Fatboys love to run too

I used to listen to an ipod non- stop when I ran and in fact did so for my one and only half marathon, in Vegas, but then some dickhead ran through a red light in his jag on Valentine’s Day at Hyde Park corner and the ipod died. So I decided to see if I could run ‘silent’ and I can. Is it better? – I don’t know; I keep thinking I’ll try music again but then again I quite like the solitude and don’t get the “Final Countdown” in the second mile or Dolly and Jolene when I need some “Eye of the Tiger”.

Let’s get one thing straight – I love to run but I am definitely NOT a runner. In fact I think that most people who see me waddling round the parks of London probably look on and think “What a wassock, he might as well just walk” – in other words they think what I used to think when I saw the wobbly ones struggling before I was born again - in a strictly jogging sense.
As I endured a particularly difficult eight miles yesterday morning through Hyde, Green and then St. James’ park I started to wonder what I loved about running and what kept me going. In short the easy answer to those two questions are “I bloody well don’t” and “I have no idea” but at the same time I know I‘ll be back tomorrow trying it all over again.

When I say love maybe I mean hate – I hate that first fifteen minutes which 12 months into my running career never seem to get any easier – I still feel like a beginner huffing and puffing with creaking knees, aching calves and a heaving chest - but then it turns into a effortless glide – emm – No – it just gets more bearable but the gliders – yes I see them circling with light feet barely touching the ground and covering their distance like birds dancing in the wind. Perhaps I stick at it because I dream that one day I’ll look like them – probably not, I know my physical make-up and the best I can hope for is that I start to look less like a constipated foal.
Getting faster – that’s it – that’s what I love except that doesn’t seem to happen anyway. I am about to reveal the limits of my running ability so proper runners please look away now. Well I remember doing four miles at an average of 7 minutes and 45 seconds in February but yesterday the first 4 came out in an average of 9 minutes and 12 seconds and they were bloody hard and yet in December I ran a half marathon at an average of 8:18 but on the upside yesterday I ran the last of eight in around 8 minutes; my watch gizmo satellite, tell me what I had for breakfast thingy told me that at one stage my pace was 6 minutes and 47 seconds. All this adds up to what my pace is? Could I run a mile in less than 7 minutes? Or could I run 26.2 in less than a 9 minutes average (a 4 hr marathon)? Or maybe 8 minutes which would be less that 3hr 30m for that godly distance. What should I run for 10k or 5k? And how far could I keep running for – the 100k ultras or the 24hr races?

The fact is I just don’t know any of those answers and I’m learning all the time. Ah..Learning and suffering and enjoying it... I think that’s it.
38 years old and I know nothing, nothing about running and maybe nothing about life... but it feels good to be like that expectant eight year old with a hunger to know and to know NOW! I really want to know if running is like life and it just gets harder because if it does I promise I’m going to stop except I know I can’t – I think I’m a wee bit addicted but then again I want to know if it teaches me anything about life – I think maybe it already has – not being able to run probably now matters more to me than..... well certainly more than not having the best hotel suite – that’s a significant revelation – believe me I was a hoteliers worst nightmare – nothing was ever good enough and on every holiday I changed rooms within 24hours – often I changed hotels – that was the case in 2 of the last 3 holidays and the one when I didn’t - well I changed rooms to the best one and I was already in the best hotel within 50 miles.... yep a complete pain in the arse, stuck up disaster! (I’ve read this again and realise I come across like a fickle materialistic wanker but hey them’s the facts)... but now it’s my running shoes and learning and thinking – thinking eh? What do I think about when I’m running (nearly the title of a great book by Haruki Murakami’s, What I Think About When I Think About Running).
At the end of every run I ask myself that question and I never know – I can never remember – as if I was in a trance or in another movie – maybe it’s what drug addicts are looking for – escapism or nothingness - it’s like those dreams – you know you’ve been having them and think you enjoyed them but what were they all about? Maybe that’s the good thing because I’ll have been on my feet for an hour or more and thought about not very much or else a lot but resolved nothing
A thousand more questions that I can’t answer and anyway I fancy a run now but I’ll think and try as always. All I know is that I love the hardship, the solitude, the equality, the room for improvement and the frustration that come with this the most basic and purest of sports.

And to the dickhead in the jag – thanks – now I can hear my screwed up thoughts.