Up until my mid-thirties I was painfully shy. I suffered badly from depression, and I had a very poor self-image. I was also woefully unfit. I would make the 15-minute walk to the station and be sweating by the time I got there, no matter how slowly I walked. I was ashamed of almost everything about myself, but mostly my body.
One day I decided to go for a run. At the time I was lucky enough to live just round the corner from Richmond Park, the largest of London’s eight Royal Parks, and a place that I grew to adore. It was the 15th of September 2009, a date so significant to me after the fact that I wrote it down and pinned it up so that I could track my progress.
On entering the park that day I turned left onto the path and started to jog. I chose the more sheltered of two paths in that direction so that no-one could see me, and I jogged for about twenty seconds before having to stop and lean against a tree while I gasped for air. I’m not even kidding: twenty seconds. I was in a right state. I got my breath back and set off again. I managed a few more metres and stopped again. I don’t remember how long that first excursion lasted for but it wasn’t long at all. I do remember the sense of achievement though (any runner will), and that is the thing that got me out of the house the next day to try again.
I ran most days, just a few minutes each time, and I used a very basic digital watch to time how long I could go without stopping. I would memorise my timings and log it all when I got home. I’d never heard of Garmins or Fitbits or GPS tracking.
One day I made it to the top of the first short, sharp hill on my route and instead of stopping to rest, I carried on running. What a revelation to find that I could get my breath back on the move! I ran in rain, snow, sleet, wind, blazing sunshine, and I loved it all. The wonderful thing about starting from a point of such inexperience and lack of fitness was that I improved in leaps and bounds. There’s nothing more motivating than seeing how far you’ve come and knowing that improvement is inevitable.
The most instant improvement was to my mental state. I was less depressed overall, and any time I felt particularly grim, a run would cheer me up and give me the buzz I needed to help fight the blues. I watched as my body changed too. Subtle changes and some barely visible, but I felt stronger and more capable, healthier and more in control of my body. This was not something to be loathed; this was a body that could carry me around the park, that could power me up hills, across fields and back home, a happy, sweaty mess.
Eventually I plucked up the courage to venture along to my local parkrun (a free, weekly, timed 5k run held in parks all over the country and internationally too), and began getting to know other runners of all levels of experience and fitness. I made some good friends and also volunteered regularly, learning lots about upcoming races, how to deal with injury, and how to motivate yourself when you just don’t feel like running. I entered a 5k race with a couple of friends and had the best time. Not bothered about setting any records, I just loved the challenge of improving my own times and I progressed to 10k races and started collecting my medals with pride.
Eventually I was ready for a half-marathon – an unthinkable endeavour a few years before – and I trained diligently for it. It really helped having a couple of friends who were into running too, and I didn’t mind that most of them were faster than me. I loved it, and entered another.
Looking back, I guess one of the very few things I miss about living in London is the flat terrain. I still run now I’m in the beautiful Cumbrian countryside, but, my goodness, the hills! Prior to moving I broke my ankle and wasn’t able to walk, let alone run for about three months. I lost a lot of fitness, and with it, a lot of confidence. Then we got to Cumbria and every run I made involved hills that I had to stop and walk up. No relaxing long, slow plods for me, so I’ve been running a lot less in the last year. I do run the mile and a half journey to work and back most days and each time the effect on my mood is instant. I do not look forward to my shift in the factory, but I’m ready to take on the day by the time I arrive there. Likewise, 8 hours on my feet in the noisy, hot environment is just a dim memory by the time I’ve jogged home.
Soon we are getting a car. This, I am hoping, will revitalise my running. I have no intention of driving to work, but I will be able to drive into Penrith to go to the parkrun there. I can drive to Talkin Tarn, a local beauty spot with a lake that I can plod around. I can enter races again, and set myself the challenge of getting somewhere close to my previous fitness. I’m writing this partly to make myself accountable. I want to feel the urge to run that I used too; the need to get out there and put in some miles. I have the most beautiful surroundings and quiet roads to traverse, and I have the time too, if I’m strict with myself. So please, if you’re reading this in a few months time, drop me a line and ask me how it’s going. Tell me about your own running journey, and if you’re local, maybe we can get out there together and run ourselves happy.
Well done Bella- u are a great example that teaches us anything is possible and everything is achievable.
Thank you, Anna! My story is similar to (but far less inspiring than) many other women and men, but I do feel that running is one of the great egalitarian sports – you don’t need expensive equipment or a gym membership – you just get out there and put one foot in front of the other! Runners are tremendously encouraging and welcoming too, whatever level of fitness or experience you may be. 🙂