Two days later - it was January 9th just gone, so my little Epiphany was slightly mis-timed - I ran again. My thighs especially were aching still even when I walked around, but it was made easier because I was just visiting Kent for a while and needed something to fill my time, and even more so, my over active mind. Laura was as good as gold, and the precision of her instructions is actually very valuable. I genuinely felt that she was really with me, so much so that other people would have heard me swearing at her! But the structure and routine of this Couch to 5K programme is very well done, I think. Now that I knew what to expect, it was harder than before, and, really fighting for breath, I counted off the repetitions. I was amazed to find I was at five....six.... omg. I. Am. Actually. Doing. This.
There are many ways to experience a town. We become familiar with driving around it and we know which turns and corners to take. We walk to our favourite places (maybe we walk ) and see things slightly differently from when we drive, but we are not focused on performance when we do this. When I ran, in Canterbury, the first time, it was dark and the streets were empty. I found a school with an open gate and went round the silent sports field. The second time, it was daytime and I found I had not thought about where I was actually going.... gosh there are controlled crossings! There are clumps of pedestrians! There is traffic, too much of it, and now I am in a bloody industrial estate.... Morrison's Car Park..... aaaaa and I am trying to keep this going, keep a rhythm of sorts, but not stop. Laura says "try not to stop this brisk walk"... "just two more runs to go, you are doing really well".... that's when I swore at her. I can smell the car fumes but before I know it I am back at my friend's flat with one more to go, so it's up the street once more and then turning back while trying not to break the .... I can hardly call it a rhythm.
I have a stitch on both sides. My lungs are hurting. I am tense. I want to cry. You stupid old man, I think. Who do you really think you are? You are finished. You have had your life. You are in decline. I feel very alone and foolish. I have to fight this feeling. It reminds me of school back in the early 1970s and I don't want to think about that.
And then I am done! I fall against a wall as Laura chirpily says "well done, that wasnt easy, now a five minute walk to warm down, and have a banana". I'm thinking yeah, ok, you are probably young, perfect and beautiful, don't be so bloody patronising, until I realise I have said this out loud and she isn't even there and actually she might not be so young after all. And I am laughing out loud and saying "I bloody did it again and I am ok!"
My breathing is easing already. I remember to stretch. That is sheer heaven on my legs, the beautiful pulling on my thighs and whatever they are called at the back of the calves. A frog hops by, improbably on this concrete estate and I wonder if animals are ever unfit and out of breath. But he knows exactly what he is doing.