The Unbearable Joy of Being an Average Runner
The uncelebrated triumph of a mid to back-of-the-pack runner embarking on her first half-marathon
I should confess something. By all accounts I am shit at running. If one was to be generous you could describe me as an average runner.
I clock few miles. Rarely, if ever do interval training. Have one medal from a community competition that didn't even have a starting gun. And for the life of me I can't figure out my paces or heart zones no matter how many times I look at my Garmin (or read about it).
I am running toward mediocrity with the enthusiasm and joy of someone with a sub- 3.30 marathon and growing shelf of medals under her belt.
I confess, neither are likely soon, though I hope to gain my first marathon medal in Berlin later this year. I realise, in truth, I run to feel...something. Anything. Everything. Maybe it’s just the endorphins kicking in but by god is it working.
Sometimes, just sometimes when I run, I think I can do anything.
I visualise the glory of winning races, completing ultras, scaling that Olympic podium. Now I am too old for any of these and I am not looking for, nor capable of, the training required to do any of the above. But running has made me feel alive in ways I didn't know I was missing. It has also made me feel terrible aches and pains I didn't know were possible, in places previously unknown. More often than not such pains have been accompanied by me asking some kind of professional- a running coach, physio, PT or even my professional-level running brother- how bad does the pain have to be to really stop?
Tomorrow, Saturday the 26th of April, I will run my first half marathon in Reykyavik, Iceland. This is my third attempt at a half marathon and never, have I ever made the starting line.
My first attempt was while living in Cambodia to run the Ankor Wat Half Marathon. I was besotted with a considerably more athletic American who was training for it. Early in my training plan, I realised I had utterly underestimated the challenges of running during the rainy season and dodging the manic traffic of Phnom Penh which can be rather unforgiving to wayward pedestrians. Add in a predicted 25-30 degrees temperature and 100% humidity at the 5 am start time- well it’s safe to say my ambitions to impress were soon shattered.
For my second attempt last year, I felt I was in prime form and booked to run the Rome Half Marathon. I was flying high and feeling fit as fuck until 7 weeks out. I signed myself up for a running workshop on the track at Olympic Park in London. I hobbled away unable to put any weight on one leg. A physio, running coach and my PT all said similar things. Sometimes these things just happen: runners’ knee, shin splints, strained calves, weak ankles, IT band syndrome, tight glutes, loose glutes (made that one up). It goes on and on. When you start running your body quickly identifies weaknesses and issues which will feel like they are moving around trying to undermine your plans. “Trust me, the first year it's normal that you will end up on and off your feet, on and off plans. Then one day it will just feel great…well until it doesn't again.”
Dante missed the 10th circle of hell: runners pains and problems.
My third attempt is now one sleep away and it honestly feels like this massive feat for an average runner. While my peers (and let’s be honest betters) are carb-loading, deloading, and uploading selfies in preparation for the London Marathon- I am wondering can I really do this half? My longest run ended in tears which really knocks your confidence. It will be 8 to 11 degrees, not bad. 20% chance of rain, don’t love that. Gusts of wind up to 30mph- are you kidding me? Suddenly it feels like competing against nature as well as my demons.
I am well aware that when I run through the streets of North London I have poor form, though a great outfit. At least I am never far from a quick tube ride or overly priced Uber home to hide my shame. On the streets of London I am accompanied by a symphony of diverse runners. Ones I often pass and break out in a toothy grin.....I am one of you. But suddenly with my first half-marathon and the “real runners” in sight, I find myself questioning this. Am I really one of you?
But where has this story come from?
There is no one to compete against here but myself.
No baseline for my performance. Yes, it is a race but whose race am I running? It is my race. A race to push myself further. A race to test my limits. It is a race to beat me. A race to be myself . This overwhelming self-doubt and fear is the ever present critic who tells me I can't do hard things. And you know what I realised?
My whole life has been hard things. Facing them. Conquering them. Grieving them. Learning from them. I can do definitely do hard things.
Race day is just another day, another run. It's a chance to lace up and show up. It's a chance to find joy in being average, peace in being ordinary. If that's all I am. Because there is something extra ordinary in just being. In just, running.
Since I discovered it, running has provided the strangest sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. If you were to look at my Strava there is little to be commemorated in my performance. And yet, here I am. I don't want to let the ideas I have around race day take from the pleasure I derive from the stride.
The joy of running is not in being good. But doing something I never thought was possible.
While others are comparing and pushing PBs, it strangely feels like every run is a personal best. Because I honestly didn't think I would take to running so well. That something I am so average at could still bring joy and meaning.
As a woman there are so many times we are told to be small, to not take up space, and to be quiet. Both space and sound should move through and around us as undisturbed as if we were never present.
And yet, I run. In running, I feel I am all the things I should not be.
The critic is still telling me that I should not be lining up on that starting line on Saturday. And yet, I refuse to be sidelined. By the fear of failing. Is it not failure to try? I won’t let myself be sidelined by the stories I've been told, or tell myself. This is my story.
I know I don't have a runner's physique, but through running I dare to show and use my body. The streets I have been taught to fear, are mine to conquer. I run loudly- breathing, singing and calling out frequently "on your left" (because I am often on- and in the right walkers).
Despite, the world's desire to make me- us- feel small. In running, I am.
As an average runner, I am taking space in a world both physically and mentally that was not intended for people like me.
Maybe the real joy is in that…because it’s definitely not in my Strava performance.
Wish me luck for Saturday.
Wait, I don't need it.
Xo
All the very best for your first half marathon. 😊
Wishing you all the luck on your journey, from a fellow further back in the pack runner. You've got it!