Running is not a thing that most people choose to do. People may run to the bus stop or dash to a train that's about to leave, but the sensible majority don't run voluntarily. I tried to think of a third reason to run but couldn't come up with one that was both witty and true. Humans evolved to chase animals to eat or run away from them to avoid being eaten. But these days people that hunt have guns which can function over very long distances, and we have already killed most of the animals that want to eat us.
More and more people are running because they choose to. Every Saturday morning, up to a thousand people run round Bushy Park in Teddington at the same time in the Park Run. They drag themselves out of bed early on a Saturday morning, forsaking 50% of their weekend lie-ins, so they can get to Bushy for 9 a.m. to run around the park.
Bonkers.
That's what I used to think, until I started running myself, and now I understand why they do it.
In March of 2016 I had my Big Operation at Charing Cross Hospital. I had Prostate Cancer, and my Prostate gland had become a potentially life-limiting liability, and my consultant convinced me that I was better off without it. I was in the hospital for thirty-six hours, which was enough to get the job done and ensure that the personal plumbing still worked properly. Then I went home to rest and recover from the surgery, with my wife Julie to look after me. Lying around the house in Tesco's casual sportswear was actually quite a pleasant change for a while, I watched lots of the BBC4 documentaries which I had stored up on my Tivo box. I just love docs on old rock bands and engineering stuff, they really should get Rick Wakeman to fly in a rocket with David Attenborough to do the commentary.
After a few weeks, I got restless and decided I needed to stretch my legs. So I started going for walks with Julie to Teddington and back. The return journey was often very brisk due to a risky combination of cappuccino and not-fully-healed waterworks. Thankfully a friend living on Fifth Cross Road provided a toilet before I had to nip down an alley.
Walks progressed to a gentle trot around Kneller Gardens, interspersed with some walking. A few weeks after my operation I felt fit enough to try something a bit more challenging. I got permission to run from my doctor, who is a skinny guy that does lots of exercise. He assured me that my innards would not get detached and I shouldn't spring a leak or lose a testicle.
So at the end of April, I ran my first Park Run in Crane Park, where the start is about a kilometre from home. The run is 5K, which is about three miles. Three miles doesn't sound very far, you can walk it (if you are brisk) in an hour. But running three miles is really horrible, to begin with.
You start with a crowd of people, about one hundred and fifty in the Crane Park run. They are gathered at the start near the children's playground. They are aged from about eight upwards, and equal numbers of males and females all dressed in sports gear. I bought some new running shoes since my old pair is fifteen years old and deserve retirement.
At the start of the run the Race Director welcomes new runners to Crane Park, so I put my hand up and was given a round of applause. He told us the basic rules of the race and then started the race. We all trotted gently at first, everyone being constricted to a path about two metres wide, but gradually the field opens up and so we can all run more naturally.
At first, I was pleased to be simply competing and trot along happily midway down the field. Hey I'm on a run! I'm a runner now! Maybe the others will accept me as a fellow runner! Then after about the first kilometre I was wondering how far I had gone, and how much further it is to go. People passed by me, including children skipping past like antelopes on a spring pasture and determined women pushing three-wheeled buggies (with at least one child in).
Then I started thinking that it wasn't fun anymore and wanted to stop, but I wasn't even half way round. For the next few kilometres it was just a slog where I mostly wished it was over and I could lie on my sofa at home. Once I ran over the finish line I bent over and panted like an old dog that had just chased a very fast squirrel.
After getting my barcode scanned (to get my timing) I started walking home, AND I FELT GREAT! There is a sense of achievement of course, but there is also a slight feeling of euphoria like you know everything is well in the world and one is going to have an excellent day.
The feeling of positivity is wonderful, and it lasts all day. An ordinary Saturday morning is turned into a special day. That feeling is a bit addictive, so that's why I continue to run, even when its frosty outside. Also, the running eventually gets less horrible, and you start to enjoy it to some extent. after running for six months (not continuously, obviously) I found that I could run further and have some petrol left in the tank!
Yesterday I ran from my house to Bushy Park, then round Bushy Park and then back home again. The sun was out, and it was warm for mid-December, so I ran in shorts and a tee shirt. I was buggered by the time I got home, but I have proved a point to myself, which is what running is all about. I am determined to be fit enough to enjoy my retirement to the full.
Most people don't enjoy running, for very good reasons. I have taught myself to enjoy it, and I'm pleased that I did. So there.
