. They took us out around the rough paths on the wider estate, and there was a hill that pretty much was all there was between 5 and 7k. It was slippy on the stones, and muddy off them. Since about the middle of last week I've discovered I've got a pull in my groin which starts playing up after 5 or 6k even on the flat, and it makes hills quite unpleasant. At the same time, my left foot starts to tighten up, becoming hard and tense. I spoke to my Dad about after last week's race and he thinks it's probably a balancing and protecting thing related to my shoulder injury. Even though my shoulder doesn't hurt when I'm running, I seem to be holding the whole of my left side slightly tense.

I could not do the hill. I walked, steadily hating the terrain, the weather, my foot, my groin and my lack of preparation for the route.

I ran again whenever there was a flat bit or a downhill, along with most of the people around me. Seeing a crowd of women toiling up a wet hill, then somehow, fishlike, without verbal communication, reacting like a shoal and all suddenly running again was surreal and beautiful. By the 9k mark, the marshall assured us there was only a tiny little bit more uphill and it was nothing like we'd already done, and despite a few exhausted strides of walking, I came across the finish line running, and was surprised to find that my time, even with roughly 2.5k of walking, was 1hr, 14mins and 44secs. This probably means that my running is not that much faster than my walking. I'm not sure how I feel about that!

I ran into the finishing paddock, collected my medal and goody bag and collapsed among the others, lying flat out on the wet grass. After a natter on the phone with my parents and a few stretches, I set off up the hill to walk out to the bus stop. But when I got to the top of the hill, I found to my surprise that I was crying, and took myself away from the crowd to go and sit in the amphitheatre. I can't say exactly why I was so overcome, more even than last week, but I had to wait for the unexpected tears to pass before being ready to walk again.

And as I made my way back through town on the bus, chatting with a couple of other runners and wearing my medal, I made the following resolutions for future runs:

• Do not do overtime, then go out and drink with the data team the night before a race (even if you do stick to shandy). And you can't get away with a midnight bedtime before a 6.30 get up.
• Research the course. Next time you intend to run a 10k route that involves slugging up killer hills, please have at least 2 weeks of hill training under your belt. And do at least some grass work!
• Sort out your foot/groin pull thing. Could be all compensation for the collar bone injury.
• Drink more water!

So that was run number 3 of my 5. I've got my eyes on 2 more, but I'm saying nothing until I've signed up for them.

In the meantime, having not really had the best run in the world today, knowing that I didn't enjoy the route and that I was totally unprepared for the hills, I was asked by a marshall on the way out if I'd do it all again.

The answer's yes. Somewhere around Temple Newsam's grounds is a pink backplate that says "I'm running for Sadie Legard", with a heart, blown off my back between 4 and 5k. There'll always be better reasons to run than reasons to stop.

JaneTomlinson's Run For All 10k in Leeds

WHOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

1 hour, 8 minutes and 57 seconds!

I am more than pleased with that time, especially given that this morning was the worst weather I've run in so far, and that there were roughly 9000 other people on the route, forming a wet, warm, steamy and sweaty crowd as we crossed the start line on the Headrow outside the Art Gallery.

What an amazing experience, and I'm so proud to have taken part. Somehow, I don't have lots to say about warming up in the rain in Millennium Square, or the course, or the weather (wet), or my time (far better than I thought), or my feet, or the chafing from my trousers (tummy and back - getting rid of those!), or much apart from motivation, and this is after a natter with my Dad about his thoughts today.

As it's Fathers Day, I had arranged for my wandering parents (who until very recently could have been described as being of no proper fixed abode whilst touring around in their campervan) to meet me after the run for a meal. My Dad is a recovering runner (he's not done it for years now, but used to have a habit that took him up to 2 marathons: it was a serious addiction), and he gets his running kicks vicariously through me these days. I know when I'm not running (like the last 3 years) I feel guilt and envy whenever I see a race, or when I see any lone runner on a long one, and he still suffers this 20 years on.

The course went around town before taking us out to Meanwood and then bringing us back into Leeds up North Street, where I was struggling at the 9k mark, having realised that it's one of those long slow hills I hate so much. Although I'd enjoyed the run and had settled into a decent and comfortable pace, an hour is a long time. I had to keep focussed on crossing the line running, and among runners, not walkers. Regardless of what time I got, that was my target. At various points I had remembered to keep my eyes out for Sadie's hearts and butterflies, and there was no shortage, as Heart Research UK had a fair number of runners in logo t-shirts, among other heart charities, and this put a smile on my face and kept my chin up when my head could have been hanging down. When we crossed the 5k mark I checked the stopwatch on my phone to see that it was 34mins, my best time so far. The 2 lads on either side were suddenly desperate to know the time, and when I told them we all seemed to pick up our pace a little. Macmillan had people stationed around the whole course clapping and yelling "Come on Macmillan!" whenever they saw a green t-shirt, and that gave me a boost each time. But at the top of the hill, all was darkness and difficulty in my head until I suddenly heard my name being yelled clearly over the sound of stomping feet and panting: both of my parents were there against one of the barriers, waving, clapping and smiling. I blew them a kiss and ran on, saying to the 2 people running next to me with a mixture of pride and relief "That's my Mum and Dad" (and then I realised I sounded like an overgrown school kid getting off the bus from a school trip). Seeing them pushed me on enough to get me across the finish line, despite that last kilometre feeling as if it was lengthening itself out with every step I took.

After I'd collected my finishers T-shirt and my bag from the storage back in Millennium Square, I called them to find out where they were, and went back to the finish line to meet them, thinking they'd be waiting patiently somewhere sensible. I found myself stuck on the opposite side of the road from them, with the runners and walkers still battling their way across the line, but I could see my folks, both of them enthusiastically cheering and clapping everyone who crossed, with massive and genuine grins of pride and encouragement. By the time I got to them, I could tell my Dad had been crying. Apparently he'd had a good sob when he'd seen me, and while I was cooling down and doing the post-race tidy up stuff, he'd found himself watching the hour-and-a-halfers, the "purple-faced-strugglers" as he called them. It had struck him that anyone who is still battling on at that point really has a reason, they've got a burning motivation to keep them going when they've worked so hard, and in these races, that reason is loss.

I've always found the end of runs to be emotional places. People are high as kites having achieved what they've been training for for months, and then the adrenaline crashes away and all that's left is tired muscles and mixed feelings about not having to go for a run in the morning. It's when all of the ideas that got you out there in the first place, and the memories of loved ones affected by deadly diseases your charity is trying to stop swim up to meet you to say thank you and you realise all of your efforts can't bring them back. It's when you realise 10k is nothing compared to what some people are going through. And when the simple acts of personal strength and bravery that you've seen around the course really touch you.

For a short while, I was running between a young man who was doing it barefoot, and a woman who I would say was in her late fifties. Her back plate simply read "In memory of my Dad" with his date of birth and 2011 on the next line, followed by "Happy Fathers Day, love you always." I had wanted to hug her and tell her that my Dad would be waiting for me at the end, and that I'd give him an extra cuddle for her Dad when I saw him, but had realised that that would've just made me, and possibly her, tearstained as well as sweaty and rain-damp.

As I walked up the edge of the Headrow, finding my way around the barriers and safely across the course without getting in the way of the battling plodders and the worn out walkers, and towards my parents, it all hit me, and I had had a little cry too.

So many people were out there in the rain today, running like me to raise money to thank charities for help, to research cures, to continue providing services that make a difference, and to get themselves fit and make a difference in their own lives.

If you'll excuse the pun, after 10k in the rain, I find that staggeringly inspiring.

... so I've got there and finally booked myself onto next Saturday's 10k Race for Life for Cancer Research UK at Temple Newsam. This is run number 3 of my 5 for my challenge for Macmillan, and you can sponsor me through my Just Giving page for them still, but if you'd rather donate to Cancer Research UK, click here instead!