I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know where, and I don’t know when, but sometime in the recent past I’ve fallen out of love with running. And I’m sad about that.
I’m sad because I absolutely love being a Chaser, I’m sad because all my friends are having a great time running round London, knocking out PBs and loving every second, and I’m jealous that I can’t join in because, no matter how hard I try, the thought of going running mostly just makes me want to hide.
It’s like everyone else is at the most awesome party…and I’m not invited.
A few weekends ago I didn’t run at all. Not because I was really busy, not because I was injured, and not because a squirrel ate all my trainers (there’s a family of squirrels living in the loft so that’s actually quite plausible, I call them The Wilde’s), but because I just didn’t want to. But, rather than being OK with that, I felt ridiculously guilty and spent endless hours trying to justify it to myself. Probably not the sign of a healthy relationship…
Maybe I took on too many challenges in the last year. 6 marathons in a 12 month period is a little insane, I didn’t even realise that’s what I did until I counted them, but I enjoyed them all…except maybe Amsterdam which broke me pretty hard, and Brighton when I got overtaken by an actual toilet in the last mile and swore never, never, ever again…until I did do it again 2 weeks later, but, generally I enjoyed them.
After Amsterdam I was a physical and mental shadow of my usual running self, painfully slow and far from the form I was in at the end of 2013. It took a lot of mental strength to bounce back and I’m still only half way there. Did I learn anything from that? Apparently not.
The problem is I do love running and I find it really hard to say no when someone jabs me in the ribs and suggests a weekend running round a new City/up ridiculous mountains/through vineyards in fancy dress. They sell me sweet dreams of sweaty fun, post-race cider and 10 hour road trips and I’ve signed up before they’ve even finished their sentence. I never claimed to be normal…
Running is a bit like wine, I love wine and it’s always a good idea to have another
bottle glass, but you never quite know when you’ve had enough and then everything gets a bit hazy and weird and you wake up feeling rubbish. Actually, running is exactly like wine, who knew?
My last marathon was 2 whole months ago, and that was Medoc so I’m not entirely sure it counts when you’re doing shots of whiskey at mile 20, so shouldn’t I be over it all by now? Does running have a cumulative impact? I don’t know. I’ve tried having a break, going to the gym, spinning, yoga, bootcamps, but I still can’t get excited about running. All I do know is that, right now, I don’t love one of the things I generally love the most in life, I feel a little bit lost and I don’t know how to fix it.