I’ve sitting down thinking hard about the run I just returned from.
It was supposed to be 6km. It was 4km.
It was supposed to be fast. It was slow.
I imagined it to be moderate. It absolutely nailed me.
I quit after 4km and walked home.
But it’s not really is it? 4km is a damn sight better than 0km, reality just failed to live up to my expectations this morning. And that’s life I suppose. Goals are not always met on the first attempt and though I wasn’t running to further my distance or better a time this morning I was expecting to be able to hit 5km at least!
Running has been by far the most difficult activity I’ve ever engaged in. More so than surfing even. For me it’s a constant struggle of mind vs body, will vs won’t, love it hate it. That’s what I never expected when I laced up my sneaks and started running a year ago. I thought it would get easier, that I’d get to a certain point and it would be all onwards and upwards. Instead, I feel like I begin every run not knowing whether I’ll be able to complete it or not. What I do know is that without Dave’s help and motivation I would have packed it in a long time ago.
SO, that’s the only advice I can give you if you’re thinking about starting to run – find someone to share the journey with. I’m sure everyone has their off days and having someone to lean on a little when you really, really can’t be assed makes getting out of the door a teensy bit easier.
So, after a year, I’m still not ‘there’, wherever ‘there’ is. I still don’t feel like I can call myself a runner, I sure as hell don’t feel or look like a runner and to be honest, those 5kgs I started running to lose haven’t budged one inch.