What a very strange evening. I didn’t get out till about 8 o’clock: a bit late when there’s 6 miles and a torrential rainstorm ahead of you.
There’s a new suspect in the ongoing investigation into the baffling case of these sharp rib pains I get. Step forward… sleep. I haven’t been getting enough sleep for weeks. Going to bed too late, waking too early. Getting an average of 5 to 6 hours. It struck me today that being constantly knackered can’t be doing me any good. Action required. Or more inaction, I suppose.
The problem – whatever causes it – was back with a bang this evening; this time, even before I started running. I could feel it beginning its attack preparations as I was doing my usual pre-run 5 minute walk. I wondered whether I should write off the run completely. “Listen to your body” is one of those old cliches that get batted about. Well it’s been shouting at me for weeks now and I’ve not taken too much notice.
Within a couple of minutes I was walking, and feeling grim. I made the decision to run only 3 miles this evening, and do the 6 miler tomorrow instead. It cheered me up, though I still wasn’t feeling enthusiastic. I jogged steadily for most of the 3 miles but it was joyless. About halfway through the sky split open and there was a dense downpour that lasted 15 minutes. I could barely see. My clothes were stuck to me. Dodging puddles became pointless. My shoes were already filled with water, so what was the point.
How cheering it was to approach the end of the 3 mile point, and to be released from this. But that’s not what happened. Something quite startling occurred instead.
As I got to the finish, instead of stopping, I just suddenly… well I suddenly bolted back the way I’d come. For a moment or two I was genuinely surprised. I could almost hear something inside me saying “Sorry mate, but I had to make you think that we’d go home halfway through. Otherwise you’d never have got going”. It was an absurd situation. I was virtually arguing with myself. I was protesting. I was annoyed. But there was a stronger voice and, I thought later, a prouder voice, taking control of the situation and getting the job done.
I keep reading that running generally, and training for a marathon in particular, teaches you things about yourself. It always sounds ominous and solemn. But tonight I think I did learn something new, and it made me feel good. The second 3 miles of the evening were really enjoyable. The pain had vanished as though the rain had washed it away, and I felt strong and confident for the first time in a couple of weeks.
It goes without saying that running is an emphatically physical challenge to your system. But I am rapidly learning that there is a mental, a spiritual, a metaphysical dimension that needs just as much nourishment as the bit that’s exposed to public gaze. The emotional is less visible: a kind of smirking secret. And it provides a richness that the purely physical reaches for but never quite hits. I am beginning to see that the fabled “runner’s high” is linked to this kind of understanding.
