Running

Three and a half years ago, I told you about my first experience going for a jog with my dad. I still remember it well. None of the clothes I wore were really meant for sport. My shoes were clunky, heavy, and made a slapping sound as they hit the pavement. When my five minutes of running were up, I felt both overjoyed and wretched. Though it's true that I am naturally very slight, I was at that time incredibly unfit. The run exhausted me, despite my weekly P.E. lessons (which I was never much good at). The fact that my diet was very unbalanced certainly didn't help with energy levels. So, when I came back to my front door after two laps around my neighbourhood, it was understandable that I felt just the slightest bit of nausea and that my legs ached for three days straight afterwards.

Thankfully, I didn't give up.

I kept going, every other weekend and then a few days more in the summer. I don't remember when my first 5K was, but I've done it so many times since, finally a runner, each time glowing with sweat and achievement for beating previous speeds and building up stamina. I remember moving forward to running trails and beach jogs. I remember the first time that I noticed I finally had muscle somewhere on my body, showing off my calves to whoever could be persuaded to look.

As I grew older, my diet got better as my willingness to try new foods expanded. I developed an almost love for running. Sometimes I wouldn't go for a run for as long as three months and still be amazed that I hadn't lost my stamina when I eventually returned. Earlier this year, rather apprehensively, I went on my first (and thus far only) 10K. I went further afield than ever before, not stopping once, in utter disbelief when 5K only meant halfway. And then when I was finished, I was too tired to be pleased.

I was there. I had run it in about an hour and fifteen minutes, definitely with room for improvement, but I had done it even still. After three years of running on-off, three years in which I had always said "I'm no good at sport", I had proven myself wrong. I had found a sport I could stick to and be good at.

My dad has always been my running companion. I think I've only gone on fewer than 5 without him. He's acted as my coach and we've been our mutual distraction from the difficulties of running. I feel incredibly lucky that it's something we can bond over and do together. He is just as much as part of my running journey as I am. However, today (25th of June 2016) I went for a 5K run with my sister, who took up running long after me and took to it just as well. It was really very lovely, chatting to her the whole time. I felt like my father, really, as this time I was the leader! I showed her our running route. It's so much more fun to run with people than to run alone.

What sport do you do? x