I haven't done any serious running for quite a few years. Apparently sprinting through Euston station at 5:07pm on a Thursday afternoon, doesn't count as serious running. Actually I think it involves a high level of athletic endeavor, you have to maintain a good steady pace, weaving through the commuter zombies, whilst dragging the overnight bag immediately behind, carefully avoiding slamming the corner of it into that little old ladie's shin and making sure it doesn't turnover as you change direction at the WH Smiths corner at top speed. No the nice lady Doctor who was doing my bi-annual check up, was definitive that this does not count as regular exercise, especially, if the reason you are running is because you stopped at Pret a Manger to get a Swedish Meatball wrap for the train on the way home. She, the Doctor, used to be in the army and likes to do her running barefoot and was a little judgmental, I felt, about my level of exercise. I think the word "Pathetic" really should not be used by a lady Doctor toward a Man with his shirt off, in any circumstances.
So when the HR Operations and ER team were considering doing something for a good cause I thought - well maybe we could do something that would help me to exercise more, and get a bit fitter and you know, shape up a bit. I did a bit of running a few years ago, a few half marathons - I was never a good runner, but I could cover the miles, so I thought when I put my pledge in to cover the 1000 mile it would be a good opportunity to get the gear back out and start pounding the pavement.
Uppermost in my mind were my high spec, top of the range running shoes, that I had purchased in 2005 for a pretty tidy sum. Hollowed sole for lightness, with gel to add bounce and a latticed upper to allow cooling to the feet as they run. Unfortunately they were also white and white running shoes for the average British runner quickly become muck brown running shoes, and well muck brown shoes just put you off don't they. So they hadn't seen an awful lot of action since 2005.
I knew they were at the back of my shoe closet. I say shoe closet, but really its a cupboard, where generations of shoes have been thrown, with the current crop lying on top and therefore easily accessible each morning. It's more of a shoe graveyard really, and as I set about retrieving my running shoes I felt like a member of time team excavating a field in Wessex. It was like a trip down a footwear inspired memory lane,(shoe street?) there were the golf shoes (also white interestingly) that had been dispensed with after that unfortunate incident with the club official at Carden Park Golf club, the blue boaters that I had bought for a friend stag do on a barge, which had proved horribly inappropriate as it monsooned all day, and a pair of loafers that I had bought in Canada for a friends wedding because air Canada had taken a real dislike to me and as well as bumping me off my flight, also decided to lose all my bags. Anyway after digging through three generations of footwear, I had found one brownish running shoe but not the other. The bedroom was looking like some form of plimsol explosion had taken place, and with every old boot or trainer I extracted a clump of 10 year old mud seemed to fly across the carpet. This is not the kind of interior design Michelle my darling wife, warms to after the end of a hard day at the office, so as well as feeling rather frustrated about the missing shoe I was also feeling a little worried about the mess.
With all shoes extracted there in the corner of the closet was a black bag and within the black bag was the other shoe, along with a running sock still damp with ten year old sweat, and interestingly a train ticket to Shrewsbury - all very intriguing. I quickly repacked the shoe closet being careful to ensure each useless, never to be worn again, shoe, was carefully placed in its generational pecking order. Popped the rather crusty running shoes on, kicked the 10 year old mud under the bed and set out on my first run for the 1000 mile challenge.
It is a circular run from my house of around 2.5 miles which I knew very well from my half marathon days. I quickly realized that my running shoes were not making the difference to my performance that I had hoped for and my overall pace was, shall we say, slow. I tucked in behind a lady carrying her shopping and used her as a wind break for the first mile until she stopped and stood aside to let me through, I think my breathing regime had spooked her. Eventually I came to the home straight and decided to do some fartlekking on the run in. No I had not lost all control, as the runners amongst you will know, this is an exercise where you sprint for a period then recover by jogging, then sprint again, and it is apparently very good to build fitness. The problem was my sprints were pretty indistinguishable to my recovery stints, and my recovery stints were becoming very walky as I neared the finish. I trotted in red faced and knackered but pleased I was doing my bit for Over The Wall, a great cause.
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