Gait Analysis, New shoes, and a Crime scene.

Saturday saw me get up early. Again. With another crazy idea. Again.

“Let’s go to the marathon store at Liverpool street,” I said with far too much enthusiasm for someone who was not fully processing thoughts “I think it’s only a few miles away. We can get the bus there and run back.”

“OK. Great idea,” replied Kasia, much as before. I really don’t know if she thinks it’s a great idea, or if she’s just callng my bluff.

I check on Google maps; the store is EXACTLY four miles away, door to door, and before I know it, we’re dressed in our running gear and heading up to the bus stop, stopping only for a bottle of water and a few bananas.

The sights of Dalston on that Saturday morning were something to behold, but more on that later. It’s one thing going past a crime scene on a bus, and quite another having to run past it.
The marathon store is quite something. It’s the first time I’d ventured in and was a little overwhelmed as I realised what I had let myself in for.

Memorabilia adorns the walls; A rhino costumes stands in the doorway, guarding the entrance, a divers helmet languishes in a perspex box while street signs from the London route line the walls above each bay of brightly coloured running gear. Make no mistake, this just got serious.

Downstairs is where the Adidas “26ers” have a locker room. From what I understand, it’s a running group full of elite types who train to win. Feeling a little more intimidated than I was before, I sheepishly reply “just looking” when a sales assistant asks if we need any help.

We sidle over to the display of running shoes (there aren’t trainers here. These are all hardcore running shoes). and watch through the glass wall as someone goes through the gait analysis process.

I feel very self conscious at this point. I know I can run. I know I can run quite fast too, but all of a sudden, I feel like I’m on show and want to melt into the background.

Another sales assistant ask if we need any help. She’s six-feet tall, with an Eastern European accent, and I get the impression that she runs ten miles to work every morning, and runs them home again. There isn’t an ounce of fat on her. Any of them, in fact. All of the staff here look like the eat miles and poop personal bests.

“I want to do the thing,” I stammer, somehow forgetting how to speak.
“The gait analysis?”
“Yes, I guess so.”

She explains the process to me while Kasia, who has done this before just sits and laughs for the next twenty-five minutes.

some preliminary questions before we start (how often do I run, what distances are we covering), and I explain that we have a marathon coming in September. She’s not impressed, of course. This is an everyday occurrence for her. Somehow, this makes me feel worse as I remove my shoes and socks.

The first step is to mould an innersole to the foot. According to the scan, my arches are much higher than I thought them to be. I had always been under the impression that I was somewhat flat footed, but apparently not. Once the scans are complete, the innersoles are popped into what can only be described as a toaster to warm them, and make them pliable, and then they are moulded to my feet in a curious form of massage, which I am sure, this poor sales assistant does not get paid enough to do.

Impressed with the imprints my feet have left on the new innersoles, I start to feel a little better, but now comes the worst part; the gait analysis itself. This is where I’m going to be told what my running form is like.

The innersoles are placed into a pair of neutral shoes, and I slip them on and head towards the treadmill.

“What speed do you run at normally?” I’m asked as I stare at the treadmill in fear.
“About 7:30 per mile,” I reply, using my slower pace from the training sessions.
“That’s nearly thirteen km an hour,”she replies doing some very quick maths in her head. “That’s a little fast. I’ll set it to eleven for now.”

A little fast? That actually makes me feel better. and I step onto the treadmill with a new confidence.

As the machine picks up speed, I run for about thirty seconds, watching a video of Mo Farah running relentlessly through London’s Streets.

The machine is stopped, and I jump off, and walk over to the screen where a video loop of my ankles is playing over and over.

“Your right leg runs with no over or under pronunciation at all. Your left has the tiniest outward movement, but is only a degree or two. This is perfectly normal.”

I contemplate asking whether my back trouble maybe has caused it. But then think better of it. It’s normal, so don’t worry.

“Actually, I thought you were joking about the pace. But you run perfectly,” the assistant adds as Kasia comes in to look at the video.

We pick out about four pairs of trainers for me to try. I explain that Adidas seem to give me blisters, and we reject them instantly, leaving three pairs; Brooks, Asics and New Balance, all of which are over the £100 mark. I’ve never spent that kind of money on shoes in my life.

I try the Asics first. Kasia bought a pair the day before. I jump back onto the treadmill and run for the required 30 seconds, again staring at Mo Farah trying his hardest to inspire me.

I get down and go over to the video.

“Look at this,” the sales assistant says. “The consistency is amazing. You really do run perfectly.”

I’m looking at a side-by-side comparison of my two treadmill runs. Frame for frame, they are identical. Without the two different pairs of shoes on my feet, you wouldn’t have known you were watching a different take.

“Cool,” is the only response I have, my already huge ego getting another boost that it really didn’t need.

Next, the Brooks shoes.

Back on the treadmill, Mo Farah replaced by someone I probably should know but don’t. It doesn’t matter. I run perfectly.

Not much more to be said, it becomes about how I feel in the trainers, rather than how I run.

I opt for the Brooks Glycerine 12 shoes. They’re very expensive, but rather than seeing them as something to cover my feet, I see them as an investment, a tool to help me on my journey. But then I remember something.

I have to run four miles home.

We apologise to the sales assistant, but I make a promise to come back and pick them up later the same day (which I do), and head out the door on my long journey home.

Kasia is soon left behind (She cheated and took a bus in the end, still struggling with pain a little), and I battle Saturday afternoon crowds, dodging and weaving the best I can to avoid stopping.

I passed the crime scene I mentioned earlier, literally running alongside the police tape. There really was a lot of blood, covering the pavement, and the detritus of paramedic equipment still littering the area. I can only guess as to what happened at this point. It’s when I see the running shoes lying in the middle of the pool that something hits home.

I want to leave it there for today.  Whatever happens, nobody ever deserves to die like that.

Baby, we were born to run… (I promised myself I wouldn’t use that as a title. Sorry)

It’s been a god week for running. For me, anyway. As I said at the beginning of the week, I was going to use the shorter midweek runs to try a faster pace, but that isn’t exactly how it happened…

I ran three miles on Monday evening, at a steady pace of around 7:30/mile and was fairly happy with the results. Running slower, I can run far more consistently, and can feel my endurance levels building all the time.

 Tuesday I decided to rest. Monday is officially a rest day, but I got bored, and felt the need to hit the streets. But by the time Tuesday came, I’d had a rough day at work, and needed to veg out with a beer and a movie instead at that point, so I’m glad I’d run on Monday instead.

Wednesday came, and I headed out for my evening run quite late. Kasia was working, so after I’d spent the evening on the Playstation with my son, it was time to head out. Running four miles at 10pm at night is actually a really good feeling. This run on Wednesday was when I finally realised how much progress I’d made in just a couple of weeks. I ran four miles, each one hitting 7:30/mile like clockwork. You could have set your watch by me.

 A little secret though – knowing my split times, I realised I was flagging on the final lap and upped my pace, to hit the target. This was the first defining moment of the week; I realised I still had much more in the tank.

I removed the blister plaster before my shower that evening, and examined my foot. It had healed to the point that, while sore, the wound was closed and I could leave it open. This was to be the second defining moment of the week, although I was yet to realise it…

Thursday’s run was arrange with Kasia on my train home. We would get read and run straight away, around 7pm, thus leaving our evening free. Well, we eventually left the house around half past seven, but Kasia pulled up almost instantly with a pain. She said she was fine, and would walk it off, leaving me to run alone (She is fine, by the way).

About a mile in, I realised that the pain in my knee had gone, that it had been the blister plaster on the underside of my foot changing my gait slightly, and putting stress on my knee. Now it was gone, I was running as I usually would.

It was only a two-mile run tonight, and accordingly, I upped my pace. I finished both miles in 13:30, an average of 6:45/mile, which while much slower than my best, is still a vast improvement on the sluggish runs I was completing a fortnight ago, after 18 months out.

Friday will see a three or four mile run (I have yet to decide – it’s Playstation night with the boy again) which I hope to complete at the faster pace, with a rest tomorrow, and then an 8-mile run on Sunday, which Kasia, rather conveniently, is away for…

Hitting my stride…

Sunday’s long run was only as long as Saturday’s in the end – four miles, but I used it to control my pace and breathing. Doing laps around the block, each one a mile long, I ran like clockwork, completing each of the first three miles in 7:30, and only speeding up (and nearly killing myself) on the final lap, when I knew I didn’t have to keep anything in the tank. It’s a great feeling to lengthen your stride and open up the throttle on the home straight, stretching muscles you thought were spent and finding reserves you didn’t know you had. Always finish strong, no matter how the race went.

I finished the four miles in 29 minutes, (which means the last lap was a full minute faster than the previous three) which is a vast improvement in consistency; there was no stop-starting, no run-walk-run, just a steady pace throughout.

While I wasn’t happy with the overall speed I was running (It’s a very slow pace for me), I know that with longer runs, the endurance will pick up and the pace itself will quicken as my body gets used to running longer and longer. This week is a series of shorter runs, mostly only 3 miles, so I will use those to run at a quicker pace, probably around the 6 minutes per mile speed, with just an extended eight mile run on Sunday.

My morning weigh in told me that I’ve lost nearly half a kilo in the last week too, which is great, considering my peanut habit seems to have been replaced by a biscuit habit…

It used to be that when I ran, I used the time to clear my head, to stop the world for a little while, and just focus on the road. Since I started training for the marathon, however, my mind during the run is focused on figures, on times and distances, on where I should be at any particular point, on what lies ahead in the next minute. I’m not sure if I prefer it or not, but it is certainly sobering, knowing that in exactly forty-five seconds, I will be approaching the steepest part of the course, but once that has passed, It will be back onto that home straight, a little over 600 meters of wide pavement, with no obstructions and a chance to really stretch my legs.

Injury wise, the blister on the sole of my foot is healing nicely, my back is the best it’s been in years, and the only issue I have right now is that nagging pain in my knee, which I think is due to me running slightly different because of the blister. It doesn’t hurt that much though, and when I run, I don’t feel a pain at all. All in all, I’m in great shape and looking forward to running crazy distances over the coming weeks and pushing myself further than ever before.

I’ve read some interesting stats online; that marathon runners tend to be older – it seems that as we slow down, we tend to run further. Most marathoners tend to be in their mid-to-late thirties, with no upper age limit. Sprinting it seems is a young man’s game, but endurance is for those who endure…

Saturday. Pre breakfast.

After a two day rest, I was itching to run again. I woke up at 7am on the dot (without an alarm. I never use an alarm), and decided there and then that I was going to do my four miles today. Right then, in fact.

I leapt out of bed and instantly regretted it. A pain went shooting through my right knee, causing me to sit straight back down on the bed. ‘Uh-oh’, I thought, ‘this could be serious’. I straightened my leg and felt the same pain again, and quickly reverted it to a bent position. I tried to wiggle my knee-cap, but as you know, your patella doesn’t move so much when your leg is bent. I straightened it again and the pain, whilst still there was not anything like as sharp.

I took a walk downstairs, and then back up, thinking that if I can cope with stairs, it cannot be that bad. It seemed OK, but just didn’t feel ‘right’; not a pain as such, more just a tightness.

Management decision time. We are going running.

So I got ready, and I went. By this time it was around 7:45am. I had not eaten since around 7pm the night before. I did, however, imbibe about two thirds of a bottle of wine around midnight, which probably has something to do with my poor decision making at breakfast time on Saturday.

After a thorough stretch, a glass of water, and a final look in the mirror (hey, I know it’s early, but I gotta look good…), I headed out of the door, without really deciding where I was going.

I ran a four mile route with Kasia last week (see previously), and it went bad, and our regular one mile route can form a series of laps, but both start with the same road section, so off I went.

A couple of minutes in, and I decided to do the laps, purely because I wanted to measure my times better, and stick to the slower pace.

I have to tell you that this was one of my favourite runs ever. I felt good (if tired and a little hungover), and I stuck almost perfectly to a 7:30 / mile pace for the entire four laps, meaning that I got round without walking once. I also had no pain from my diaphragm, or my back, or my foot. Or even my knee.

Having read even more this week about running theory, apparently, running the longer distances time and time again will naturally build up the muscles and endurance, and the pace will find itself. So while I know that I can run a mile at around 5 minutes, I don’t need to. Yet. Eventually, my pace time will pick itself up. I’ll keep you posted…

We hit the magic 120 days mark today. Officially I’ve got that many more days before the race, which in reality gives me around 100 more training days, as the last couple of weeks before the marathon are designed as a taper, to stop me from wearing myself out before the big day.

The next couple of weeks, I’ll be looking into my diet a bit more, now that I know what I’ve been doing wrong with the actually running. I don’t eat meat, and Kasia is vegan, so we’re pretty good at what we do eat (except for my afore mentioned peanut habit), but even then, we can step up our game, and fuel our bodies rather than just fill our bellies.

Luckily, both of us are good cooks, and adventurous with it (yeah, I know I just said we’re vegetarians), so we’re always finding new things or trying out new recipes.

Right. Back to bed for an hour. I’m moving house today.

OUCH.

I signed off yesterday with the statement that ‘Compeed blister plasters may be the greatest thing ever’. Yeah, about that.

As you may well know, I have a blister, on the underside of my right arch. The blister split at the weekend, and I removed the loose skin, and cover with the blister plaster. I then ran three miles, and it was fine.

Yesterday, I ran another three miles, and it was not fine. The plaster shifted at some point during the run, and reattached itself slightly askew, so that now it stuck crossing the exposed under tissue. To say that it hurt when I had to remove it, and it took a whole load more skin away with it would be an understatement.

So now I have a rather large hole on the underside of my foot, which I have no choice but to walk on. I did recover with another plaster, but running is going to be out of the question for a few days. I’m moving house on Saturday, so maybe it’s a good thing.

The danger, of course is that running with any injury puts strain on other parts of the body, you end up compensating, and running differently. This increases the risk of another, more serious injury, and it’s really not something I need.

I slowed my pace on last night’s run, not due to the foot, but just to concentrate on my breathing. Everything was wrong from the start: I had eaten late, and didn’t actually leave the house to start the run until nearly 11pm.

But the good news is, that with the slower pace (7 minutes per mile), I ran a full 2 miles before my foot hurt and I pulled up. When the pain eased, I broke into a series of short sprints, which probably exacerbated the blister.

Doing the maths 7 minutes a mile sounds a little slow, but would get me around the course in about three hours. That’s a time I’d be happy with, so I think I’ll stick to the slower pace and work on the distance. Many marathoners use a run/walk combo but you know me; I am way too competitive to be ordinary…

I have ordered a new pair of running shoes though (below). They’re to get me through training. I’m pretty certain they won’t make it to the race. I’m itching to try them out, but I know it’ll be Sunday at the earliest. I’m not running again before then, and have a six-mile run planned. My first 10k in nearly 2 years.

mmmm.. sexy. And cheap.

It’s a little daunting, if I’m honest, but it really is time to step up. There is no going back now…

   

Come in number 2550. Your time is up.

We did it. We signed up. Kasia and I are now officially participants in the 2015 Warsaw marathon.

It’s the first time I’ve signed up for a marathon. I was a little shocked when I had to enter my expected finishing time to the nearest ten minutes. 

Should I play it safe, and go somewhere around the 5 hour mark? Or push myself to the limit and try for a sub-three hour time. After all, if I’m running 3 miles in 20 minutes now, 262 in 180 works out, right? I can do maths.

So I played it down the middle, and aimed for four hours. Well, a minute under to be precise. I can finish faster, but damned if I’m finishing later.

My race number is 2550. Kasia’s was in the 7000s. We quickly surmised that this must be down to expected finishing times, as it would a little odd if 5000 people all happened to signed up on the same day. I think I’ll be happy just to get around the course in one piece and survive long enough to enjoy a couple of days sightseeing in Warsaw.

As we signed up separately, I paid my 60 Euros fee, and read that if I wanted an Adidas branded T-shirt, it would cost me an extra 30 Euros. I declined this amazing offer, and stuck with the generic one. Kasia later informed me that she paid in Polish, and her fees were nearly half of what mine were.

Oh well.

I did my three mile route last night, slightly slower than at the weekend. The diaphragm cramps returned, although not as harshly as on Sunday. A little research at Google University tells me that I need to adjust my breathing. This makes sense.

In my first couple of posts, I mentioned that I have a lot of work to do on my cardio and breathing; it seems that while my legs can run and hardly feel fatigued even after the longer runs, my breathing technique is struggling to catch up. This needs to be my focus over the next couple of weeks, to settle into a routine that will see me through the entire marathon.

On another note, Compeed Blister Plasters may just be the greatest thing ever.

…And a not so good one.

So after Saturday’s success, I was all buoyed up for my four miles with Kasia on Sunday afternoon.

Sunday is the endurance run for the week, in that it’s designed to get the body used to running much longer distances. As this was the first week of training, this extending run was only actually four miles, one mile longer than run on Saturday.

Well, it started bad, and got worse from there. Bravado got the better of me, as it often does, and seeing Kasia run ahead without warming up or stretching made me think I could do the same. A few hundred metres down the road, and I realised that I didn’t actually know the route. We were running close to where Kasia lives, and although we had discussed the route beforehand, actually running it was different in practice.

I waited patiently for Kasia to catch up. She runs at a much slower, but more measured and constant pace, whereas I tend to run intervals over long distance. My overall times are much faster, but I’d love to be able to run smooth for 26.2 miles come September…

Kasia directed me across the main road, and in the right direction. I knew where I was headed again, and took off at great speed, and Kasia was soon far behind me. Sorry Kash. That was my biggest mistake.

Knowing that the bulk of the run was a path around the park, before heading back the same route, I saw the park up ahead. This isn’t a park I’m familiar with, it has to be said, and the gate that I had expected to see wasn’t there. So instead, I ended up running AROUND the outside of the park, a much greater distance. And I still couldn’t see Kasia. A panic started to set in as my diaphragm locked up. I should have stretched. Now, I couldn’t breathe, felt like I was going to puke, and was somewhat lost as to where I was supposed to be.

I slowed to a walk. My legs, still heavy from the previous days efforts refused to start up again straight away. I jogged about ten metres, then slowed again. The pain in my midsection was severe. I took a swig of water, couldn’t swallow and spat it to the ground. I stretched a little, and the pain seemed to go. I tried running again, and this time found that my legs also agreed, and was soon back up to my normal pace.

A rear entrance to the park was in front of me, and I was soon back on track. Literally. Even an unexpected funfair straddling the route didn’t faze me, and I ran around it (lengthening my route once again).

And there, some way behind me, was Kasia. I ran off ahead again, but then soon ground to a halt. The pain in my midsection came back with a vengeance. And I lost it. Afer that, I could barely walk. I stood and waited for Kasia, who was closing in.

There was some concern on her face, and in her word, but I assured her that it was just down to not stretching. I ran alongside her for a while, out of the park, and back down the side roads we had run on the way in.

Knowing my route now, I took off again at speed, only to pull up a minute or two later, my legs burning from using short paces at Kasia’s side for so long and could do nothing but walk (and shrug) as Kasia, with her measured pace swiftly ran past, even chatting to a couple of passers-by without breaking her stride. I hung my head as I walked past them.

I ran again, and passed Kasia as we reached the main road. As we got into the last stretch, I forwent the pavement, and took to the middle of the road. I felt a sudden burst of clarity in my middle, like the cramp was finally gone, I broke into a sprint over the last few hundred metres. Finishing strong seemed to dissipate the sense of failure that had dogged me the last couple of miles.

As we sat on the sofa, and I surveyed the ruins of my blister (I mentioned it a few posts back. It’s really not pretty now), I analysed the run over and over in my head.

Too much too soon? Was I that unfit? Can I really run a marathon?

And then I realised.

It was all because I didn’t stretch properly. Lesson learned.

A good run…

I set out at 9am Saturday morning for a three mile run, having tracked a route on Google Maps beforehand, and knowing I still had to go into work afterwards.

Stretching fully in the kitchen, a normal morning routing for me all of a sudden, and chowing down a banana, I felt great. One of those mornings where you know it’s going to be a good run. Maybe it was down to the rest day on Friday, but I was itching to hit the road and test my body in a short(ish), fast run.

I headed out the door, Kasabian’s ‘Shoot the runner’ playing in my earphones (It’s a great pace setting tune, and the title adds a little irony to make a smile). The first few hundred metres of this route being slightly downhill, it’s all too easy to pick up a fast pace and peak too soon, so I was acutely aware of  trying to run a little slower (see my previous entries for more on this).

Hitting my stride and the hill bottomed out, I turned the corner onto the longest straight run, which, incidentally also runs slowly back up hill in a gentle climb. Done. Round the bend, and onto the high street, past the café, with people eating full English breakfasts at street tables. I offer them a glance that judges them as a sprint by, in full stride now. A couple of kids watch in awe as I blur past them as they wait with their mother outside the bank. I imagine one of them says “wow”. He probably didn’t. I don’t know – The Charlatans “Forever” is way too loud for me to notice.

At the other end of the high street now, and round another bend and into one of the worst sections – it’s next to a main road, with nothing but residential houses, and no real feature or landmark to push towards. Through that, round another bend, and past a few shops. My bus home goes this way, so I know every building. This helps.

A pub, on the left, then a group of builders taking up the entire pavement. I dodge into the road, and narrowly avoid a car creeping up behind me. Maybe I should’ve turned the music down a little.

At the crest of another hill, I go straight down the other side, round another bend, jumping over a guy sprawled out on the pavement, head under his car and tools spread haphazardly around him. I doubt he even noticed me. Into the final straight, about two hundred metres slightly back up hill and I’m home. Opening the door. I stop my watch.

Just less than 21 minutes. Its way off my personal best, but boy, it felt good.

Sunday’s four mile run with Kasia was a different story though…

A rest is as good as a change.

So… No early morning run today.

I’ve always run around 6am, getting up early, warming up and then running on an empty stomach. I just prefer it this way – I seem to have better results, and feel more motivated for the rest of the day if I start out with a few miles knowing everyone else is still sleeping or staring bleary eyed into their cornflakes.

But not today. Today I decided that I’m going to run in the evening. With Kasia. This is another big step for me, but I’ll come to that in a minute.

Having worked in retail management for many years, I’ve always worked odd shifts, with weird days off, and my current job has been no different; 6 days a week, sometimes not returning home before midnight. That was up until a couple of weeks ago, whereupon I transferred to an office based role (go me), and now work regular Mon-Fri shifts, and have my evenings free.

So now I can finally get an evening routine together. The problem with an early morning run is that unless it’s your day off, you’re going to be on a time limit, even if you start at 6am. It’s not conducive to training for a marathon, and it probably isn’t that great for your body to go from sleeping to a punishing routine in a matter of minutes, regardless of the warm up.

So yeah, Evenings are where we’re at now. I did feel kind of restless this morning though, staring at my running kit laid out ready, and doubtless feeling betrayed. Somehow, maybe because I thought I had more time, I ended up being ten minutes late for work anyway.

Back to running with Kasia. I’ve always run alone. Well, as alone as possible. I tried running with my brother about ten years ago, but it was clear he wasn’t really into it, and ran about half my pace. He introduced me to a friend of his, who he assured me was “the fastest guy I know”, and although I enjoyed the company for a few weeks, he too soon gave up.

Running clubs do not appeal to me; don’t get me wrong, I love the idea of them, but they’re not for me, mostly because I can be rather competitive. No, I like the solitude of me vs. road.

So running with my girlfriend is going to be a new experience.

Is there an etiquette for it? 

6am, Monday morning.

Although I only decided to run a marathon yesterday, I’m jumping in with both feet. Or I would be if jumping didn’t hurt like a big ol’ hurty thing.

As I mentioned previously, Kasia has already got one marathon under her belt (and at least another half marathon too), and lucky for me has a multitude of books on the subject. So, grabbing one at random, I begun finding out just what I’d gotten myself in to.

Well, it would seem that I actually do a lot of things right. I’m vegetarian (Kasia is vegan), and together we’re careful about what we eat. We’re aware of our protein intake, and limit how many empty calories we eat (although I must confess to a secret peanut habit…) and I do know I should drink more water.

I’m 6’3” (191cm) and weight roughly 85kg (185lb). I’m a non-smoker (never have) and am in pretty good health for a 38 year old, except for my back. My back issues stem from a slipped disc about ten years ago, that I never sought treatment for (I was young and invincible), and I’m paying the price now. It’s generally manageable, however I am prone to pull muscles in my lower back, and a few years ago I tore a hamstring running as a direct result of changing my gait instead of stopping while it healed.

With a little trepidation, I went out for my first real run in 18 months this morning. Only a couple of miles, according to my training plan. In the old days, it would have barely registered as a warm up. But now? Now even heading out of the door was scary. I felt my back pulling as I warmed up in the kitchen, at which point I switched the kettle on, just in case I came back sooner than I expected.

Cuing up my start up tune (Beastie Boys ‘Sabotage’), I headed out the door…

The first few steps, as I was finding my stride, and I noticed a red car driving up the road in my direction. I picked up my pace, and before I knew it, I was running like I hadn’t just taken a year and a half off. No back pain, no unexpected twinges. 

But that red car still hadn’t passed me. A cursory glance over my shoulder, and I see that the car is still there. Still driving, albeit slowly, in my direction.

And then I realise. They’re watching me. My legs may be a magnificent sight at 6am, however, I was feeling particularly self-conscious, and trying to concentrate on all the things I needed to be aware of (I will explain), and so, cutting across the road IN FRONT of the moving vehicle, I headed down a side street. Note – this isn’t something I recommend as it can – and does – often result in serious injury.

Those things I had to concentrate on? Well, there was pain, first. Was anything hurting? If so why? Can I manage it? What about my back? This will continue to be my biggest concern throughout the coming months.

Secondly, there was technique. I noticed a couple of minutes in that I was running on the balls of my feet, not landing with my heels first. This is something I do when jogging, rather than running. Being rather tall, I have a long stride, and anything less than full stretch, and I tend to run with my feet landing front-half first. So I lengthened my stride, and got stuck in to the serious business of running.

A mile and a half later, and I could barely breathe. My lungs were burning. A cough developed. I was using parts of my respiratory system that had lain dormant for months, and they weren’t happy about being woken up. I pretty much crawled back to the house, hacking and wheezing, fumbling for my key.

And then, back in the safety of the kitchen, kettle being hastily reboiled, lungs bursting and aching from being stretched, I realised something.

I cannot wait to go out and run again.