With the ‘experience’ of my first attempt at running clearly etched in my memory, and after reading that it gets easier every time you go, I reluctantly agreed to do a Saturday morning run with my sister.
Let me set the scene for you. She’d been running quite successfully for around 8 months, had already completed a 10k in under an hour and was training with a man with the focus of a machine. Needless to say she’s fast and although the thought of spending some time with her was appealing, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.
Now Saturday mornings for me are lie-in days. I work all week and it’s the only day my brain gets a rest. Not this Saturday morning. I’ll pick you up at 9am, she said. It’ll be fun, she said. Crikey, I thought.
She took me to a new local bypass. Let’s run to the end and back she said. Now this road is long and it’s boring. It was also a route with a high risk of being seen by someone I knew. It was ok though, I had my cap!
All was well when we set off, my previous run had obviously been a good base builder and we soon went beyond the 1.9 miles I’d moved before. Then I started to get slower, and she started to round me up like a sheepdog. Off she’d go leaving me plodding behind her, then she’d turn around and run back to me to make sure I wasn’t stopping. But like Pavlo’s dog I soon learnt that when her back was turned I could slow it down and walk a distance and she wouldn’t notice.
We got to mile 3 and I was done. I’d ‘moved’ all that distance and felt great but the hill at the end was a killer so like a stubborn donkey I walked, mastering a jovial 2 fingered salute when she tried to make me run that last demanding leg.
We never did get to the end of the bypass and I think I moved about 3.5miles that morning, not bad for a reluctant runner. My race, my pace.
To be continued…..