If you are reading this blog, I assume that you are either:
a) in training for a half marathon and/or some other excruciating, painful physical activity which makes all of the muscles in your body howl in protest – in which case, have a seat… please!
b) THINKING about training for a half marathon, in which case, you can probably stand for more than 10 seconds without a limb falling off. If you are merely THINKING about running, welcome to what I call ‘blissful ignorance.’
I was in blissful ignorance for thirty years. It was a time of great joy, peace and serenity. My sofa, the chocolate stash, the television remote control and I had a deep and mutually fulfilling relationship. Then, one gloomy
Yorkshire April day, I was accosted in the shopping centre by a perky bottomed, toned stomached, bouncy pony tailed, lycra clad girl-woman who cheerfully informed me that, at the age of 25, your body starts to prepare for death. Having an enquiring and scientific mind, I researched her allegations (with a little help from Google) and found out that Barbie was correct. Apparently, your cells literally start to commit suicide when you reach 25! Because the only thing that motivates me more than a packet of peanut M and M’s is the prospect of impending doom, I decided to think about doing a bit of running!
I mentioned doing ‘a bit of running’ to my friend and she said “yeah okay then, why don’t we sign up for the Race for Life in June?’ Remember the old drugs slogan ‘Just say NO?’ I really wish I’d remembered it right at that moment but my brain cells are obviously the first on the over 25 suicide mission (sometimes I forget to wear shoes). So, despite my reservations and the fact that I wanted to crawl back to my sofa and hide under the cushions, I said ‘Great!’
And so began the misery. 4 times a week, I dragged my sorry, aching bottom into the wilds- I braved the wind, the rain, the frostbite (I live in
Yorkshire, there’s no such thing as Spring- it’s just continual winter up here) as well as the jeers and heckles of passing white van men. Eventually, I could run 3 miles without needing a stretcher and/or a nap in a hedge.
On race day, I bounced out of bed, a bundle of excited and nervous energy. I ran the race of my dreams and finished in under half an hour- I even passed a couple of ‘proper runners’ – you could tell they were proper runners because they were drinking fluids regularly and weren’t swearing when they passed the 2k mark (in my defence, it seemed MUCH further.) It was during my endorphin induced high that I decided to grasp the nettle, bite the bullet (and any other painful cliché’s you can think of) and I signed up to the
Bradford half marathon.
This BLOG is my half marathon training diary. I have been training now for 5 weeks: my apologies for not blogging earlier- the muscles in my hands have been taking part in a mass protest instigated by my calf muscles. Basically all of the muscles in my body cramp dramatically every 5 minutes. You also need to know that, to access my computer (and my laundry room) I have to navigate a set of steep stone steps. My family are quickly running out of clean clothes, so much so that my 9 year old son went to the park today in an oversized pink t-shirt which belongs to his 4 year old sister.
Dear readers, if you are in stage B- The blissful ignorance stage, I suggest that you wash every item of laundry right now then position your computer in a location which you don’t have to bend your knees to reach. Trust me, your family will thank you for it should you decide to move into category A.
Happy times x