Stage two, in the many stages of what my marathon training will become, was returning to Run Dem Crew. Once a weekly regular, my attendance this year has been slim. Which is particularly embarrassing as Zest Magazine published an article on me and a friend focusing on the merits of joining a running club together – the main one being maintaining the motivation to go every week and not let each other down. Oops.
The thing is, I just haven’t been prioritising it. If a good social invite came up on a Tuesday I was likely to accept. Note the past tense. Now I have the FEAR. I will be there every week. Early.
So, Tuesday marked my return. I ran with the Hares group and we clocked up 10k starting at the 1948 store in Shoreditch and making our way down to the London Eye and back again. Our route weaved over Tower Bridge, down the alleyways that form the rear warren of the Southbank and then back over Millenium Bridge, past St Paul’s Cathedral and back up via Liverpool Street station to base camp. A swift foot tour of the City.
For me the run was an exercise in mind over matter. As I think my entire training regime will be. Learning to get my arms, legs and lungs to carry on, even when my head is telling me to stop. Then when my limbs fail me, getting my mind to convince them to plough on. I can see how drawing on all my resources will be the only way to succeed. Mind, body, limbs, lungs, legs and so on.
I could practically hear my body’s internal dialogue as I hit the 5k mark; a push-pull of emotions ranging from enthusiastic start, to dread to comfortable contentment then encouragement, relief and then pride.
I’ve run a lot of 10k’s in my limited running career, so it’s no longer a major achievement. Yet still, the overwhelming sense of achievement, each and every time I complete one is immense. The adrenaline from sprinting out the last leg and then the rush of exhaustion and the buzz in the 1948 store afterwards with 40 people’s collective energy, everyone swapping stories of the run just completed. I’ve no idea why I’ve fought going every week. I never regret it. And I always love it.
Tuesday’s run was also I should add, stinking hot. The tropical humidity making it tough to get a full reach of air and the thickness of heat a struggle to cut through, especially around the 8k mark. There was not one person not dripping with sweat by the end.
I am a little concerned about my right knee. It seems to be as accurate as a Nike Plus on telling me when I’ve reached the 10k mark – it starts twisting, aching and begging me to give it a rest. A proper diagnoses is needed so I’m off to a professional. Just as soon as I can afford one.
Nike Lunar Glides+, the lightest, squishiest running shoe, designed for women of any running style. They give support, they give flexibility and they don’t weigh a tonne. Bravo. I have genuine love for these shoes, they feel like running on a clouds against my old hunky chunky pair of runners.
Old leggings – in a rush I scooped out my old dance leggings. No wicking away sweat there. Sweaty Betty. Bad choice Daisy.
Pink leopard print Nike training vest. Because if you’ve made the effort to go to running club, you want to make sure people can see you.
Going Up: Starting, and loving, some serious training.
Going Down: Reality Bites. This is going to be very fucking tough.
NB: I turned down a VIP party with Mark Ronson to go to Running Club. If that’s not dedication…