I woke up a little after 6 this morning when our youngest charges decided it was time to get up, get out of bed, and start playing some kind of game in their room that seemed to involve seeing who could shout louder than the next person. It all came to an abrupt end when a sleep giant dressed in boxer shorts (me) appeared in the doorway and told them to shut up.
(in reality, it didn’t come to an end - I told them to be quiet, shut their door, and then shut our bedroom door before falling back intoto bed).
Somehow the next couple of hours happened between my eyes shutting, and re-opening again. It seemed like moments, but the alarm clock told a different story. A thought crept from the recesses of my brain’s alarm clock too, and started tugging away at a loose end of my conscience too - I had kind of promised myself I would go for a run this morning.
Luckily I am more “idiot” than “sensible”, so rolled out of bed and fished some running shorts and a shirt from the drawer that’s been closed for the last 18 months. After finding some sport socks, and wandering down the stairs rubbing sleep from my eyes I wandered into the lounge to discover Miss 8 playing Netflix movies. We really need to figure out parental controls on that in a hurry.
Stepping through the front door reminded me why I used to like running so much. Sunday morning, blue skies, crisp air, frost on the ground, and nothing but my thoughts, the sound of my breathing, and the pounding of my feet for a while. Just me. Nobody else. Just me.
And so it was that I quietly set off down the road, to follow a couple of mile lap through town - falling into an easy rhythm after perhaps a quarter of a mile, and losing myself in memories of running past, and occasional bouts of paranoia about any aches or pains that cropped up along the way.
I guess the reason I’m so paranoid about getting hurt is because my legs are far stronger than the rest of my body (and their own frame) can easily support. For the last 10 years I’ve ridden a bike to work - 6 miles of muscle building every weekday. Turning that around to running is going to take time again. My lungs, tendons, and ligaments need to catch up with the muscle. The muscle can do it all fine.
I guess in some ways the cold morning was a help - when in shadow it was uncomfortably cold, but as soon as I broke out into the sunshine of the centre of town it was perfect.
Reaching home after perhaps 25 minutes out I entertained thoughts of carrying on, but forced myself to stop. I had taken it very easily, and that was why I felt like I could carry on. If I had carried on, I would probably now have been writing about some pull, or strain, or something.
Anyway… the new shoes (bought from the bargain bin at an online store) were great. They fit great, they felt great, they were light, and I had zero problems with them. I guess that’s half the battle right there (if the “real” runners I know are anything to judge by).