Is it just me, or do other adults fancy a go in the ball pool at IKEA?
OK, so it’s just me, but anyway, this thought strayed through my head just now as I wondered about endorphins. Chemicals, I know, but I sort of imagined for a moment that they might be a bit like balls in the IKEA ball pool, and I thought of myself flapping around in it, having a lovely time, while all the solemn adult types did solemn adult things like walking round the store in shoes with sensible heels, shopping for a new bedside cabinet.
I’m rambling, I know, but I feel sort of elated. Not that this evening’s run was particularly fast or long — in fact it was pretty slow and pretty short at 3.6 miles. But I did it in the company of a local running group, and enjoyed the experience a lot. Last spring I joined the gigantic running club in Reading and attended about half a dozen of their Wednesday track sessions. I was easing into a reasonable routine with them but then the dreaded Dartford-Leeds-Dartford job came up and trashed six months of my life. I’m still planning to go back to them – perhaps as soon as tomorrow – but I’ve been looking round for a different type of running club to complement them. I may have found it. The first club is massive – one of the biggest in the country. This has plenty of advantages, like good facilities, plenty of social events and a wide range of abilities and coaching possibilities. But their size brings with it a sense of being a very small cog in a large wheel. Or just one ball in the IKEA ball pool perhaps. And the sessions are highly structured – which may be a good thing for some, but not quite what I usually feel like.
I just fancied the idea of meeting up with a bunch of people. A bunch that splits into different pace groups to rush around the darkened streets. I like the anarchic edge of that thought. Battalions of silver-haired commandos, hell-bent on eliminating the kids from the local housing estate who didn’t obey the curfew. And that’s pretty much what I got this evening when I turned up to have a run with the Reading Joggers.
I’ve been aware of them for months, but all previous attempts to rendezvous have been abortive. Tracking them down reminded me of my unsuccessful week trying to spot a tiger in the Sunderban. You’d hear a rumour that they could be found near Asda in Tilehurst (no, I’ve left the tigers behind now), and you’d turn up to find nothing but the faintest whiff of linament lingering in the air. Then word would come through that they’d been spotted in the bar at the other sports centre round the corner and you’d arrive there, panting, to find nothing but a few empty Lucozade Sport bottles and a crumpled blister plaster on the table in the corner.
I had a breakthrough last week when I was able to make email contact with the commander of this elusive group. After some hesitant negotiation, a meeting was arranged. I turned up in the wrong place. We rescheduled, and I arrived too late. Tonight I tried again. I waited round outside the sports centre as directed, as the hour came and went. Nothing. I was trudging back to the car when suddenly there they were, spilling out through the doors of the gym. About thirty of them. I introduced myself, pleaded to be allowed to join the slowest group, and was admitted.
The slow group was just a bit too slow for me as it turned out. They comprised just two women and Arthur, the time-worn captain. Very sociable people and agreeably impressed when I claimed to have run three marathons. No hang on, I really have, haven’t I?. I don’t know where we went but it was pretty slow and civilised until, about a mile from our destination, we were joined by the middle group who’d traversed a longer route. I fell in with this lot now. It was much more like it. Even the towering, killer hill that finished the run was digestible in the company of others. Would I have stopped to walk if I’d been on my own? I suspect I might.
It was interesting and useful. I’ll team up with them again. They meet on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and normally run about 5 miles. This fits in well with my marathon training plan.
After the run it was home for an annoyingly healthy baked potato and home-made carrot, celery, apple and nut salad. Then a shower. Then I got into bed and wrote this. And now? Now I’m going to turn the light off and dream that impossible dream.
Just five minutes in the IKEA ball pool. Oh please…..
