There are a million reasons why, in the moment, you might not want something badly enough, even when you thought you did. You might have other priorities. You might not be able to give what is being demanded of you right then – and, that’s ok.
Somewhere, over the past couple years, I’ve started to focus less on finish lines and finish times, and more on the journey in between. And honestly, it’s transformed my attitude to running, and alongside that the enjoyment I get out of it.
I created this blog several years ago as I felt like I had something to say. Having created a platform, at the point when people started to actually engage with it, I dropped off. Why did I do this? Honestly, because I felt like a fraud.
In terms of running, it’s been a pretty epic start to the year. It’s the second week of February, and I’ve run 4 races and got myself 4 PBs. (10km, 5km, half marathon, and 10km again.) It’s a phenomenal achievement, it is. And of course, I feel proud. However, it was right in the middle of all of this that I realised that while PBs are awesome, they’re not what it’s all about. At least for me.
For me, running is about the people you meet, the places you go (physically and figuratively) and the journies you take getting there. Running has quite literally taken me places I’d not been before; up hills in Iceland…
It’s taken me a month to get round to writing this. Partially, yes, because I have been busy, but partially because I’m not very good at facing up to failure. I’ve sat down and started this post several times, before deciding that it’s more important I do this-that-and the other and putting it off yet again.
Sometimes blogging feels like a chore, and when it does, I’ve started to leave it lately rather than force something out. My main aim with both running itself and writing this blog, has always been to enjoy myself and to just have fun with it. If I can inspire others through my experiences along the way then that really is the icing on the cake!
Hello blogosphere. Long time, no speak. Turns out training for a marathon is time-consuming, who knew?! Alongside the day job, and having (just about) finished my Journalism exams, the rest of my time is taken up, running, talking about running, thinking about running, fundraising for running, meeting up with people to go running, eating healthily to help my running, Instagraming my running…and…you get the point! Basically, I have been living and breathing running since Christmas, and somehow I still feel underprepared and as though I am not doing enough!
Saturday morning marked a first for me in several ways. Not only was I out of bed by 7.45am on a weekend, but I also attended my very first Parkrun, up at Hampstead Heath.
For those of you unfamiliar with Parkrun (if indeed such people still exist!) Parkrun is a “movement” manned by volunteers which organises free 5km park runs (…runs in the park…) at 9am on a Saturday morning, up and down the UK and around the world.
My first week of (f)unemployment took me to the New Forest for a few days of walking, cycling and harassing wild horses. Culminating, last Sunday, with the Oxford half marathon. Oxford appealed to me for two reasons, firstly because back in 2010 I lived there for a period of 3 months, but secondly and more importantly, because the Oxford half takes place on the same day as London Royal Parks Half Marathon.
At some point over summer, I made a rash and not-entirely-well-thought-out decision to sign up for London Zoo’s Stampede 10k, which took place on Sunday 17th September – 7 days after my 100km charity walk. As I admitted in my last post, I had considerably underestimated what an epic challenge this 22hr 58minute 100km struggle would be.
In a moment of madness 6 months ago, my boyfriend and I signed up for the Thames Path Challenge on the 10th September; a 100km charity walk from Putney to Henley, that most people aim to complete within 24 hours. 10 days prior to this, my boyfriend fell off a climbing wall and badly sprained his ankle, and I was forced to accept that if I was going to be undertaking this epic challenge, I would be undertaking it alone.
Much to the bewilderment of the majority of people I know (and sometimes myself) my boyfriend and I opted to spend last Sunday morning up to our ears in mud, drenched from head to foot in filthy cold water, and acquiring cuts and bruises by the dozen.