Postcards From My Kitchen Table

It’s funny what we do in the early days of a relationship. We tend to hide bits of ourselves and bend to meld to our new other, desperate to make them like us more. That’s why I started running. I had a boyfriend who wasn’t just a weekend runner, he was a serious runner once competing for Scotland in the Commonwealth Games. I thought my couch potato status wasn’t really going to cut it if I wanted to make this a success, so off I went to get myself some kit and channel my inner Paula Radcliffe.

It turned out he wasn’t worth changing myself for and although it was easy to rid myself of him, I couldn’t rid myself of my new found love of running. That was fifteen years ago and apart from a few minor hiatuses to have my children, I have been running ever since.

Whilst out last week ploughing on through the icy cold and remnants of snow underfoot, my mind wandered to mull over why it is that running has become so important to me. Why is that when so many would choose to stay indoors, I choose to pull on my trainers?

The answer I came to is that running gives me space – space to think, space to breath, headspace. It has been a saviour for me at times when I needed one. During an ugly pre-marriage relationship breakdown it gave me focus. In the post-baby fog it has given me peace and the belief that my body is still strong and can still fit into my old jeans. When I completed my first competitive run after a nasty run in with pneumonia, the sense of pride and elation was almost euphoric. Being able to breathe air into my lungs and power my body through forests and up hills was exhilarating.  I wore the post-race medal with immense pride.

Running has given me the ability to explore my surroundings, to see the world from a different perspective. To discover hidden paths and secret trails. To view beaches from clifftops, to terrify myself in a pitch dark disused railway tunnel, to clamber over walls escaping from maurading cattle.

It’s not about fitness. It’s more to me than that. I NEED to run. When I wake up on a beautiful crisp, cold day I feel an urge to run. I’m not a good runner – I’m not fast, I’m not elegant but I can keep going. I’ve got stamina. I’ve got staying power. It’s not about the speed or the distance. It’s about the act, the ritual. The repetitive rhythm that becomes almost hypnotic. My breathing like a metronome, counting each stride between trees and fence posts. Challenging myself to go a little bit faster, to push my body just that little bit harder.

I always feel better when I run. I like the sensation of using my body, of feeling my limbs powering me through the landscape. Moving through space and time and seeing things that I don’t when I’m driving. Running is a solitary act for me. I like to run alone. I don’t like to talk. I’m processing thoughts, turning things over in my mind. My busy brain quietens, I feel calm, I feel inspired. Some people have their eureka moments in the shower, I have mine when I’m running. Sometimes I have to stop at the side of a road or a forest track and make a note in my phone just so I don’t loose the thought as usually by the time I’ve got home, it’s gone.

I’m so lucky that I can run out of my front door and within seconds be alone in the landscape. Once I managed to disturb thousands of migrating geese whilst running through a stubble field. They immediately swooped skywards. The sky went black, their calls deafening. It was the most incredible spectacle. If I hadn’t been running I would never have seen it.

I usually appear home red, breathless, wet and muddy but motivated and alive. I don’t think I could do without running now. I’ll never be speedy, I’ll never lead the pack but I’ll keep going. With a smile on my face, Desert Island Discs playing in my ears and always my faithful four legged friend at my side.